Christine of the hills

by Max Pemberton

“In this attempt to follow the fortunes of a boy and girl lover cast loose suddenly upon the world, I would take your mind back with mine to the day when my word spoken at the bureau of the police sent mounted men into the hills in pursuit of the fugitives. Christine had indeed been married upon the island which is named Incoronata. She told me that my coming to Zlarin had decided her on the step. The boy had long pressed her to go to the mainland with him that they might seek their fortunes together. Until I came to put before her my proposals for a decent life in my own city she had turned a deaf ear to all such suggestions.

“‘Some day, Ugo—some day, I will go with thee,’ she would cry to the passionate boy, who carried her image before his eyes day and night, and never slept but that in fancy he had his arms about her; ‘some day we will see the great city together—and thou shalt have thy wish.’

“Thus she answered him, suffering him rarely to cool his burning lips upon her own, to hold her in his arms as he had wished to do. He, in his turn, knowing something of the nature of the girl, gave in to her, and would have waited many a day had not I come to the island and proposed to take the little one with me to Pola. The very thought that she must be immured in a town, and for a season in a convent—for thus I had proposed—broke down the resolution she had formed. No sooner was my back turned upon her hut than she prepared to leave it; and the man himself chancing to come to her with the dawn, they set out for the neighbouring island and were married when Mass was done. And let this be no surprise to you, excellency. We are a primitive people, and the forms and ceremonies of towns are nothing to us. Set a couple before a priest, and say to him: ‘Give these the Sacrament, for they wish it,’ and he will ask no other reason. Rather, he will thank God for the day, and hasten to the work.

“They were married at Incoronata, the boy and the girl, and meeting there with a fisherman who knew them, they crossed in his ship to Sebenico. Few words had until this time passed between them, for the boy was content to feed his eyes upon her whom he now called wife; and she in turn was too full of the sights and sounds around to think of aught but the world she was entering. Four years had she lived a child of the woods and the lonely seashore. Do you wonder that the voices in the city drummed upon her ears, that her eyes were dimmed by the things she saw, that she forgot all else but the multitudes that passed before her? Nay, I have heard that fear so prevailed with her when she came into the great street of the city that she begged her lover to take her to her home again, and was held back by him with difficulty when she would have run down to the sea.

“‘Ugo,’ she cried, ‘my eyes are blinded with the things I see. Take me back to Zlarin!’

“He turned to her, and saw that she was trembling and very pale.

“‘Courage, little wife,’ he answered; ‘another hour and we shall be out on the hills. Have you not my hand to hold, carissima? Oh, it will be nothing when a day has passed, and we are on the road to Vienna. They will laugh at you, sweetheart, and you will laugh at yourself.’

“Thus he spoke to her, and shielding her with his arm, he took her straight to the northern gate, beyond which is the house of his kinsman. He knew well enough that there was danger to him so long as he remained in Sebenico, and it was his plan to set off to the mountains at once, hoping if ever he reached Vienna to be secure from the pursuit of the soldiers.

“‘Not that they will look for me here, little Christine,’ said he, ‘for who will tell them that I have been drawn at Jajce? But a friend might come—and then they would take me. Madonna mia—and on my wedding day! What would become of you, carissima?’

“He said this to her when they had passed the city walls in safety; but she heard him calmly, answering him with none of those loving protestations he had looked for. The man had yet to learn that her flight had been the outcome of her impulse; that his marriage was on her part little more than the expression of a great gratitude. All else had been brushed aside that she might flee the convent I had chosen for her. Her only desire was to see the things she had pictured in her sleep. She was child still, and the meaning of marriage to her was that she should walk through life holding her lover’s hand. How many, excellency, have not, in their childhood, cherished so pretty a delusion? Thus it was that she was dumb before his questions, and followed him silently; and when they had passed safely through the town together, he took her to the house of his kinsman, leaving there the waggon with the few things she had brought from the hut. He had determined, so soon as he had given her meat, to set out on horseback for Verlika; and though she was quite unaccustomed to such a mode of travel, she rode well enough on the pack saddle he had put upon her pony.