CHAPTER XXVII
RICORDO'S WOOING
Olive Castlemaine was alone when the servant brought her the message, and for the first time since she had first met Ricordo, the news of his presence was not welcome. She wanted to be alone to think. That afternoon Herbert Briarfield had pleaded his cause once more, and she had promised to give him her answer in two days. For the first time since she had known him, moreover, she wanted to accede to his wishes. Not because her heart felt any warmer towards him, but because she thought of him as a friend and a protector. Whatever else he might be, he was a strong, healthy-minded man, one who would be faithful and loving. And almost for the first time in her life, Olive felt a longing for such an one. For a great fear had come into her heart—a fear of Signor Ricordo. She could not explain it, nor define it. The man had fascinated her—had, indeed, thrown a kind of spell upon her. She thought of him continually. Leicester had faded into the background of her life. But for the fact of her promise never to marry another man, he seemed to have passed out of her existence. But in place of Leicester, Ricordo had come, and although in one sense she regarded him only as a casual acquaintance, she knew that in another sense he exercised a powerful influence over her. In considering Herbert Briarfield's plea, she thought of Ricordo. She feared what he might say; while she had a kind of feeling that she ought to consult him before coming to a final decision. Why this was so she could not tell. Signor Ricordo was only a distinguished foreigner who had come to live in the neighbourhood, and whom she had met only occasionally; and yet he was the most potent factor in her life. The fact almost angered her. Why should this middle-aged man constantly obtrude his personality upon her thoughts? Why should she care what he thought of Herbert Briarfield's proposal? But she did. Even that afternoon while he was pleading his love, she saw the dark face of the Eastern stranger.
Therefore while alone, thinking of what answer she should give to the young squire, a feeling like fear came into her heart as the servant announced the advent of Ricordo. She almost wished she had accepted Briarfield. She felt that he would protect her; that as his wife she would be free from the vague, indefinable fears which haunted her. Still, she would see him. No thought of telling the servant to send him away came into her mind. Indeed, although she feared him, she had a strange desire to talk with him.
When she entered the room where he was, she saw him rise with a stately bow. She thought he looked older than usual, while there was an expression in his eyes which she had never noticed before. Still, he spoke with his old easy grace, and he revealed nothing of the passion that burned in his heart.
"Will you excuse me for calling without an invitation, signorina?" he said. "But, truth to tell, I saw something this evening which compelled me."
She looked up at him with a fast-beating heart, for there was something in his voice which struck her as strange.
"You wonder what it was," he went on. "I will tell you. I met Mr. Herbert Briarfield a little while ago."
In spite of herself she felt the blood rush to her cheeks, but she retained her self-control.