The Argosy — page 127: what you’re looking at

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

112 The Perplexitves of Captain Pteramosca. Four people, with an income which in England would render starva- tion a mere question of time, were not likely to make many excur- sions to the mainland. Fieramosca rose to take his leave with a dignity which betrayed his wounded feelings. A quiver of regret passed over the sour countenance of Enrico’s mother as she responded to the farewell. But she would not unbend. ‘The officer’s eyes had said too much on his first visit, and Clelia had been too rebellious ever since, actually going to the length of huffing Signor Biagio. Poor Fieramosca went downstairs feeling very crestfallen. As the green door closed behind him, he looked up at the third-floor win- dows regretfully. One of them opened, and Clelia’s golden head appeared. Without seeming to notice the woe-begone lover, whose attitude had already let half the neighbourhood into his secret, she called to a flock of pigeons that were brooding away the sunny hours on the parapet of a neighbouring house. They flew greedily, one, the tamest, perching on her shoulder. She took it, caressed it, then throwing a handful of grain so that it fell just at the young man’s feet, let the pigeon fly in search of it. The whole flock followed, and Clelia closed the window. But as the pigeons hustled and fought in front of him, Fieramosca noticed a white something protruding from beneath the tame one’s wing. To catch the little glutton was at that moment the easiest of tasks, and the next instant saw him in exultant possession of the note which it had unwittingly brought. Just so much prudence he still had as to resolve to wait before reading it until he was round the corner. Feeling very heroic upon the strength of this determination, he was presently much discon- certed to discover that all his proceedings had been observed. A lady seated upon a balcony overlooking the acacias was watching him with smiling eyes. She was young and rather pretty. Had Fieramosca not been in love he might have thought her very pretty. As it was, he mentally consigned her to Jericho and marched off, the colour of a poppy. Tearing open the note two minutes later, he found a hurried, blurred, pathetic scrawl, telling him that Clelia was now on the brink of despair. Her mother watched her more vigilantly than ever, and hardly spoke but to scold her. Aunt Giustina preached to her from morning to night, and, to crown all, Signor Biagio declared that he would wait no longer. Unless Enrico interfered, another week would see the contract signed, and she had no alternative but suicide. Let the sympathetic reader conceive the condition to which this news reduced Fieramosca. He telegraphed to Enrico and wrote ; then alternated between rage and the blackest melancholy, as every moment made him realize more and more how helpless he himself was to save the woman he loved. With the common-sense charac- Gomichooks;com