V.
"Lay her down by me, Debby," said Mrs. Vane to the comfortable-looking old body who was serving as nurse to a second generation. "Lay her beside her own little mamma. Was she very good? Did Padre Giulio think her lovely? Didn't she cry the least bit while he was pouring the water?"
"Just enough, mum, to let the old Adam out," answered Debby, tucking up mother and child energetically. "As for the Paddry, he thought she was a perfect pink; and he'd had the chill took off the water, thanks be to praise! It seems only yesterday," continued Debby contemplatively, "I was a holdin' Mr. Nicholas to be christened. He roared loud enough for two generations, I recollect, and now he's a cap'n in the army. Well, we're all agin'. Now, mum, I'll trust her with you a little while till I can get that gruel made. That Jovanny puts sorrel into it the minute my back's turned. Now you can take just as good care of baby, Miss Vane, as if I was here, and don't you go a tirin' yourself. Mr. Nicholas lays all the blame on me if your cheeks burn."
As the door closed behind the nurse, Mary nestled the baby close, and gave herself up to the ecstasy of her new joy. We will follow her thoughts as if they had been spoken. Happiness like hers seldom finds vent in words.
"I need no book of meditation with you beside me, baby. I gave you to God before your birth; I brought you into the world to be a saint, and, so help me heaven, I will never stand between you and Him, no matter what the struggle may cost me. O holy little head! glorified by the waters of baptism, with this kiss I offer you to God, that he may fill you with pure thoughts always tending to heaven. Sweet little mouth, speak comfort to every living creature. Sweetest eyes, look heavenward; and when you turn to earth, may you see it strewn with roses as it has been to me. Tender, pure feet, may you never be stained with the world's clay; walk firmly, bravely, steadfastly, where the Infant Jesus trod before you—yes, sweet, though it should be on thorns, my tender, precious one. And O little lovely hands! work for God, work for his poor and suffering ones, work for neglected altars. O God! O God! it is too sweet, too sublime, the possession of this soul which I am to train for thee. Make me as unflinching as Queen Blanche, steadfast as St. Monica, wise as St. Paula. May my child and I revere each other, remembering the Child Jesus and his Mother! When I stand at thy judgment-seat, dear Lord, may this plead for me, that never by example or omission have I caused my child to desist from following thee."
Turning her head upon the pillow, Mary saw her husband standing by the bedside, looking at her and the child. His eyes were full of tears as he stooped and kissed her.
"This is the happiest day of my life," she said as he sat down by her; "the day of our baby's christening. And do you know that I chose for it the anniversary of the day when I found out that you loved me."
"Tell me about that day."
"Won't nurse be here in a minute?"
"No; I have come in her stead, as bearer of apologies. Giovanni has done or left undone something with regard to your dinner, I believe. And now for the day when you made that wonderful discovery. Come, I should think the time for blushing about it was over."
"It was the day before I was to leave Boston," Mary explained. "Almost every thing in the house had been sold at auction. Oh! it was so dismal! Only my room and the library were comparatively untouched. I was sitting on my trunk, counting the money that was left after poor papa's debts were paid."
"How much was there?"
"Just ten dollars. Enough to pay my fare to Drewsville and leave me within a few dollars of absolute dependence. I hated the idea of going to live with my Aunt Jane. But that was not what I was thinking of, nor my poverty, even while I counted my money."
"What were you thinking of, dear?"
Her cheek flushed brightly. "I had never loved any one before, you know, Nicholas," she said apologetically. "I did not know what it was, or perhaps I could have helped it. I knew there was a reason why it was agony for me to leave Boston, and I did not dare to try to find out what the reason was. I knew there was a pain within me harder to bear than the grief for my father's death, but that I must not even think of it. But oh! when they told me that you were in the library waiting to see me, then I knew what the pain was, then I knew what the agony was. Do you wonder that I chose the anniversary of that day? That day when we stood together in the old house beside the empty fireplace, and you asked me to leave solitude and dependence and homesickness, and be your wife."
"Has it been all you thought it would be?"
"All, and more than all," she answered simply. And in his heart he protested that she should never be less happy in her love. As he left her with the nurse, his heart was full of wonder that so pure and true a creature had been intrusted to his keeping. Outside the door a note was handed to him, one of Mrs. Holston's perfumed, rose-colored billets, and he stepped back into his wife's room to read it.
"What is the matter?" she asked, seeing a look of annoyance or perplexity on his face. He handed her the note, and she read:
"Dear Nicholas: We are going to Torcello to-morrow, and must have you with us to expound the mysteries of the old church, the arabesques, etc. We leave at ten, and shall be gone all day. Don't say no to yours very faithfully,
F. R. H.
"P.S.—My sister says, 'Oh! yes. We must have him; he is so gemüthlich.'"
The reason for a refusal was simple enough. His going would leave his wife for a whole day to Debby's tender but garrulous mercies; but this was not for her to see or say. An undefined distrust of Lady Sackvil, which she believed to be quite groundless made her urge his acceptance of the invitation. He went to Torcello, and all day long, in and out of measure with the oars, these words rung in his ears:
"All too good
For human nature's daily food."
It is a bad sign when one feels out of harmony with one's best influences.
Mrs. Holston required her husband's attendance, and Captain Vane must do the honors of the island to her sister. He was a man of artistic perceptions and of accurate knowledge; and Lady Sackvil's capacities were of precisely the kind to draw these out. Here was the great danger. Mary, though intelligent and sympathetic, could never be any thing more than a good listener; Amelia aroused every faculty within him to full life. The day at Torcello did more harm than many months could undo.