An hour later the two were well on their way toward Mestre, where atravelling-chaise awaited them. Odo, having learned that Andreoni wassettled in Padua, had asked him to receive Fulvia in his house till thenext night-fall; and the bookseller, whom he had taken into hisconfidence, was eager to welcome the daughter of the revered Vivaldi.
The extremes of hope and apprehension had left Fulvia too exhausted formany words, and Odo, after she had confirmed every particular of SisterMary's story, refrained from questioning her farther. Thanks to herfriend's resources she had been able to exchange her nun's dress for theplain gown and travelling-cloak of a young woman of the middle class;and this dress painfully recalled to Odo the day when he had found herstanding beside the broken-down chaise on the road to Vercelli.
The recollection was not calculated to put him at his ease; and indeedit was only now that he began to feel the peculiar constraint of hisposition. To Andreoni his explanation of Fulvia's flight had seemednatural enough; but on the subsequent stages of their journey she mustpass for his mistress or his wife, and he hardly knew in what spirit shewould take the misapprehensions that must inevitably arise.
At Mestre their carriage waited, and they drove rapidly toward Paduathrough the waning night. Andreoni, in his concern for Fulvia's safety,had prepared for her reception a little farm-house of his wife's, in avineyard beyond the town; and here at daybreak it was almost a relief toOdo to commit his charge to the Signora Andreoni's care.
The day was spent indoors, and Andreoni having thought it more prudentto bring no servant from Padua, his wife prepared the meals for theirguests and the bookseller drew a jar of his own wine from the cellar.
Fulvia kept to herself during the day; but at dusk she surprised Odo byentering the room with a trayful of plates and glasses, and helpingtheir hostess to set out the supper-table. The few hours of rest hadrestored to her not only the serenity of the convent, but a lightness ofstep and glance that Odo had not seen in her since the early days oftheir friendship. He marvelled to see how the first breath of freedomhad set her blood in motion and fanned her languid eye; but he could notsuppress the accompanying thought that his own presence had failed towork such miracles.
They had planned to ride that night to a little village in the hillsbeyond Vicenza, where Fulvia's foster-mother, a peasant of theVicentine, lived with her son, who was a vine-dresser; and supper washardly over when they were told that their horses waited. Their kindhosts dared not urge them to linger; and after a hurried farewell theyrode forth into the fresh darkness of the September night.
The new moon was down and they had to thread their way slowly throughthe stony lanes between the vineyards. At length they gained the opencountry, and growing more accustomed to the darkness put their horses toa trot. The change of pace, and the exhilaration of traversing anunknown country in the hush and mystery of night, combined to free theirspirits, and Odo began to be aware that the barrier between them waslifted. To the charm of their intercourse at Santa Chiara was added thatcloser sympathy produced by the sense of isolation. They were enclosedin their common risk as in some secret meeting-place where noconsciousness of the outer world intruded; and though their talk keptthe safe level of their immediate concerns he felt the change in everyinflection of Fulvia's voice and in the subtler emphasis of hersilences.
The way was long, and he had feared that she would be taxed beyond herstrength; but the miles seemed to fly beneath their horses' feet, andthey could scarcely believe that the dark hills which rose ahead of themagainst a whitening sky marked the limit of their journey.
With some difficulty they found their way to the vine-dresser's house, amere hut in a remote fold of the hills. From motives of prudence theyhad not warned the nurse of their coming; but they found the old womanalready at work in her melon-patch and learned from her that her son hadgone down to his day's labour in the valley. She received Fulvia with atender wonder, as at some supernatural presence descending into herlife, too much awed, till the first embraces were over, to risk anyconjecture as to Odo's presence. But with the returning sense offamiliarity--the fancied recovery of the nurseling's features in thegirl's definite outline--came the inevitable reaction of curiosity, andthe fugitives felt themselves coupled in the old woman's meaning smiles.
To Odo's surprise Fulvia received these innuendoes with bafflingcomposure, parrying the questions she seemed to answer, and finallytaking refuge in a plea for rest. But the accord of the previous nightwas broken; and when the travellers set out again, starting a littlebefore sunset to avoid the vine-dresser's return, the constraint of theday began to weigh upon them. In Fulvia's case physical wearinessperhaps had a share in the change; but whatever the cause, its effectwas to make this stage of the journey strangely tedious to both.
Their way lay through the country north of Vicenza, whence they hoped bydawn to gain Peschiera on the lake of Garda, and hire a chaise whichshould take them across the border. For the first hour or two they hadthe new moon to light them; but as it set the sky clouded and drops ofrain began to fall. Fulvia had hitherto shown a gay indifference to thediscomforts of the journey; but she presently began to complain of thecold and to question Odo anxiously as to the length of the way. Thehilliness of the country forced them to travel slowly, and it seemed toOdo that hours had elapsed before they saw lights in the valley belowthem. Their plan had been to avoid the towns on their way, and Fulvia,the night before, had contented herself with a half-hour's rest by theroadside; but a heavy rain was now falling, and she at once assented toOdo's tentative proposal that they should take shelter till the stormwas over.
They dismounted at an inn on the outskirts of the village. The sleepylandlord stared as he unbarred the door and led them into the kitchen;but he offered no comment beyond remarking that it was a good night tobe under cover.
Fulvia sank down on the wooden settle near the chimney, where a fire hadbeen hastily kindled. She took no notice of Odo when he removed thedripping cloak from her shoulders, but sat gazing before her in a kindof apathy.
"I cannot eat," she said, as Odo pressed her to take her place at thetable.
The innkeeper turned to him with a confidential nod. "Your lady looksfairly beaten," he said. "I've a notion that one of my good beds wouldbe more to her taste than the best supper in the land. Shall I have aroom made ready for your excellencies?""No, no," said Fulvia, starting up. "We must set out again as soon as wehave supped."She approached the table and hastily emptied the glass of country winethat Odo had poured out for her.
The innkeeper seemed a simple unsuspicious fellow, but at this he putdown the plate of cheese he was carrying and looked at her curiously.
"Start out again at this hour of the night?" he exclaimed. "By thesaints, your excellencies must be running a race with the sun! Or do youdoubt my being able to provide you with decent lodgings, that you prefermud and rain to my good sheets and pillows?""Indeed, no," Odo amicably interposed; "but we are hurrying to meet afriend who is to rejoin us tomorrow at Peschiera.""Ah--at Peschiera," said the other, as though the name had struck him.
He took a dish of eggs from the fire and set it before Fulvia. "Well,"he went on with a shrug, "it is written that none of my beds shall beslept in tonight. Not two hours since I had a gentleman here that gavethe very same excuse for hurrying forward; though his horses were sospent that I had to provide him with another pair before he couldcontinue his journey." He laughed and uncorked a second bottle.
"That reminds me," he went on, pausing suddenly before Fulvia, "that theother gentleman was travelling to meet a friend too; a lady, he said--ayoung lady. He fancied she might have passed this way and questioned meclosely; but as it happened there had been no petticoat under my rooffor three days.--I wonder, now, if he could have been looking for yourexcellencies?"Fulvia flushed high at this, but a sign from Odo checked the denial onher lips.
"Why," said he, "it is not unlikely, though I had fancied our friendwould come from another direction. What was this gentleman like?"The landlord hesitated, evidently not so much from any reluctance toimpart what he knew as from the inability to express it. "Well," saidhe, trying to supplement his words by a vaguely descriptive gesture, "hewas a handsome personable-looking man--smallish built, but with a finemanner, and dressed not unlike your excellency.""Ah," said Odo carelessly, "our friend is an ecclesiastic.--And whichway did this gentleman travel?" he went on, pouring himself anotherglass.
The landlord assumed an air of country cunning. "There's the fishy partof it," said he. "He gave orders to go toward Verona; but my boy, whochased the carriage down the road, as lads will, says that at thecross-ways below the old mill the driver took the turn for Peschiera."Fulvia at this seemed no longer able to control herself. She came closeto Odo and said in a low urgent tone: "For heaven's sake, let us setforward!"Odo again signed to her to keep silent, and with an effort she resumedher seat and made a pretence of eating. A moment later he despatched thelandlord to the stable, to see that the horses had been rubbed down; andas soon as the door closed she broke out passionately.
"It is my fault," she cried, "it is all my fault for coming here. If Ihad had the courage to keep on this would never have happened!""No," said Odo quietly, "and we should have gone straight to Peschieraand landed in the arms of our pursuer--if this mysterious traveller isin pursuit of us."His tone seemed to steady her. "Oh," she said, and the colour flickeredout of her face.
"As it happens," he went on, "nothing could have been more fortunatethan our coming here.""I see--I see--; but now we must go on at once," she persisted.
He looked at her gravely. "This is your wish?"She seemed seized with a panic fear. "I cannot stay here!" she repeated.
"Which way shall we go, then? If we continue to Peschiera, and this manis after us, we are lost.""But if he does not find us he may return here--he will surely returnhere!""He cannot return before morning. It is close on midnight already.
Meanwhile you can take a few hours' rest while I devise means ofreaching the lake by some mule-track across the mountain."It cost him an effort to take this tone with her; but he saw that in herhigh-strung mood any other would have been less effective. She roseslowly, keeping her eyes on him with the look of a frightened child. "Iwill do as you wish," she said.
"Let the landlord prepare a bed for you, then. I will keep watch downhere and the horses shall be saddled at daylight."She stood silent while he went to the door to call the innkeeper; butwhen the order was given, and the door closed again, she disconcertedhim by a sudden sob.
"What a burden I am!" she cried. "I had no right to accept this of you."And she turned and fled up the dark stairs.
The night passed and toward dawn the rain ceased. Odo rose from hisdreary vigil in the kitchen, and called to the innkeeper to carry upbread and wine to Fulvia's room. Then he went out to see that the horseswere fed and watered. He had not dared to question the landlord as tothe roads, lest his doing so should excite suspicion; but he hoped tofind an ostler who would give him the information he needed.
The stable was empty, however; and he prepared to bait the horseshimself. As he stooped to place his lantern on the floor he caught thegleam of a small polished object at his feet. He picked it up and foundthat it was a silver coat-of-arms, such as are attached to the blindersand saddles of a carriage-harness. His curiosity was aroused, andholding the light closer he recognised the ducal crown of Pianurasurmounting the "Humilitas" of the Valseccas.
The discovery was so startling that for some moments he stood gazing atthe small object in his hand without being able to steady his confusedideas. Gradually they took shape, and he saw that, if the ornament hadfallen from the harness of the traveller who had just preceded them, itwas not Fulvia but he himself who was being pursued. But who was it whosought him and to what purpose? One fact alone was clear: the traveller,whoever he was, rode in one of the Duke's carriages, and thereforepresumably upon his sovereign's business.
Odo was still trying to thread a way through these conjectures when ayawning ostler pushed open the stable-door.
"Your excellency is in a hurry to be gone," he said, with a surprisedglance.
Odo handed him the coat-of-arms. "Can you tell me what this is?" heasked carelessly. "I picked it up here a moment ago."The other turned it over and stared. "Why," said he, "that's off theharness of the gentleman that supped here last night--the same that wenton later to Peschiera."Odo proceeded to question him about the mule-tracks over Monte Baldo,and having bidden him saddle the horses in half an hour, crossed thecourtyard and re-entered the inn. A grey light was already fallingthrough the windows, and he mounted the stairs and knocked on the doorwhich he thought must be Fulvia's. Her voice bade him enter and he foundher seated fully dressed beside the window. She rose with a smile and hesaw that she had regained her usual self-possession.
"Do we set out at once?" she asked.
"There is no great haste," he answered. "You must eat first, and by thattime the horses will be saddled.""As you please," she returned, with a readiness in which he divined thewish to make amends for her wilfulness the previous night. Her eyes andcheeks glowed with an excitement which counterfeited the effects of anight's rest, and he thought he had never seen her more radiant. Sheapproached the table on which the wine and bread had been placed, anddrew another chair beside her own.
"Will you............