“Trevelyan,” he said, “you know why I have come over here?”
“I suppose she told you to come,” said Trevelyan.
“Well; yes; she did tell me. I came to try and get you back to England. If you remain here, the climate and solitude together will kill you.”
“As for the climate, I like it;—and as for solitude, I have got used even to that.”
“And then there is another thing,” said Stanbury.
“What is that?” asked Trevelyan, starting.
“You are not safe here.”
“How not safe?”
“She could not tell you, but I must.” His wife was still holding his hand, and he did not at once attempt to withdraw it; but he raised himself in his chair, and fixed his eyes fiercely on Stanbury. “They will not let you remain here quietly,” said Stanbury.
“Who will not?”
“The Italians. They are already saying that you are not fit to be alone; and if once they get you into their hands—under some Italian medical board, perhaps into some Italian asylum, it might be years before you could get out—if ever. I have come to tell you what the danger is. I do not know whether you will believe me.”
“Is it so?” he said, turning to his wife.
“I believe it is, Louis.”
“And who has told them? Who has been putting them up to it?” Now his hand had been withdrawn. “My God, am I to be followed here too with such persecution as this?”
“Nobody has told them—but people have eyes.”
“Liar, traitor, fiend!—it is you!” he said, turning upon his wife.
“Louis, as I hope for mercy, I have said not a word to anyone that could injure you.”
“Trevelyan, do not be so unjust, and so foolish,” said Stanbury. “It is not her doing. Do you suppose that you can live here like this and give rise to no remarks? Do you think that people’s eyes are not open, and that their tongues will not speak? I tell you, you are in danger here.”
“What am I to do? Where am I to go? Can not they let me stay till I die? Whom am I hurting here? She may have all my money, if she wants it. She has got my child.”
“I want nothing, Louis, but to take you where you may be safe and well.”
“Why are you afraid of going to England?” Stanbury asked.
“Because they have threatened to put me—in a madhouse.”
“Nobody ever thought of so treating you,” said his wife.
“Your father did—and your mother. They told me so.”
“Look here, Trevelyan. Sir Marmaduke and Lady Rowley are gone. They will have sailed, at least, before we can reach England. Whatever may have been either their wishes or their power, they can do nothing now. Here something would be done—very soon; you may take my word for that. If you will return with me and your wife, you shall choose your own place of abode. Is not that so, Emily?”
“He shall choose everything. His boy will be with him, and I will be with him, and he shall be contradicted in nothing. If he only knew my heart towards him!”
“You hear what she says, Trevelyan?”
“Yes; I hear her.”
“And you believe her?”
“I’m not so sure of that. Stanbury, how should you like to be locked up in a madhouse and grin through the bars till your heart was broken? It would not take long with me, I know.”
“You shall never be locked up;—never be touched,” said his wife.
“I am very harmless here,” he said, almost crying; “very harmless. I do not think anybody here will touch me,” he added, afterwards. “And there are other places. There are other places. My God, that I should be driven about the world like this!” The conference was ended by his saying that he would take two days to think of it, and by his then desiring that they would both leave him. They did so, and descended the hill together, knowing that he was watching them—that he would watch them till they were out of sight from the gate;—for, as Mrs. Trevelyan said, he never came down the hill now, knowing that the labour of ascending it was too much for him. When they were at the carriage they were met by one of the women of the house, and strict injunctions were given to her by Mrs. Trevelyan to send on word to Siena if the Signore should prepare to move. “He cannot go far without my knowing it,” said she, “because he draws his money in Siena, and lately I have taken to him what he wants. He has not enough with him for a long journey.” For Stanbury had suggested that he might be off to seek another residence in another country, and that they would find Casalunga vacant when they reached it on the following Tuesday. But he told himself almost immediately—not caring to express such an opinion to Emily—that Trevelyan would hardly have strength even to prepare for such a journey by himself.
On the intervening day, the Monday, Stanbury had no occupation whatever, and he thought that since he was born no day had ever been so long. Siena contains many monuments of interest, and much that is valuable in art—having had a school of painting of its own, and still retaining in its public gallery specimens of
