To Be Read At Dusk | Page 6

side, sweet-smelling leafy screens. Mistress moved her bright eyes,
even there, as if she looked to see the face come in upon the scene; but all was well.

'Now, Clara,' master said, in a low voice, 'you see that it is nothing? You are happy.'
Mistress was much encouraged. She soon accustomed herself to that grim palazzo, and
would sing, and play the harp, and copy the old pictures, and stroll with master under the
green trees and vines all day. She was beautiful. He was happy. He would laugh and say
to me, mounting his horse for his morning ride before the heat:
'All goes well, Baptista!'
'Yes, signore, thank God, very well.'
We kept no company. I took la bella to the Duomo and Annunciata, to the Cafe, to the
Opera, to the village Festa, to the Public Garden, to the Day Theatre, to the Marionetti.
The pretty little one was charmed with all she saw. She learnt Italian - heavens!
miraculously! Was mistress quite forgetful of that dream? I asked Carolina sometimes.
Nearly, said la bella - almost. It was wearing out.
One day master received a letter, and called me.
'Baptista!'
'Signore!'
'A gentleman who is presented to me will dine here to-day. He is called the Signor
Dellombra. Let me dine like a prince.'
It was an odd name. I did not know that name. But, there had been many noblemen and
gentlemen pursued by Austria on political suspicions, lately, and some names had
changed. Perhaps this was one. Altro! Dellombra was as good a name to me as another.
When the Signor Dellombra came to dinner (said the Genoese courier in the low voice,
into which he had subsided once before), I showed him into the reception-room, the great
sala of the old palazzo. Master received him with cordiality, and presented him to
mistress. As she rose, her face changed, she gave a cry, and fell upon the marble floor.
Then, I turned my head to the Signor Dellombra, and saw that he was dressed in black,
and had a reserved and secret air, and was a dark, remarkable-looking man, with black
hair and a grey moustache.
Master raised mistress in his arms, and carried her to her own room, where I sent la bella
Carolina straight. La bella told me afterwards that mistress was nearly terrified to death,
and that she wandered in her mind about her dream, all night.
Master was vexed and anxious - almost angry, and yet full of solicitude. The Signor
Dellombra was a courtly gentleman, and spoke with great respect and sympathy of
mistress's being so ill. The African wind had been blowing for some days (they had told
him at his hotel of the Maltese Cross), and he knew that it was often hurtful. He hoped
the beautiful lady would recover soon. He begged permission to retire, and to renew his

visit when he should have the happiness of hearing that she was better. Master would not
allow of this, and they dined alone.
He withdrew early. Next day he called at the gate, on horse-back, to inquire for mistress.
He did so two or three times in that week.
What I observed myself, and what la bella Carolina told me, united to explain to me that
master had now set his mind on curing mistress of her fanciful terror. He was all kindness,
but he was sensible and firm. He reasoned with her, that to encourage such fancies was to
invite melancholy, if not madness. That it rested with herself to be herself. That if she
once resisted her strange weakness, so successfully as to receive the Signor Dellombra as
an English lady would receive any other guest, it was for ever conquered. To make an
end, the signore came again, and mistress received him without marked distress (though
with constraint and apprehension still), and the evening passed serenely. Master was so
delighted with this change, and so anxious to confirm it, that the Signor Dellombra
became a constant guest. He was accomplished in pictures, books, and music; and his
society, in any grim palazzo, would have been welcome.
I used to notice, many times, that mistress was not quite recovered. She would cast down
her eyes and droop her head, before the Signor Dellombra, or would look at him with a
terrified and fascinated glance, as if his presence had some evil influence or power upon
her. Turning from her to him, I used to see him in the shaded gardens, or the large
half-lighted sala, looking, as I might say, 'fixedly upon her out of darkness.' But, truly, I
had not forgotten la bella Carolina's words describing the face in the dream.
After his second visit I heard master say:
'Now, see, my dear Clara, it's