"Miss James and I prefer to drive and wait for you at Sils Maria," quietly said Miss Ford to Lucio and Lilian. The girl remained impassive; Lucio Sabini bowed, in token of consent. The carriage which an hour ago had brought all four to the hill of the Maloja and had waited for them there—as after having traversed the highway and the hill paths they reached on foot the top of the great wall of a peak which divides the Grissons from the Val Bregaglia, to the lofty gallery of rocks covered with moss and yellow marguerites, whence the gaze is directed down below towards Italy—and which was to bring them on the return road, first to Sils Maria and then to St. Moritz, was drawn up at a few paces from the Kursaal Maloja. Suddenly turning from that strange gallery whence, now and then exchanging a fleeting glance, Lucio Sabini and Lilian Temple had both gazed at the road to Italy, and while they drew near the vast lake which stretches from the Maloja to Sils, Lucio had proposed crossing the lake by boat as far as Sils Maria, while the empty carriage should go on and wait for them there. Lilian, without speaking, blushed one of those blushes of joy that mounted in a wave of emotion from her neck right to the roots of her fair hair. Miss Ford, after having exchanged three or four words in English with her companion, had quietly announced her desire to go in the carriage with her, leaving the boat trip to Lilian and Lucio.
While he accompanied the two old maids to the carriage, he was once again astonished in the back of his mind at the ever-increasing freedom with which Miss May Ford, who was Lilian's guardian and friend, often, very often, left the girl alone with him. Now and then, with his Italian mind accustomed through heredity and tradition to keep women, and especially girls, under a rigorous surveillance; accustomed to consider woman in general as a prisoner who strives constantly to escape and around whom iron chains must be multiplied, a strange impression struck him when he discovered that Miss Ford entrusted Lilian Temple to him and Lilian trusted him, when their love-making had now become so marked that in no way was it possible to conceal it, and he very nearly felt irritated at Miss Ford's desertion of Lilian and very nearly sneered at the perfect confidence Lilian had in him. A flood of evil thoughts was poisoning him. But afterwards he thought of the admirable rectitude of the English character, which, incapable of failing, does not believe that another can fail; he thought of the profound respect that all Englishmen have for women, above all for their sweethearts and fiancées; he thought of the respect that all the English have, and have taught the Americans to have, for the liberty of others; and he felt vulgar sentiments to be dissolved in his spirit, and ugly thoughts and mean considerations. He experienced instead the secret emotion of a man who feels himself esteemed and loved. Moreover, a singular tenderness invaded him, as he guessed the truth; that Miss Ford, aware of their love-making, wished to provide them, in perfect good faith and generosity, with a means of getting a better understanding, in a solitude that had for witnesses the sky, the mountains, the lakes and meadows.
"At Sils Maria, then," he said, with a gracious bow as he closed the door, giving Miss Ford a grateful look.
"In front of the H?tel Edelweiss," she replied, giving him and Lilian a friendly nod.
They watched the carriage depart and slowly proceeded towards the lake.
"Miss Ford is very fond of you, Lilian," he said, in a tender voice.
"Yes," she answered, without further remark.
"And I believe you are very fond of her."
"Yes," she replied.
He restrained a little movement of impatience. The imperturbability, the silence, and the sober replies of Lilian Temple at certain moments irritated him; the composure of the beautiful face seemed indifference to him; the scarcity and the moderation of her words seemed to him coldness and her silence lack of feeling. Then he would speak to her in a sharp voice and say violent and sarcastic things as if to startle her. An expression of wonderment and pain on Lilian's face would calm him and make him realise the truth, that he was in the presence of a different soul, a creature of another race and another land, and a profoundly different heart.
"At any rate you will like to sail on the beautiful lake? Or does nothing matter to you, Lilian?" he said to her, with a mocking smile and in an irritated tone.
"Of course it matters to me," she murmured, looking at him with her dear, blue eyes, rather sorrowfully.
"Forgive me," he said at once, softening again. "I am very exacting, I know, but sometimes you are so English, dear child."
"I thought," she said, with a mischievous little smile, "that English women were not displeasing to you."
"I adore them!" he exclaimed, in a sudden transport.
They sat in the stern of the rather large boat, which was rowed by two men. The boats were Italian and came from the Lake of Como, being transported up there every year to the lakes of Sils and St. Moritz, climbing from Chiavenna on the large carts that ascend there every day at the beginning of the season, and are re-transported below in the middle of September. The rowers were Italians—Comaschi. A white awning protected the boat from the sun. For some time while the Comaschi rowed, cleaving the quiet waters, Lilian and Lucio were silent, letting themselves go to the train of their slow passage across the lake and the sequence of their intimate thoughts. Lucio especially liked to be quiet beside Lilian. When he was with her—and in the week after the ball at the "Kulm" he had seen her every day for two or three hours—a profound sense of sweetness kept him silent: the Italian words which should have told of his flame remained suspended on his lips; the impetuousness of his love became placated in the presence of that pure young beauty and in the complete sentimental dedication which he recognised in Lilian. He was gladly silent. Moreover, an intimate terror of saying too much consumed him, of expressing too much, of showing too much, what manner of thing was the sudden transport of love that agitated him. He feared by pronouncing definite words to make Lilian understand and himself understand, alas, how he was seized and conquered beyond caprice, beyond flirting and love-making: he feared lest she should be deeply discouraged, and he himself feared to be discouraged by a revelation that he preferred to leave latent and concealed. Instead an infinite sweetness came upon him in Lilian's company, in solitude and in silence. Her presence filled him with a tenderness that surpassed every other feeling: he understood in those moments how he would have liked to have invoked the passing of life thus beside her, and how she carried in her hands and heart and eyes, in every act of her person, the truest and most lovable gifts of existence. The boat proceeded quietly across the limpid waters shining in the sun, and both continued to dream their soft and quiet dream. Lilian gently clasped a bunch of Alpine flowers which she placed upon her knees, on her white cambric dress.
"Lilian, have you seen the Val Bregaglia, and amidst the light, white clouds Italy, Lilian?" he asked her softly, as if in a dream, placing a particular stress of sweetness as he pronounced and repeated her name.
"I have seen it," she replied softly.
"Do you love Italy, Lilian?"
"Of course," she replied.
Nothing more. But he felt how much that soul and heart were his, even in the modesty and moderation of her words, even in her reserved attitude and pure actions.
"There is another spot where my beautiful country can be seen," he added; "a spot loftier and more austere."
"Where?"
"At the Bernina pass, Lilian."
"Is it far?"
"Two hours and a half by carriage, perhaps three from St. Moritz. I think you have never been up there."
"No, never."
"Will you go there with me?"
"Yes," she replied at once.
"We will go, we will go," he exclaimed, a little disturbed with joy. "Up there there is a solitary height: one must go there on foot after leaving the carriage. But one sees the Val di Poschiaro—beautiful Italy!"
"We will go," she again consented.
A boat came towards them, also propelled by two rowers, proceeding, however, very slowly. A woman was within, alone, with a delicate, pale face, a rosy mouth slightly livid, and two deep blue, velvety eyes. She was Else von Landau, who was enjoying in silence and solitude the air, the light, and the trees, whatever was healthy and pure and refreshing. With her gloved hands crossed over her knees, and her veil raised above her hat, she appeared collected and serene. With calm eyes she followed the boat with the two lovers.
"She is ill, poor thing!" murmured Lucio Sabini.
"But she will get better," added Lilian, "if she remains here for the winter."
"How do you know that?"
"The doctors say so, people say so. One gets better here in the............