“Yes. She can see nothing for herself—it is often so—only for others, and she tells me things that do come true. Many times of late, as I begged her to, she has tried to see what happened that day, but she has failed so far. She says she knew, when Paula Rawson left, that there was tragedy round her; she saw her depart as in a red cloud, and was half minded to follow her at the time. If only she had done so! But she disliked and feared her always. And she has never been able to see anything clearly about it—for me. She says it is because Paula really does not come into my life at all, except indirectly. It might be different with Boris, though she has never tried to ‘see’ for him. He does not know of her powers, and I do not want him to let her try with him—it might upset, unbalance him again, restore the terrible influence Paula had over him. You understand that, don’t you? Or you would if you knew him, and how terribly he has suffered! But I do believe she might be able to see something for you.”
“I wonder,” Grace murmured perplexedly. “I don’t know anything about such things, Miss Cacciola; of course I have heard of clairvoyants.”
“Yes, fortune tellers and charlatans most of them; but our Giulia is not like that. It is a real gift with her. Oh, if you would come to see her! Why not come now? She is all alone, and it will be quite quiet. Or are you too tired?”
“Tired? Oh, no, indeed,” Grace declared eagerly. “But I should be taking you away from here.”
“I’m quite ready to go. They’ll have to do without me for the rest of the evening,” said Maddelena rising. “We’ve a cab waiting outside, Mrs. Carling, so I will just find the chauffeur and tell my uncle we are going. Will you stay here till I return?”
She flitted away and disappeared among the noisy, merry crowd that was beginning to drift back from the refreshment-room, to return in a minute or two accompanied by the taxi-driver.
“Here we are. I have told the padre that I am going to start you off home, as I will after you have seen Giulia. Come along.”
They drove along the Mall, almost deserted on this Christmas night, a peaceful and beautiful scene with the river at full tide under the moonlight. The last time Grace had driven along here was on her way from church on that wedding day that seemed a lifetime ago. Now she felt as if she were bound on some strange, vague adventure in the world of dreams!
The cab turned up a narrow street on the left, and paused at the high road, held up by a couple of passing trams—paused just outside that fatal post office. The house was dark, the shop windows plastered with big posters announcing that the premises had been sold by private treaty.
“The horrible place is to be pulled down,” said Maddelena. “That is well. Mrs. Cave has got another shop about a quarter of a mile away, nearer the station. She moved there, post office and all, a few days ago. She is very glad. No wonder.”