the lookout had sighted genoa, but to many eager eyes that peered from the rail there lay naught in the northern distance save the imperial sapphire sparkling to the clear and eternal blue. after a while, the magic wand of proximity touching east and west, the great mediterranean gem revealed its setting; the riviera di levante lazily unfolded her beauty to the eager men and women in the bow.
there was one passenger whose soul missed the enchantment. a matter of greater import filled her mind and dimmed her vision—her mission to secure a wife for casa di bello. she did show an interest in the fairy picture that was coming out all [pg 103]around, but not until the ship had steamed so far shoreward that the hamlets of the slopes showed their shining faces through the mountain greenery. then she stood intently regarding the land, her gaze set far above the white turrets and flaring walls of the sea city that took form out of the yellow summer haze.
“o genova superba!
qual città te paragon?”
it was cardinali that carolina strained her eyes to discern, and at last she beheld it—a weather-beaten little town perched high on a crag of rock. then she breathed content and awaited patiently the time for landing. within an hour after her well-shod feet had pressed the soil she was snugly installed, trunk and handtraps, in a veteran victoria drawn by a raw recruit of a horse, whose youthful antics kept the driver busy. with her luggage safely at her side and the landing accomplished without mishap, she settled back on the cushion and gave herself up to ease and self-adoration. how much wiser [pg 104]and abler she was than those excitable, nervous women whom she had left on the quay, still fuming over their baggage and the customs examination! complacently she judged herself a very superior person, and never before had she felt on better terms with herself. the raw recruit trotted decorously enough past the monument of the man that made an egg stand on end, and clattered under the marble arch, whereon st. george, champion of genoa, was trampling a dragon. presently the city lay at her back, and she began to breathe the good air of home in the white dust of the highway, the pungent scent of the sage, the sweetness of the honeysuckle and oleander.
they began the ascent of the winding causeway up which armando had toiled so sadly with his despised juno and the peacock. long stretches of wall bordered the route, which was rough in places and steep, and not at all to the taste of the youngster in the traces. he grew cross and nervous, and shied at such innocent things as a tuft [pg 105]of cowslips on the roadside or an umbel of clematis on the wall.
“what kind of horse have you there?” asked carolina, picking up a valise that had been jolted from the seat several times.
“what kind of a horse?” repeated the cocchiere, as though unable to credit his ears. “ah, signora, there is none better in all genoa; only he is a little green and has had the staggers once. verily a fine beast.”
at the bight of a turning a franciscan monk came in view suddenly from behind a thicket of myrtle. he wore the brown robe, scanty cape and hood on the shoulders, the girdle of knotted cord, the wooden sandals of his order. the recruit struck up a dance, and would have caracoled to the upsetting of the victoria, had not the monk run forward and caught his head.
“i regret that i frightened your horse, signora,” said the friar; “but i think he will go safely now.”
to the mind of aunt carolina, both the danger and its allayance had sprung from an [pg 106]eminently proper source. to be put in peril by a holy man was a distinction second only to being rescued by one. in thanking her deliverer she made known with pride that she too had been a limb of the church.
“for eight years, father, was i perpetua of the rectory in mulberry.”
the monk crossed himself and trudged on.
they were not far now from the last squirm of the highway that serpentined to cardinali. the angle by the myrtle thicket doubled, they entered upon a road that for half a mile was an almost level shelf on the mountain side. on one hand yawned a precipice that grew deeper as the road wore upward, and all that stood between an ungovernable horse and his driver’s eternity was a low stone wall built along the margin. carolina would have descended from the vehicle and walked the rest of the way but for the persuasive driver, who promised her upon his honour that all would go well now they had reached a stretch of road that was not steep. he could assure the signora that [pg 107]his horse was kind and gentle at heart, but coming of a lordly stock he loved not the menial task of hauling heavy loads uphill. a person of education like the signora would understand that. peril? not a spark of it now that the going was smooth and easy. see! he was behaving better already.
the horse was steadier, and all might have ended well, but for certain dark objects that had appeared at this moment from behind the last bend and were dimly visible far up the pass. as they drew near, the ears of the recruit stiffened higher and higher, and a few short, wild snorts gave further signal of danger. in the oncoming group was a tall and sinewy mountaineer, bronze of face and shock-headed, who led a monkey with one hand and with the other held the chain of a large cinnamon bear. by his side, a little behind, tramped his wife in picturesque rags and tinsel. she carried a brown baby, and half dragged along a toddling boy with a tambourine. when only a dozen rods separated them from the carriage, the mountebank,[pg 108] obeying business instinct, commanded the bear to rise on his hind paws. with clumsy alacrity the beast did so, while the master doffed his hat, and with the others of the vagabond troop stood lined on the roadside ready to receive carolina’s bounty.
the huge brown shape risen so suddenly in his path was more than the overwrought nerves of the lordling could stand, and away he shot, bit and reins a cipher, bent upon turning out and flying past the mysterious terror. the hubs of the victoria struck against the low stone parapet, kept bumping hard and rapidly from one jagged projection to another, and do his best the driver could not steer the maddened animal clear of the rude masonry. carolina’s first thought was to leap into the road rather than be popped over the wall to sure destruction. she did not wait for a second thought, but sprang, and landed by a miracle clear of the wheels, at the feet of the astonished bear. another instant and the inquiring beast would have [pg 109]scratched her face or combed her hair, but his master jerked him back with a mighty tug at the chain, while the wife, setting down her baby, leaped to carolina’s aid. they carried her to the herbage that fringed the highway. then the mountebank set off at a run for the victoria, which had come to a standstill at a point where the road assumed an abrupt steepness. horse, driver, and vehicle were faintly discernible through the powdery clouds thrown up by hoof and wheel.
“presto! to cardinali!” cried the bear-tamer, coming up with the carriage, which the recruit was striving to back over the parapet. “a doctor! the signora has broken her leg!”
“to cardinali!” sneered the cocchiere. “bah! the beast—woo-ah, woo!—he will mount no higher—woo-ah, woo!—and by san giorgio, i blame him not.—there, now, ugly one, quiet, quiet.—no; if i go for a doctor it must be downhill. and you and your bear!” he added with a scowl at the [pg 110]showman. “a fine day’s work you have done. it is men and bears like you two that i would send to prison. look at those hubs. who will pay the damage? not such as you, i warrant. body of a whale! why did i ever come here?”
“you are a wild ass!” returned the mountebank. “who but an ass would try to drive such a horse? my jackanapes has more sense.”
“al diavolo, rascal!”
“all’inferno, donkey!”
“bah!”
“bah!”
without difficulty the driver turned his horse in the opposite direction, and at a contented jog he started downhill toward the spot where carolina lay. the showman’s wife was supporting her head and begging forgiveness for her husband and the bear. presently sebastiano the carrier reached the scene with his empty cart. did he know the lady? some there were who forgot faces, but not he. signorina di bello. it [pg 111]was many years since she went away, but he knew her. had the sun overcome her? a broken leg! dio santo!
after much vehement talk and excited gesture the baggage was taken from the victoria and the injured woman placed, none too tenderly, in the donkey cart, that being deemed the only safe course. it was the same springless wain that had carried armando’s juno and the peacock on their fruitless pilgrimage to genoa. for carolina it was simply a car of torture. by the time it rolled under the arched gate of cardinali she was no longer sensible of pain.
it was the most stupendous event the village had ever known—this return of carolina di bello after an absence of twelve years, and bumping along over the cobbles in old sebastiano’s cart. every house that the terrible ambulance passed was straightway emptied of its inmates, who fell in behind the cart, clamouring for a view of its unconscious occupant. she lay as though lifeless, [pg 112]her head propped by a travelling bag, her face exposed to the glare of the sun. no one thought of covering her face, so eager were they all to gaze at it and compare her looks with what they were twelve years before when she departed for america. the women discussed her gown and foot gear, and pronounced them both very signora. sebastiano drew up at a flight of broken stone steps that zigzagged to a porch shaded by a gnarled fig tree, whereunder a cow-faced woman stood patiently stirring a copper vessel of steaming corn-meal mush. the donkey gave a bray of approval at the calling of a halt, and the woman, in response to a general cry, clattered down to the cart.
“cousin carolina! misericordia! what has happened? where did she come from?”
the new actor on the scene was serafina digrandi, aunt of the maid for whose wiving carolina had made the disastrous journey; and, following the mountain usage, she would have flung herself weeping upon the moveless[pg 113] figure of her relative, but the village doctor broke through the crowd in time to hold her back and declare the patient still alive. at this serafina dried her tears and began a bustling preparation of the best room in the house.
