Drops of blood

Front matter

Shelf

I

I

Contents

The Curtain of Death, Uncommonly Common, One Woman’s Work, - Peace Ellithorpe, - Out of the World,

A Talkative Man, - ‘‘Very Interesting,” - On the Old Red Roof, Felix Gray,

The Colonel’s Widow, Lilith ! -

I

The red flag* which all day long* had floated from the flag-staff of the Riccadonna restaurant, now drooped like a scarlet lily. The blaze of summer sunlight was quenched; the afterglow of violet and rose presaged fair weather, and a young wind was whispering sleepily through the town, sweet secrets of the sea so near and yet unseen. The ailantus tree before the Riccadonna had shaken off enough white bloom to make one think that snow-flakes flne and fragrant lay on the stones beneath.

A young man, crossing the street diagonally from a tall building where he had lately taken an apartment, inspected the restaurant with critical eye. He had dined there once and was yet uncertain whether or not he had been pleased.

Mr. Clayton Berners was an oldish man intellectually considered ; he had many lines in his face. Yet in reality he was not more than flve and thirty, and had a trim, sender flgure. His deep blue eyes had the mild honesty of youth in them and his dark hair was yet unbristled with gray.

He walked deliberately, as though he inflnitely enjoyed the early evening’^ calmness, ascended thoughtfully the brown-stone steps and entered the

DROPS OF BLOOD.

parlor of the Riccadonna, where the tables were already nearly all filled.

But he saw no familiar face, and a strange feeling of loneliness crept over him. Was life — a bachelor life at least — worth living?’’ he asked himself, and fell into something like a gloomy frame of mind.

Pardon,” said a voice behind him — a deep voice with a tropical tremolo of liquids and semi-vowels — a little mellow moreover as if from the heat and some stimulant. Pardon — these other seats — are they engaged?” And without waiting for Mr. Berner’s reply, the speaker took a step forward and sank rather heavily into a chair. It is so warm,” he said, apologetically. ‘‘Actually it is so warm!”

Mr. Berners regarded him amiably. He was a man fast approaching middle-age, of large and elegant person and slightly careless as to attire. He was very bald — the smooth pinkness of his skull being surrounded b}^ a narrow ring of jet black hair. He had a heav}^ black beard and his eyes were so dark that pupil and iris seemed one.

“Yes,” said Mr. Berners when he perceived that a reply was expected, “it has been ver^^ warm out of doors. In the house I have not felt it so oppressive.”

“You have remained at home?” asked the newcomer, smiling sociably.

“That is my custom.”

“ Indeed ! You are not in business. I envy you. I do not know,” he continued, waving the waiter away impatiently, “actually I do not know when I have found it so exhausting. You are indeed fortunate to have remained idle at home !”

Mr. Berners smiled wearily.

“ I assure you I have not been idle. It has been a day of toil.”

THE CURTAIN OF DEATH.

You are an artist?’’

‘‘Perhaps I may offer you my card/’ said the youngman.

“ Delighted. Ah ! you are a teacher — of the voice. Most charming, I am sure. ‘Italian method!’ I, myself am an Italian. You would not have thought it, would you?”

He fumbled in his pockets a little and at length brought out a crumpled bit of pasteboard on which one read, in the latest script, “ Signor Salvator Perrini.”

“I knew you were not an American,” said Berners.

“May I ask how you knew?” he inquired with tipsy pomposity. He reached out as if to take Mr. Berners’ bottle of ordinaire.

“I judged from something in your bearing,” said Berners more carelessly. “By the by, I cannot recommend that wine.”

The Italian made haste to order a dry champagne, and insisted upon his companion joining him in disposing off it.

The conversation turned presently, and — very naturally — to Mr. Berners’ profession.

“I have a little girl,” said the Italian, “who sings like a bird, but who has had no instruction. I would like to have you teach her.”

Mr. Berners cleared his throat. Accessions of this sort were always welcome.

“ Is she young ?” he inquired.

“She is not yet twenty.”

“That is not too late,” said the young man, looking out into the street whence daylight was gradually fading. Already the great electric light outside the window began to flicker and flutter like a white dove

DROPS OF BLOOD.

beating* vainly with its wings the walls of a prison of glass.

The Italian roused him with an invitation to return home with him — to meet my little girl, my little lady.’’

After a moment’s hesitation Berners consented. The Italian was rather uncertain in his movements, and unattended, might meet with some mishap. It would be but a Christian act to escort him safely — and it might mean another clever pupil.

^^Your daughter,” said Mr. Berners, as having settled the score and feed the waiter, they went out and down the stone steps, past the fluttering white light and the shamed gas-jets — ‘^your daughter might — ”

^^My daughter?” interrupted the other with a mellow laugh. O, not my daughter, you know.”

I beg your pardon ; your ward.”

But the Italian seemed not to hear, for the clatter of a passing cab.^

They crossed the street, passing from under the heavy perfume of the tree ; onward past an old stone church, and around into the central avenue of the city.

The walk and the night-air assisted the signor to recover his equilibrium. They were conversing rationally when they arrived at the entrance to a tall apartment house. The signor touched an electric bell, and led the way up stairs, halting on the third landing.

A door suddenly opened, and Berners started at the glimpse he caught of light and luxury within, the breath of subtle perfume. Then swiftly out of all the soft splendor stood forth an especial radiance. A fair young girl, dressed all in white, with white flowers on her bosom, and the look of an angel in her face !

THE CURTAIN OF DEATH.

Darling she cried. How late you are

Berners shrank back as if he had been struck. For a moment the place seemed to whirl.

‘‘My God he said to himself. “This is horrible.’’

Then he felt himself swept, submerged with a wave of compassion for her pure face, her pure attire, her soul, that somehow must be pure — and ignorant. He had seen other white things that day. Curiously his thoughts went back to the white electric light, fluttering like a caged dove before the Riccadonna.

The signor spoke good humoredly.

“ I have a friend, my dear; Mr. Berners.”

They followed her into the drawing-room.

“ You have dined, I hope, Salome ?”

‘ ‘ 0, yes ; some time since, though I waited for - you,” she answered musically. She had a voice without crack or flaw, smooth, pure, silver. She made a pretty hostess, besides. She brought fans and poured delicious iced drinks from a heavy silver pitcher. Berners gazed arpund him almost fearfully. The rich rugs into which one’s footsteps sank, the studded walls, the rare pictures and costly bric-a-brac; the dim hues and mystic tracery, the statuary, the tinted light filtering through rose hued globes, the bronzes, the portieres ! It was bewildering, in fine.

As he continued to gaze, his attention Avas drawn to and fascinated by a splendid curtain of purest velvet dependent from burnished rings and rod at the farther end of the room. In hue it was tawny as a tiger’s hide, while across the sweeping, seductive surface a painted peacock, plumed for parade, stood framed in waving yet esthetic foliage.

Berners regarded the picture with enchantment, and an incredible longing to approach and smooth the glorious stuff.

DROPS OP BLOOD.

Salome sat low on a hassock at the feet of Perrini, who, being- so well wined, had thrown himself back in his easy chair and dozed at intervals. He opened his eyes presently, with a good-humored smile.

“My dear, Mr. Berners admires your portiere. Go over and examine it, Mr. Berners.”

Berners obeyed, stroking the velvet with tender awe. Salome came also, with something of a child’s shyness.

“It was not easy to do, ” she said. “It took me many days.”

“ You !” exclaimed Berners.

“Yes; I did it all.”

“ I would not have imagined it,” he said awkwardly.

She smiled wistfully as they returned to their seats.

Perrini had roused again and sat upright, as if suddenly conscious of having violated some law of hospitality. He made Salome play a nocturne, and listened to the sweet alternate passages of major and minor music with a pleased air of proprietorship.

Berners, equally attentive, inquired if she had studied long.

“During the two years she was at school,” said Perrini. “Two years, was it not, love ?”

“Two years,” she replied with a smile. Berners could never forget her expression at that moment ; in all the days that followed, there came no hope precious, no trouble terrible enough to obliterate the picture. As long as he lived he was destined to recall the pure placidity of that face.

Next the signor would have her sing, explaining that she was to become Mr. Berners’ pupil.

“ Before a teacher ? 0,1 dare not,” she murmured.

“Come, come!” exclaimed Perrini, “H^ is not to criticise; he understands you have not studied.”

THE CURTAIN OF DEATH.

The air she sang* was one familiar. Berners had heard it a thousand times, with its pretty, pathetic waltz refrain, ground out hy street musicians ; heard it and sickened of it. What the Avords were he knew not ; some prophecy, perchance, timed to the nesting of robins. Nevertheless he listened, and found, maybe, a plaintive note in her untutored voice.

It is true you need to strengthen the upper tones, but there is sympathetic quality evident,’^ he said as he arose.

^^You are not going?’’ exclaimed Perrini, rising also. We have not arranged about the lessons.”

Berners hesitated. He was averse to accepting pupils from outside the pale of society. It would never do to bring this little lady in contact with the aristocratic Avomen who composed his classes, or even to have her meet his pupils of the opposite sex.

hardly knoAv,” he said, ‘^Avhat hour I could receive her.”

But you will come here,” interrupted Perrini.

‘‘Here? All my pupils come to me,” shaking his head, yet half-inclined toAvard thd suggestion as one of sense, since thus might be avoided all rencontres.

“ I have a morning hour,” he said, slowly, “ at ten, three days of the Aveek.”

The signor, swift to arrange details, accompanied his guest out to the landing, where he stood close to demand congratulations upon the possession of a treasure.

Berners made some hasty reply; then, overcome Avith impatience, rushed from the winey breath of the Italian to gain the cool air of the street.

He drew a sigh of relief as he passed southward through trfe avenue.

“ Poor child !” he said presently, Avith an indescrib-

DROPS OP BLOOD.

able feeling, and hastened on homeward, not forgetting a lesson appointment with his new pupil for the early morrow.

II

Signor Perrin i was seldom present during the instruction hour. Berners was not suprised at this, deeming it a certainty the Italian maintained two separate establishments, a legitimate wife and family being necessarily included in the other menage. As his acquaintance progressed with Salome, he fell more and more into the habit of considering such matters. To him, who hitherto had known only those within the charmed circle of respectability, there was a fascinating though painful novelty in dealing with people of this class. For this beautiful little creature, whom now he met so often, was, in every sense, a lady. In every sense but one, he said, more grimly. And this deficiency? Was it her fault? Clearly the signor adored her, and, were he a single man, would hasten to make her his wife. Berners had come deliberately to this conclusion ; putting himself in the signor’s place, questioning his own heart, and therewith judging her as beautiful and good. He forebore to pity her, when he found that she was really happy and contented in her peculiar position. His knowledge of such arrangements had hitherto been limited to printed tales of heartless deceivers and deserted unfortunates ; but this was totally different. Salome, in her luxurious home, bloomed rose-like under a cloudless horizon. She had probably never known so much as a frown from the Italian.

THE CURTAIN OF DEATH.

One day — Berners was never after certain how it had come about — he heard her story. He fancied he stood gazing* at the portiere, that glorious conclusion of the long apartment, and that she had spoken softly :

You are looking at my portiere ?”

Yes,” he had assented. It facinates me strangly. Besides, it was your handiwork.”

^^Long ago,” she said dreamily, with the first sigh he had heard her utter ; Long ago !”

So very long ?” he smiled, ‘‘ And you so young !”

^‘It seems a long three years. And I am nineteen.”

Then (or so he fancied) he had spoken on the impulse of the moment :

Will you tell me all about it ?”

All about it ? O, it is not much ; it would not interest you.”

Yes,” he said gravely. I am sure that it would interest me. Tell me something of your past.” He went over to the portiere and smoothed it with his hand and laid his cheek against it, as though it were some tawny, passive animal.

As he returned Salome sat on her favorite hassock.

May I sit here?” he asked, and when she nodded, he seated himself in the signor’s easy-chair. No sooner had he done so than he felt an odd sensation at discovering himself in Perrini’s place. . . . Moreover, she was looking up at him as he had seen her look at the Italian. Her little hand, upon the chair-arm at his side, was fair and tender as a child’s, and as dainty to be taken in one’s own. Yet not for worlds would he have laid his palm upon it.

You are very happy?” he asked at length.

‘^Yes; quite happy.” She smiled as if she meant it. I have not been unhappy since I came here.

DROPS OF BLOOD.

Before that, I was at school ; before that — ah she

shivered.

Go on/’ he gently urged. Please go on. Tell me of your troubles before that^ of your childhood.”

Would it interest you?”

Anything about you interests me,” he said, very seriously.

But it is not pleasant to remember, and I have tried to forget it. O, it was terrible, until he came ! Until he came and was so kind and generous !”

Berners stirred uneasily ; her words gave him no great joy.

^^You had no parents?”

I never knew them !”

‘‘Nor any friends ?”

“ Friends ?” She hesitated. Perhaps she had some faint knowledge of the degradation to which that word has fallen.

“ With whom did you live ?”

“ O ! Do not let me remember ! First, the filthy horrors of a narrow street, and the mercy of a cruel old hag, who beat me when I Avould not lie and steal ; beat me till I ran away from her. Then a charity school, where I learned to read and write and sew ; then a dressmaker’s shop ; then life by itself in a little tenement room ; then as a clerk in a shop ; then learning quickly to paint on china and satin and velvet. Then, finally, work like that,” she pointed to the portiere. “ Work, work, work ! Slow, steady, careful ! Never a pause, though I was faint with hunger ; never a pause, though parched with thirst, or worn with pain. Every line was drawn in feverish suffering ! Every crimson feather on the border was dyed with my heart’s blood!” She had begun to speak wildly, but seemed now to recollect herself. Her voice

THE CURTAIN OF DEATH.

softened and fell from its shrill height. ‘‘At last he came ! He had seen my work in the shop — my portiere — and wished to buy it. When he saw me, he said : ‘ Poor child ! Have you no friends on earth? Then I will be your friend.’ . . . And he was true to his promise. He sent me at once to school, where I remained two years. Then he brought me to this beautiful place. ‘This is your home,’ he said. ‘You are henceforth its queen.’ . . . Then, looking up, I saw my portiere, the work of my own hands, and I remembered all ; all the anguish of the past, all the toil and suffering and misery ! All the hopelessness ! And I rushed wildly to his arms crying. ‘ O, I love and thank you! You have saved me!’ ‘My sweet Salome,” he said — the name that he himself had given me — ‘I shall worship you forever!’ . . . And so a year has gone. And, there still hangs the portiere. . . . And I have never been unhappy !”

Berners arose ; his heart was beating with unusual violence. He dared not speak at once. He must pause and analyze his feelings. He was strangely disturbed. To gain time he walked the length of the room, gazing meanwhile at the portiere. Salome followed and plucked at the golden velvet to show him its lining of pale satin. As she did so, he caught, for the first time, a glimpse of the adjoining apartment, a small but exquisite library, and be^mnd a boudoir chamber.

A thrill of sudden horror crept upon him. He had no power, no inclination to admire.

And shortly after he took his leave.

At the foot of the stairs he encountered Perrini, who greeted him good naturedly.

“ You are just leaving ? And how is my little one ?”

“ We have had a good lesson,” said Berners clumsily. “You have been away ?”

DROPS OF BLOOD.

, not from the city. I have been at my other rooms.’’

''With wife and family, I suppose,” said Berners with a recklessness almost savage.

"Wife ? Family ? O, dear, no ! I am a thorough bachelor.”

Berners started, with a smothered exclamation.

You are not married ?”

" By no means. You seem surprised. What could have given you that impression ?”

"Nothing — nothing! Nothing whatever. Only — you are not married

Perrini laughed.

" I have told you ' no my friend.”

" Pardon me ! I — I — one gets strange notions occasionally.” And he stammered himself into the street, hardly knowing which way he went, but saying over and over to himself : " Not a married man ! In Christ’s name, then, why has he wronged her so ?”

He could hear the question ringing in his ears, as he went more slowly on , his way ; on and on, into the street of his home, and of the Riccadonna, whose red flag stared at him like a pool of blood upon the morning sky. He could hear it surging through his veins, on the very current of his life. Having foreborne, till now, to pity her he could forbear no longer.

"Poor child I” he said, with all the yearning of a great compassion.

THE CURTAIN OF DEATH.

III

Perrini was present at the next lesson, throughout which he sat in his easy-chair, his eyes shut, a smile of satisfaction on his face. When it was over he demanded the pleasure of walking down with the other gentleman.

Berners was pleased to find opportunity for putting a plain question to the Italian, having made up his mind to do so and risk his displeasure.

It was a gracious morning for a walk. The signor was in a splendid humor. He expressed delight at the progress of Salome.

Berners immediately took courage to praise her talents and aptitude.

‘^Yes,” said Perrini, altogether admirable, is she not?’’

She would do you credit in any position,” said Berners, pointedly. Then, as he fancied the Italian appeared pleased, he determined to push boldly ahead.

You remember the other morning, perhaps. Signor Perrini ? When I was so — so astonished to learn you were not a man of family. I feel as if I owed you an explanation. The truth is, I was surprised to think that, being untrameled, you had not — you had not done justice to your little lady.”

Justice ? ”

‘‘By marrying her,” said Berners desperately.

“ Marrying her,” repeated the Italian. “ Marrying Salome ? ”

The idea was, to him, evidently so strange, so vast, so amazing, that he fell into it, metaphorically and floundered there.

DROPS OF BLOOD.

‘^Marrying* Salome ? ’’ he re-repeated.

^^Yes/’ pursued Berners. ^‘And why not? It would be only just to give her the world’s esteem. Apart from that, she is good, beautiful, pure ! She loves you fondly; you love her. You are proud of her; you would be prouder as her husband. She is very inch a lady ! ”

There he paused, as if he had lost his breath.

Apparently the Italian was not vexed. He absorbed the suggestion slowly, dispassionately.

^‘Oh,” he said at length. ‘^I am sure I hardly know. To tell the truth I do not care for marriage, nor for that matter does Salome. We are perfectly happy in our present relations. As you have said I am untrameled ; and marriage is a great responsibility. Of course, if she desired it, if she should ask it, I suppose I would marry her.”

You really would ? ”

It is quite possible.”

They parted at the next corner. ^^If this were the case,” Berners said to himself, as he turned towards his own avenue ; if this were the case, he had only to suggest the question to Salome.”

When she had acted upon it, and Perrini had acceded, he, Berners, would be content.

When he went next to her apartment, . Salome came running to meet him, with face as pale as her dress. (Somehow she always wore white.)

I am so glad that you have come !” she cried. I am so nervous. He has not been home since yesterday morning ; and last night I had an awful dream. Do jmu believe in dreams?”

'' Not always,” he answered, trying to smile.

^^But this was such a horrible dream! Wait a moment,” She darted off and slipped behind the por-

THE CURTAIN OF DEATH.

tiere into the library, whence she reappeared immediately, bearing something steely and slender. ‘ ‘ Look ! ’ ’ she cried. This is his stiletto, an heirloom ; it always hangs upon the wall within. Notice the blade, how keen and beautiful ! I dreamed that you and I were standing here together, and that some one — partly I thought it was he — came rushing out from behind the portiere, and stabbed me through the heart with this stiletto, until I fell down, and it grew dark and I no longer saw you

Berners shuddered.

^^Put it away,” he said. ^^It is a horrible tool for death. Only barbarians would — ah ! pardon me ! Do not be angry !”

I am not angry,” she said quietly, and hastened to replace it.

I cannot hear you sing yet,” he said as she returned. You have disturbed me with that horrible dagger.”

Disturbed you ?”

Yes ; let us sit down and talk awhile, until we forget.” It seemed to him he hardly knew his own purpose.

‘^You look serious,” she said. ^^What has happened?”

Nothing has happened.”

But something worries you. You have had bad news ?”

Nervous and perplexed, he could not look her in the eyes.

^"No; I — nothing. Let us talk of yourself, of Signor Perrini.” He forced a smile. ‘^You are quite happy this morning?”

Only for that awful dream,” she answered so

DROPS OF BLOOD.

trustfully, so like a child, that he felt at heart a great pang.

I am glad of that,’’ he said, but he sighed at the same moment.

I wish you could tell me what you are thinking about,” she cried. ^‘1 feel as if you knew something you feared to tell me. There has nothing happened?”

0, no ; nothing has happened.”

What then?”

What then?” he still dallied. scarcely know . . . . Will you believe I am your true friend ?”

Will you promise not to be offended at anything I may say?”

She grew very pale.

Yes ; I will believe — and promise.”

Thank you,” he said, gently. Then after a little delay —

Until day before yesterday I had supposed that Signor Perrini was a man of family — a married man.” He had fixed his gaze on the carpet, lacking courage to meet her own.

But, when she spoke, her quiet voice seemed only to invite further confidence.

‘^Had you, indeed?”

^‘Yes. I was surprised, astounded, when I heard the contrary from his own lips.”

But why ?” How strangely quiet she appeared.

/^Why?” he cried, springing to his feet, nerved suddenly to look upon her. ^^Why?” he repeated with stern, anxious countenance. Because I did not dream that any less reason would prevent his doing justice to you !”

At this she also rose.

THE CURTAIN OF HEATH. Si

^^0, hush, hush!” she cried, trembling*. ^‘Hush. If he should hear you ?”

Are you afraid of him ?”

^^No,” she faltered, ‘‘but I would not like to have him hear — ”

“Salome! you are breathless; you are shaking from head to foot. Be calm !”

He lead her to the sofa, where he seated himself by her side.

“ Be calm and let me speak,” he implored. “ Salome would you not be far happier if your position were made right in the eyes of the world ? Would jmu not be happier as his wife ?”

“ Don’t !” she cried sharply. “ Don’t speak of such things ! It could never be.”

“But why? Suppose that he were willing; that you had onl^^ to ask?”

In an instant she had become a woman. The sweet and childlike confidence was gone. All a woman! Proven by the sudden fierce passion, the threatened desperacy of her high-pitched voice.

“Do you think, do you imagine I would take the chance— the awful chance? Suppose he should refuse ? I should hate him so that I should want to murder him ! Do you think I would take that awful chance ?”

He had no answer for her now. His heart was aching; aching horribly. His voice had almost a hopeless ring.

“You love him then so dearly ?”

But she grew impatient.

“ I do not know — perhaps. He has been good to me. But then you should not make me think of what might happen.”

He laid his hand upon her arm.

DROPS OF BLOOD.

Forgive me if I have made you suffer. I thought* only of your welfare. It is about — all I think of — now.’^

His unsteady voice touched her.

How good you are she cried.

No ; I am selfish. It would please me best of all to know you were supremely happy.’’

Do not speak of that again/’ she pleaded. I am content as I am.” Yet a weary look came upon her face, a look that he had never seen before.

You are quite sure? Suppose I told you that I knew you need only ask him for this — justice,”

She started and grew again vehement.

^‘Do you know it?” she cried. ‘^Can you assure me so?”

He was silent. Could he? Would he, if he could? He hardly knew what this strange reluctance meant. What were Perrini words? suppose I should

marry her.” Suppose”; yes that was the word. He felt a curious relief that the signor had not fully assured him.

I think — ” he faltered.

You think ; you do not know. Perhaps you have talked with him.”

How different this from the sweet child manner of a short hour since. What bitter womanhood had found her in that space ?

Let us never speak of it again. I am too proud to run such risk, and then, moreover, I am satisfied. But I swear to you I should hate him. I would not stay a day, an hour, if he should refuse. I would go out into the world again homeless, friendless.”

^ ^ Friendless ?” he repeated, reproachfully. ^^You forget me!”

No, no ; I do not forget,” she replied more gently.

THE CURTAIN OP DEATH.

Salome.” He spoke in a voice scarce louder than whisper. Salome.”

She turned her tearless, pitiful eyes upon him.

Listen,” he said ; I will influence him. I can do it. He shall do you justice. Then, after that — ^you will not see me again.”'

Not see you again ! But why ?”

It will he better so,” he said in a subdued voice.

But I cannot see — I do not understand. You said you were my friend.”