III.
As soon as Lucia was well out of the little town, she seemed suddenly to discover that she had plenty of time to spare, for she let the mule walk on as slowly as he pleased, while she herself gazed at the golden hedge of broom which bordered the road, as if she were intent on counting its million blossoms.
Travelling at this pace, it was noon before she reached the village; but instead of receiving her with reproaches for her long absence, as would usually have been the case, her mother spoke so pleasantly, that in spite of her absence of mind, Lucia could not help being struck by it.
She knew how obstinately bent her mother was on getting her married, and she began to feel suspicious and alarmed. “Pietro was here a long time yesterday,” she suddenly thought to herself; “there is something in the wind, no doubt.” And when evening came, without saying a word to any one, Lucia dragged her bed from its place beside her mother’s in the large kitchen, and put it in a little store-room, with a heavy iron door and a grated window.
“Is it possible she can have overheard what we were saying?” thought the old woman, as she watched her daughter’s proceedings in silent dread. But no, that was out of the question, Lucia had spent nearly the whole time of Pietro’s visit in the church, for she herself had met her there later. “It is only another of her whims,” she went on, trying to comfort herself, “and it will be easy to spoil the lock of the door some night before she goes to bed. Pietro Antonio shall not be thwarted, if I can help it.” And having thus made up her mind, she too went to bed; but she was still much perturbed about Lucia’s odd behavior, and she began to fear that the girl would suddenly take herself off to Rome and so escape out of her clutches. The more she thought of it, the more eager she grew to bring about the marriage with Pietro without any further loss of time. “To-morrow she will be hard at work all day,” mused the old woman; “she will be tired out and sleep soundly. I don’t know that there is likely to be a better opportunity.”
All through the night Lucia’s mother lay wide awake, tossing to and fro and revolving her cruel plans in her mind. Early in the morning she sent the previously agreed message to Pietro Antonio, and when evening came she put a stone in the lock of the door, and thought she had made all safe.
Lucia went to her room that night tired out with her day’s work, as her mother had expected; but she was not too tired to notice that there was something amiss with the door. She tried it over and over again, but it was all in vain, the lock would not act, and she gave it up in despair.
She guessed at once what it meant, and for a moment she stood still, trembling and almost gasping for breath; but in another moment she had recovered herself, and made up her mind what to do.
She put out the lamp and laid down on the bed just as she was, without undressing; but after lying there quite still for about an hour she rose again, slipped quietly out to the stable, fetched a great wood-cutter’s axe, and hurried noiselessly back to her chamber.
Once more she lay down, keeping her eyes wide open, listening with all her might, and hardly daring to breathe.
Presently she heard the sound of whispering, then there was a light step in the yard, and in the house.
One bright ray of moonlight shone through the grated window and made a pattern of black and white bars on one patch of the stone floor, but otherwise the room was quite dark, and Lucia now got up and stationed herself in the darkest corner of the room. But all remained quite quiet for nearly another hour, every moment of which seemed a century to the poor girl.
At the end of this time, a faint light appeared through the crack of the door, which was gently pushed open, and then appeared her mother holding a lamp and followed by Pietro Antonio, who had a large pair of vine-shears in his hand.
As they entered, Lucia suddenly advanced from her corner with the axe uplifted. “Come here, you coward, if you dare,” she cried to the young man, who stood there speechless, motionless, and as white as death from surprise and fright.
He looked at the pale-faced girl, looked at the uplifted axe and her strong arms, and slowly moved away without uttering a word, followed by the old woman, who was shaking all over to such a degree that she could hardly stand, while her teeth chattered loud enough to be heard.
They were gone! and all was still again; but Lucia spent the rest of the night sitting on the bed-side, with her beautiful head resting against the hard cold stone wall, without venturing to close her eyes. In the morning she neither spoke to her mother nor prepared the breakfast as was her custom, and kept her mouth more tightly closed than ever.
When she had washed and dressed, and plaited her hair more carefully than usual, she brought out the mule, saddled and bridled him; but to her mother’s immense astonishment, instead of proceeding to load him with vegetables, she just mounted and rode away in the direction of Palene.
The mule trotted along merrily and quickly, but as it was still very early, Lucia stopped him after a while and allowed him to graze, while she got down and lay on the grass, resting her weary head on her hand and gazing into the distance with her large brown eyes. Little by little her pale face brightened, and began to lose the hard look it had worn since the previous night. She even began to smile a little and looked almost happy. At last some pleasant thought seemed to strike her, for she actually laughed and blushed, and then getting up and calling her mule, she went on her way.
In little more than half an hour she was again standing before Don Ernano’s shop in the market-place.
“Ah, signorina, you are early indeed to-day,” he began; then glancing at the unloaded mule, he went on, “you want the onions back, no doubt? I was afraid Mother Ceprano——”
“I did not come about that,”replied Lucia abruptly, with an odd shy smile. “I came to-day to ask your services as hair-dresser; you cut and dress hair, I know. Will you be so good as to cut off my hair?”
“What, signorina!”cried the horrified barber, “cut off your beautiful hair! No, you don’t mean it, I couldn’t have the heart!”
“Are you a barber, Don Ernano?” asked Lucia with the gravity and firmness peculiar to her.
“Yes, it is on the sign-board, and I cut anybody’s hair when I am asked, but—but—do you want to sell your beautiful plait?” he asked, with quite a sad expression in his kind eyes.
“No, I don’t want to sell it, but I want it cut off, and I have come to ask you to do it for me,” answered Lucia firmly and decidedly.
“Must I really?” said Don Ernano, feeling a little cast down by the girl’s energetic tone and manner.
“Yes—you must—if you will,” was her rather odd answer, and therewith she hurried into the shop.
“If you knew how it grieved me!” began the barber again. “Is it a vow, signorina?”
“Something of the sort, but it is more than that to me,”was the short answer.
“Then you have quite made up your mind?” he ventured to ask once more.
“Will you do it or will you not, Don Ernano?” asked Lucia as if she were much offended and would leave the shop.
“Well—if it really must be done—please to sit down, signorina,” said the barber, moving reluctantly to the cupboard in which he kept his implements.
Just at this moment two men came into the shop, and said with a sly glance at his fair customer, “You’re engaged, Don Ernano?”
“At your service in a moment, gentlemen,” he answered; then bending over Lucia and taking her great plait, which was almost as thick as her arm, in his hand, he said in a low tone, “You will have just a little bit left?”
“No, cut it off close,”answered Lucia in a whisper.
Don Ernano gently put her head in the right position; and Lucia, looking calmly and cheerfully into the little glass before her, could see with what a dismal countenance the light-haired giant went about his task, which was no such easy one, and took some minutes to accomplish. It was done at last, however, and the barber held the severed plait in his hands, his face wearing a very troubled expression.
“Good morning, gentlemen,” said Lucia, rising and bowing to the two men; “good morning, Don Ernano!” and before he had recovered from his astonishment, Lucia was out of the shop and trotting away on her mule, leaving him to look after her and shake his head in perplexity, while he still held the beautifully plaited tail of hair in his hands.
“A very pretty customer, signor!” said his visitors, who had not heard all that had passed.
“A lovely girl,” answered Don Ernano thoughtfully, “but strange, very strange, I can’t make her out.”
“Have you bought the plait?”they asked.
The barber shook his head gravely.
“What then?” they asked with curiosity.
“I don’t know,” was the short answer, as the barber made hurried preparations for shaving his customers.
He was anything but nervous in a general way, but to-day his hand trembled so much that he would certainly have performed his duties very clumsily if he had not made a great effort to recover his self-command.
“What does it mean?” he muttered, when he found himself once more alone. “What am I to do with it? I wonder whether it is a vow; I know the women about here do make strange vows sometimes; but she is so clever and sensible and not at all superstitious.”
Don Ernano thought over the affair for some time, but as he could not arrive at any conclusion, he locked the plait of hair up in his cupboard, and spent the next few hours in a rather uncomfortable state of mind, feeling that he was involved against his will in a matter which he did not understand.