BEPPO, THE CONSCRIPT.
BY T. ADOLPHUS TROLLOPE.
CHAPTER VII. MAIDEN MEDITATIONS.
When Giulia at last escaped from la Signora Sunta, and the inspection and consideration of “things,” and was able to get away to her own little chamber for the night, she felt as if she had been stunned during the last two or three hours, and was only now for the first time able to bring her mind really to bear with anything that could be called thought, or the communication that had been made to her. She drew the rough bolt which supplied the place of lock and handle on the door of her room through its two rusty staples by its hanging handle, and having thus made sure of privacy, she sat down on the side of her bed to think.
And the thoughts that came were very bitter. It was not that she was being separated from Beppo. Che! What was Beppo to her? What could Beppo ever be to her? She had known all that before; not now for the first time. She knew very well that he loved her. What was the good of pretending not to be aware of it? But was that her fault? And she herself—did she care for him? What business had anybody to ask that? What right had anybody to think it? She was quite sure that Beppo must fancy she hated him. Had not she always behaved as if she had an aversion to him? Had she ever sought his love? Had she not abstained from even raising her eyes to look on the sacred heir-apparent of the house? Had she not striven loyally? She knew his position; she knew her own; she knew his father’s hopes and wishes. Had she not been loyal? And now she was turned out of the house for fear Beppo should make love to her! And others were to be consulted! She was to be talked over with strangers! This smooth-spoken attorney from Fano—his kindness to her! Oh bella! as if she did not see through his kindness, and understand it all! Had she tried to stand in the way of his daughter? Let the whitey-brown thing have Beppo, if she could catch him. She had a certain amount of doubt about her success in that respect; even though she, the poor cousin, were turned into the streets to secure it!
It was hard to bear; very, very hard! How cautious she had been! how proudly determined never to allow room for a suspicion that she had abused the charity of which she was the object, to the securing of a rich marriage! Cautious!—she had been cruel in her proud humility, yes, cruel to poor Beppo—honest, frank, simple, loving-hearted Beppo. Love her! That he did. At all events, she would never be guilty of the hypocrisy to herself of pretending not to know how truly, deeply, devotedly, untiringly he had loved her! And how proudly cold she had always been to him! How she had denied him every opportunity of being alone with her! How she had affected not to understand his simple, honest love-making, to despise his bluff, awkward compliments; to turn away from the frank, loving glance of his great blue eyes! And all for this! And as these thoughts passed through her mind the hard, proud mood gradually faded out of it, the lip began to quiver, her breath came short, the tears gathered slowly in her eyes; and presently, as a special recollection crossed her mind of poor Beppo’s look, when at his last ceppo he had walked into Fano, and bought a neck ribband of a colour she had praised, and she had told him at his return that he had better give it to Nina Sganci, at Santa Lucia, for that she had changed her mind, and should never wear that colour again. A passionate agony of weeping seized her. Oh! how she saw before her his look of pain and disappointment, as he flung the despised gift behind the kitchen fire! And she flung herself down on the pillow, sobbing at the thought as though her heart would break.
But when the paroxysm of uncontrollable weeping had in some degree subsided, she began to question herself about her future conduct, especially on the immediate occasion of her departure. Beppo would endeavour to speak with her;—to bid her farewell, at least. Was she to take care that he got no opportunity of doing so? Was it likely that he would confine himself to a simple farewell? Would not so fair, so plausible an opportunity, be seized for saying something else as well? And how was that something else to be answered? Must her answer—her final answer to him, be of a piece with all her past conduct? Had his father deserved of her that it should be so? Was she bound in honour and in gratitude for the charity, that was now about to be withdrawn from her, to continue to sacrifice his happiness, and—her own? Yes! the hot blush came with the thought, though no human eye was there to see it. It was the sacrifice of her own happiness. Yes! Conscience had spoken the truth! Let it stand. She would affect or attempt to deny it no more. Was she bound to continue this self-sacrifice? Had she not done enough? Might she not consider all accounts to be squared between herself and Paolo Vanni? In that case, with how different a heart should she go away from Bella Luce, and face the world! In that case—ah! would not the little attorney’s interference turn out to have been a blessing? In that case—at the delicious moment when those dear, honest blue eyes should look once again so wistfully into hers, and she should be able with one glance and half a word to let him know that all the past had been a delusion and a falsehood;—that the cruel duty, which had coerced her every word and look, was a duty no longer! And Beppo would know at last that she was not cold,