CHAPTER XIX

THE SPELL WORKS

Yet Love is weak,

It cannot stand alone amid the strife,

It cannot teach our faltering lips to speak,
It cannot even save one little life!

Love is so weak!

CONSTANCE JOHNSON.

Fauvel's vacation had expired and he was expected home at any time. The season was advancing, and the harvest moon rose nightly, big as a cart-wheel and yellow as gold.

Leone, Margaret and Carlotta were together in the grand central hall of the keep, where a lordly colonnade supported the lofty ceiling and gigantic caryatids graced the walls. At one end of the hall was a thronelike stone seat, raised a few steps above the floor. In this Leone lounged carelessly, strumming a guitar and watching Margaret and Carlotta amuse themselves with a basket of kittens. They had no lamp, for the moonlight coming in through the long windows flooded the place, casting upon the marble floor the shadow of their iron bars.

Margaret had invited Carlotta to remain during Fauvel's absence and she had readily accepted.

"

"How glad I shall be to have Meurice at home again!' Margaret was saying. "It is always so dull without him." Carlotta looked at her; the remark had been made most innocently, but the girl stored it up in her memory for future use. "Meurice knows so much," Margaret went on; "history, art, geography, archæology, languages-"

"To say nothing of medicine and surgery," put in Leone; "don't forget that."

"I'm not likely to," she said. "Do you think I will ever

forget how splendid he was when the baby was born? But I was thinking what a source of knowledge he is. If I want to know about something, I have only to ask him and he explains so clearly and lucidly. Oh, yes, I always miss him when he is away."

"So do I," said Leone, "and I'll be immensely glad to have him back except that his return means those tiresome hours in the studio again."

Carlotta's blue eyes flashed. She shared those hours. "I shall be glad to have the professore return because he is always so polite," she said pointedly.

Margaret gave Leone a reproving glance; his speech had sounded personal though he had not intended it so. He shrugged his shoulders in answer to her look, played a few chords on the guitar, and began to sing a popular song. Carlotta, conquering her momentary anger, joined in with her strong mezzo-soprano, while Margaret took up the refrain E la rosa piu bella che c'è.'

The accompaniment had a gay waltz movement, and their voices rose to the domed ceiling, filling the spacious hall with merry music.

Suddenly Lisa, Armida and Beppo burst excitedly upon them, all speaking at once. Leone stood up, telling them to be silent, and giving permission to Beppo alone to explain.

The boy came forward, his eyes dilating.

A horrible creature, Signore — hideous, all head and arms, brutto, bruttissimo, more like an animal, than a human, an evil one, for sure! It might be well to close all doors and windows on the ground floor

"The jettatura, the dwarf!" Leone exclaimed, his fingers making the signs of the horns. "Where did you see him?"

"Near the kitchen door," the boy replied. "Armida stepped out to draw some water from the cistern; we heard her scream, and both Lisa and I saw him. Shall the Signore have the windows closed? the bars are broken and rotten."

"Let us look for him first," he said, and left the hall, followed by the terrified servants.

Ah, misericordia!" wailed Carlotta, and Margaret saw that she also had fixed her left hand in the sign. “It is the 'evil eye' again; misfortune threatens us!"

Margaret's lip curled a little scornfully. "The poor thing," she said, "was probably hungry and only going to beg for something to eat."

"Signora," said Carlotta sharply, "you are not simpatica;* your husband suffers and you laugh. I suffer, but wait time will show if our fears are foolish," and she began to fan herself violently. Here at least she had something in common with Belmonte.

Leone and Beppo made a tour around the outside of the castle and grounds, but could find no one. Just as they were about to give up, however, they saw for an instant, far off upon a hillock, the grotesque figure of Ferruccio, the dwarf, silhouetted against the pale sky. They ran in that direction but their search was fruitless as before; in spite of his age, the creature was quick and agile and had slipped away somewhere. Leone was greatly disturbed. He wished that Fauvel were home to consult. The secret of the hidden passage was not a pleasant thought, and doubly unpleasant from his conviction that the fellow foreboded evil.

Upon reëntering the house he gave orders to close all the doors and windows on the ground floor, and not to open them on any pretext until morning.

"I'm so glad Fauvel will soon be back," Margaret said; "I'm quite sure he will not consent to our being shut up without any air."

But the servants, mia cara, are very nervous," Leone replied; "they are always fearful and superstitious about the 'evil eye '."

"The servants are also superstitious about an unbaptized * Sympathetic.

child," she returned; "but you don't seem to let that disturb you." He shuffled uncomfortably in his chair, but made no answer, and the evening being broken up, they retired.

This is from Meurice," said Leone the next day, as he tore open a letter with a French stamp. "Good! he expects to be with us to-night! And this is for thee," and he handed Margaret a pamphlet.

She opened it. It was a fashion magazine with pictures of prominent women in smart, modish gowns.

"Oh, dear, oh, dear!" she sighed, as she turned its pages. "This shows me how frightfully out of date my clothes are, but what can one expect when one lives up in the clouds, and the only styles one sees in the villages are the green umbrellas of the peasants! What a sight I must look like, and I used to keep up to the times in everything, and although I was never extravagant no one could say that I was not always well dressed, but now - oh, dear!"

"You always look beautiful to me, Margherita," Leone said consolingly; "I think your dresses are lovely."

That is because you know nothing of the styles, and there are no well-dressed women for you to see."

"Fauvel sees well-dressed women in Rome and Perugia and other cities, and he always thinks you look all right.”

"Because Fauvel is an artist and has a mind above prevailing styles. If I stick a bow or feather on a hat at a becoming angle he says it is artistic' and that's all he cares about. But if I should go into the cities other men would laugh at my oldfashioned things and the women would snub me and call me a shabby dud.'"

"Men and women who would be cruel to thee on account of thy clothes are not worth considering, carissima."

"Oh, that's the way of the world, you don't understand; clothes are such a factor." Margaret and Leone were alone, with the baby playing beside them.

"I'm thinking there is much wisdom in the cloister, where

monastic orders have not changed their styles for over a thousand years. What would be accomplished if Padre Carlo should make himself sick with envy of the cut of Fra Anselmo's cape, or the sacristan insult the porter on account of the shape of his collar!" And Leone laughed softly to himself at the mere idea.

It was rarely he alluded to his old life, but Margaret was poring over the fashions and paid no attention, and the baby, who was tired of his playthings, began to tug at the paper in her hand.

"No, darling," she said, "you cannot have it; this is mother's book; here is baby's," and she picked up an indestructible one full of colored pictures and opened it; "see the big doggie and the white pussy-cat; nice book for baby."

But the little one was tired of his own and wanted hers. He tugged at it again and tore one of the leaves.

Oh, naughty, naughty!" she cried, and before she could catch the little ruthless hand another leaf was gone.

Can you not take care of him this afternoon, Leone?" she asked. Giacinta is lying down; she has a headache, and I must write home."

The child was just at that troublesome age when he was into everything quick as a flash and needed watching every moment. Leone put down Fauvel's letter. "I too have writing planned for this afternoon, Margherita. You know there is nothing I would rather do than amuse the bambino, but I must get that manuscript copied and sent off before Meurice returns; if I don't, he will say that I am wasting time."

"It is nearly a month since I've written to my sister, and I must do it to-day. You have had plenty of time all this while."

"I might say the same thing: you have had plenty of time." "Perhaps; but I am busy about other matters. Oh, don't let him be so destructive!" she cried, as the little one ran over to Leone with the magazine, bent on destroying it.