There were voices below.
Pepita started.
"They come. I must go," said she, dropping her veil.
"Confound them!" cried d.i.c.k.
"_Addio_!" sighed Pepita.
d.i.c.k caught her in his arms. She tore herself away with sobs.
She was gone.
d.i.c.k sank back in his chair, with his eyes fixed hungrily on the door.
"Hallo!" burst the Doctor"s voice on his ears. "Who"s that old girl?
Hey? Why, d.i.c.k, how pale you are! You"re worse. Hang it! you"ll have a relapse if you don"t look out. You must make a total change in your diet--more stimulating drink and generous food. However, the drive to Florence will set you all right again."
CHAPTER x.x.x.
OCCUPATIONS AND PEREGRINATIONS OF b.u.t.tONS.
If b.u.t.tons had spent little time in his room before he now spent less.
He was exploring the ruins of Rome, the churches, the picture galleries, and the palaces under new auspices. He knew the name of every palace and church in the place. He acquired this knowledge by means of superhuman application to "Murray"s Hand-book" on the evenings after leaving his companions. They were enthusiastic, particularly the ladies. They were perfectly familiar with all the Spanish painters and many of the Italian. b.u.t.tons felt himself far inferior to them in real familiarity with Art, but he made amends by brilliant criticisms of a transcendental nature.
[Ill.u.s.tration: b.u.t.tons and Murray.]
It was certainly a pleasant occupation for youth, sprightliness, and beauty. To wander all day long through that central world from which forever emanate all that is fairest and most enticing in Art, Antiquity, and Religion; to have a soul open to the reception of all these influences, and to have all things glorified by Almighty love; in short, to be in love in Rome.
Rome is an inexhaustible store-house of attractions. For the lovers of gayety there are the drives of the Pincian Hill, or the Villa Borghese. For the student, ruins whose very dust is eloquent. For the artist, treasures beyond price. For the devotee, religion. How fortunate, thought b.u.t.tons, that in addition to all this there is, for the lovers of the beautiful, beauty!
Day after day they visited new scenes. Upon the whole, perhaps, the best way to see the city, when one can not spend one"s life there, is to take Murray"s Hand-book, and, armed with that red necessity, dash energetically at the work; see every thing that is mentioned; hurry it up in the orthodox manner; then throw the book away, and go over the ground anew, wandering easily wherever fancy leads.
CHAPTER x.x.xI.
b.u.t.tONS ACTS THE GOOD SAMARITAN, AND LITERALLY UNEARTHS A MOST UNEXPECTED VICTIM OF AN ATROCIOUS ROBBERY.--GR-R-R-A-CIOUS ME!
To these, once wandering idly down the Appian Way, the ancient tower of Metella rose invitingly. The carriage stopped, and ascending, they walked up to the entrance. They marvelled at the enormous blocks of travertine of which the edifice was built, the n.o.ble simplicity of the style, the venerable garment of ivy which hid the ravages of time.
The door was open, and they walked in. b.u.t.tons first; the ladies timidly following; and the Don bringing up the rear. Suddenly a low groan startled them. It seemed to come from the very depths of the earth. The ladies gave a shriek, and dashing past their brother, ran out. The Don paused. b.u.t.tons of course advanced. He never felt so extensive in his life before. What a splendid opportunity to give an exhibition of manly courage! So he walked on, and shouted:
"Who"s there?"
A groan!
Further in yet, till he came to the inner chamber. It was dark there, the only light coming in through the pa.s.sages. Through the gloom he saw the figure of a man lying on the floor so tied that he could not move.
"Who are you? What"s the matter?"
"Let me loose, for G.o.d"s sake!" said a voice, in thick Italian, with a heavy German accent. "I"m a traveller. I"ve been robbed by brigands."
To s.n.a.t.c.h his knife from his pocket, to cut the cords that bound the man, to lift him to his feet, and then to start back with a cry of astonishment, were all the work of an instant. By this time the others had entered.
The man was a German, unmistakably. He stood blinking and staring.
Then he stretched his several limbs and rubbed himself. Then he took a long survey of the new-comers. Then he stroked a long, red, forked beard, and, in tones expressive of the most profound bewilderment, slowly e.j.a.c.u.l.a.t.ed--
"Gr-r-r-r-acious me!"
"Meinheer Schatt!" cried b.u.t.tons, grasping his hand. "How in the name of wonder did you get here? What has happened to you? Who tied you up?
Were you robbed? Were you beaten? Are you hurt? But come out of this dark hole to the sunshine."
Meinheer Schatt walked slowly out, saying nothing to these rapid inquiries of b.u.t.tons. The German intellect is profound, but slow; and so Meinheer Schatt took a long time to collect his scattered ideas.
b.u.t.tons found that he was quite faint; so producing a flask from his pocket he made him drink a little precious cordial, which revived him greatly. After a long pull he heaved a heavy sigh, and looked with a piteous expression at the new-comers. The kind-hearted Spaniards insisted on taking him to their carriage. He was too weak to walk. They would drive him. They would listen to no refusal. So Meinheer Schatt was safely deposited in the carriage, and told his story.
He had come out very early in the morning to visit the Catacombs. He chose the early part of the day so as to be back before it got hot.
Arriving at the Church of St. Sebastian he found to his disappointment that it was not open yet. So he thought he would beguile the time by walking about. So he strolled off to the tomb of Caecelia Metella, which was the most striking object in view. He walked around it, and broke off a few pieces of stone. He took also a few pieces of ivy.
These he intended to carry away as relics. At last he ventured to enter and examine the interior. Scarce had he got inside than he heard footsteps without. The door was blocked up by a number of ill-looking men, who came in and caught him.
Meinheer Schatt confessed that he was completely overcome by terror.
However, he at last mustered sufficient strength to ask what they wanted.
"You are our prisoner."
"Why? Who are you?"
"We are the secret body-guard of His Holiness, appointed by the Sacred Council of the Refectory," said one of the men, in a mocking tone.
Then Meinheer Schatt knew that they were robbers. Still he indignantly protested he was an unoffending traveller.
"It"s false! You have been mutilating the sacred sepulchre of the dead, and violating the sanct.i.ty of their repose!"
And the fellow, thrusting his hands in the prisoner"s pockets, brought forth the stones and ivy. The others looked into his other pockets, examined his hat, made him strip, shook his clothes, pried into his boots--in short, gave him a thorough overhaul.
They found nothing, except, as Meinheer acknowledged, with a faint smile, a piece of the value of three half-cents American, which he had brought as a fee to the guide through the Catacombs. It was that bit of money that caused his bonds. It maddened them. They danced around him in perfect fury, and asked what he meant by daring to come out and give them so much trouble with only that bit of impure silver about him.
"Dog of a Tedescho! Your nation has trampled upon our liberties; but Italy shall be avenged! Dog! scoundrel! villain! Tedescho!