The Argosy — page 121: what you’re looking at

Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.

yan. 1 1868. | Christmas Eve in Rome. 107 indeed, he knew he could be accommodated on the primo piano. The quiet voice made a stillness in the turmoil, and my heart seemed to leap up to meet it. In a very short space of time the stranger collected his properties together, had his boxes pushed into the ante-room, and settled his bill with Signora Bruna. I was occupied in seeing to the bestowal of our own luggage, for my father had complained of a sudden attack of gid- dinéss, and aunt Lucy was in attendance upon him; yet I could not but notice the silent celerity of the stranger, who never lifted his eyes to observe upon our movements, and seemed absorbed in the one effort to remove himself out of our way as soon as possible. I was standing on the landing-place, seeing.to the disposal of our last box, as he passed out. It was dark, and I involuntarily raised the candle I held in my hand to light him-as he came out. The flame shone upon both our faces as he looked up; two earnest eyes gazed fixedly into mine, and then over the grave face broke a sudden and very bnilliant smile. ‘‘ Good night,” he said, and was gone. ‘“ Nothing remarkable in ‘ good night’ from a polite stranger,” I chided myself, impatiently, as I turned back into the rooms. But it was no use to chide ; the voice and the smile haunted me. I found my father faint, and evidently unwell. So aunt Lucy and I coaxed him to he quietly on the sofa, while we settled matters generally. Signora Bruna undertook to supply dinner from a neighbouring restaurant, and in every arrangement showed the quickness and bonhommie of an Italian. The evening wore on ; dinner had been dispatched, and the padrona had come in to inquire what she could next do for us. Was there any- thing we wanted? Yes, there was, said my father. She was to order a comfortable carriage to take two ladies to St. Peter’s to the midnight service, wait for them, and bring them back. Aunt Lucy and I broke in with exclamations. ‘ We don’t want to go.” ‘We won't go without you.” “We can’t go alone, it would be dreadful ; in a strange place, too,” and so forth. But my father silenced us with invincible arguments. We had come to Rome that day on purpose, he said. He was very sorry he was too ill to go with us, but there could be no impropriety in ladies going to church alone ; and as to difficulties, did we expect to be run away with, by the Pope’s orders, or what? The Signora confirming, and my father persistent, we ladies yielded with a good grace; our only suggestion of sending a message to Charles, or to friends whose addresses we had, being stifled in the bud with, “ it’s too late for that.” The carriage was ordered at half-past two, and we agreed to go early to bed to obtain what sleep we might before starting. So at ten we wished each other good-night. My father’s parting injunction, as he lifted the striped curtain and opened his bedroom-door, was, ‘“‘ Mind to keep together to-night. Lucy, I depend on you for restraining that ECOMicoOolkxs.cO©