He kissed her fingers, vowing silently to devote his whole life to her, and finding it very hard to leave.
VII
THE SEARCH BEGINS
It was ten months later when Norvin Blake landed at Messina and took the morning train westward to Terranova. As he disposed his travelling-bags in a corner of the compartment, and settled himself for the short journey, he felt a kind of irrational surprise at the fact that there had been no changes during his absence. The city was just as dirty and uninteresting as when he had left, the beggars were just as ragged and importunate, the street coaches were just as rickety. It required an effort to realize that ten months is, after all, a very short time, for it seemed ten years since he had sailed away. It had been a difficult period for him, one crowded with many changes, readjustments, and responsibilities. He had gone far, he had done much, he had been pressed by cares and anxieties on every side, and even at the last he had willfully abandoned urgent duties, to his own great loss and to the intense disgust of his friends, in order to come back according to his promise. His return had been delayed from week to week, from month to month, in spite of all he could do, and meanwhile his thoughts had not been in America at all, but in Sicily, causing him to fret and chafe at the necessities which bound him to his post. Now, however, the day upon which he had counted had arrived; he had taken his liberty regardless of consequences, and no dusty pilgrim ever longed more fiercely for a journey's end. He was glad of the impression of sameness he had received, for it made him feel that there would be no great changes in Terranova.
He had learned little from the Countess during the interim, for she had been slow in answering his frequent letters, while her own had been brief and non-commital. They contained hardly a suggestion of that warmth and intimacy which he had known in her presence. Her last letter, now quite old, had added to this impression of aloofness and rendered him somewhat timid as the time for meeting her approached. He re-read it for the hundredth time as the train crawled out of the city—
"MY DEAR FRIEND,—Your good letter was very welcome indeed, and I thank you for your sympathetic interest in our affairs at Terranova, but since fate has shown in so many ways that your life lies in Louisiana, and not in Sicily, I beg of you to let things take their course and give up any idea of returning here. There is nothing that you can do, particularly since time has proved your fears for our safety to be groundless. It is kind and chivalrous of you to persist in offering to take that long journey from America, but nothing would be gained by it, absolutely nothing, I assure you, and it would entail a sacrifice on your part which I cannot permit.
"Very little of interest or of encouragement had occurred here, but I am working. I shall always work. Some day I shall succeed. Meanwhile we talk of you and are heartened by your friendship, which seems very close and real, despite the miles that separate us. We shall cherish it and the memory of your loyalty to Martel. Meanwhile, you must not feel bound by your promise to come back, which was not a promise, after all, but merely an unselfish offer. Once again I repeat, it would do no good, and might only disappoint you. Besides, I am hoping that you have seen the woman of whom you told me and that she will need you.
"We are all well. We have made no plans.
"Yours gratefully, MARGHERITA GININI"
It was certainly unsatisfying, but her letters had all been of this somewhat formal nature. She persisted, too, in referring to that imaginary woman, and Blake regretted ever having mentioned her. If Margherita suspected the truth, she could not help feeling his lack of delicacy, his disloyalty to Martel, in confessing his love while the Count was still alive; if she really believed him to be in love with some other woman, it would necessitate sooner or later an explanation which he dreaded. At all events, he hoped that the surprise of seeing him unexpectedly, the knowledge that he had really crossed the world to help her, would tend to dissipate her melancholy and restore her old responsiveness.