Feeling that he could not possibly reject such a plea, Roger said firmly: "I promise." The Senora smiled at him, took one of his hands in hers for a moment and pressed it gently, then closed her eyes.
Limping over to the door he beckoned Isabella inside; and on her asking in a low voice what her duenna had wanted with him, he replied: "She is anxious that you should get some rest, so asked me to sit by her for the rest of the night."
At seven o'clock the doctor came. He thought the patient slightly better and hoped that the crisis would be passed by midday. But by ten o'clock the Senora had become delirious again, and Isabella, now in tears, decided to send for a priest.
Half an hour later the tinkling of the mournful little bell, that announces the passing of the Host through the street, was wafted to them on the hot air coming through a window that Roger, in defiance of French medical practice, had insisted on opening.
For a while the priest sat with them. Then, as the sick woman seemed to be getting weaker and showed no sign of returning consciousness, he administered extreme unction. At a quarter past twelve the Senora Poeblar was dead.
Isabella was utterly distraught, so Roger took charge of all arrangements. The muscles of his foot were getting back their life, so with the aid of a stick he was now able to hobble about fairly rapidly. He had Maria put her mistress to bed in another room and move all their things there; and had his own moved by Pedro to a separate apartment. Quetzal he sent out to go fishing in the river with Hernando. Then he saw an undertaker, had the Senora laid out surrounded by tall candles, gave the priest money to send people to pray by her body, and settled the hour at which the funeral should take place on the following day.
He did not see Isabella again until the funeral. At it she wore a mantilla of black lace so heavy that it was impossible to see the expression on her face, but it seemed that her calm was restored as she did not break down during the ordeal. As Roger gave her his arm to lead her to the coach she pressed it slightly, but she addressed no word to him, except to thank him formally in a low tone for the trouble he had been to on her behalf. On their return he escorted her up to her room, but as she did not invite him inside he left her at the door. He thought that she would probably send for him that evening, but she did not, so he supped on his own again and wondered with some anxiety what developments the next day would bring.
On the Tuesday at ten o'clock she sent Quetzal to him with a note, which simply said that she would like him to take her for a drive, so would he order a fiacre and fetch her in half an hour's time.
When he went to her room he found her ready dressed to go out, but much to his surprise her costume displayed no trace of mourning. Catching his thought she said with a smile:
"I have decided that from today I will start a new life, so with the old one I have put off my mourning."
Her declaration filled him with instant perturbation, but he tried to hide it by replying, somewhat inadequately: "I too have always felt that the dead would prefer us to think of them as happy, rather than have us wear the trappings of gloom to symbolize their memory." Then he offered her his arm to take her downstairs.
As she left the room she remarked: "I am taking neither Maria nor Quetzal with me, since 'tis as well that they should recognize from the beginning my new freedom to be alone with you when I wish."
Such an indication of the form she meant her new life to take redoubled his uneasiness, and with his promise to the Senora Poeblar only too present in his mind, he said seriously: "All the same, my dear one, I am very anxious not to compromise you."
"I know you too well to believe otherwise," she smiled. "But a carriage drive at midday will hardly do that; and soon there will be no need for us to worry ourselves about such matters."
At her words he felt at once both reassured and miserable. Evidently the Senora had overestimated Isabella's passion for him, or her sense of duty was so strong that she had no intention of allowing herself to be led into betraying Don Diego before their marriage. He had feared that to keep his promise he would be called on to exert his utmost strength of will, but it seemed clear now that while she meant to make the most of her last few days with him she had no thought of using her freedom to allow him to become her lover. Yet his relief at escaping the ordeal of having to refuse such a delectable temptation was now more than offset by his unhappiness at the thought that in a few days she would be on a ship bound for Naples, and lost to him for ever.
They drove out of the city by the Port Crillon and, turning left, along under the great castellated wall, until they reached the river. Some way along its bank they came to a low eminence from which
there was a fine view of the broad, eddying torrent, and here Isabella called on the driver to stop.
It was again a gloriously sunny day, and neither of them spoke for a few moments while they admired the view across the rippling water to the further shore.
Then Roger stole a glance at Isabella. The thought that he was so soon to lose her now caused him an actual physical pain in the region of his solar plexus. Here in the strong sunshine of the south her skin no longer had even a suggestion of sallowness but appeared a lovely golden brown. Her dark eyebrows seemed to blend naturally into it, her black ringlets shimmered with light where they caught the sun, her lips were a full, rich red and her profile delicate. And he knew her to be the most gentle, honest and lovable of companions.
Turning, she caught his glance and said: "Well, you have not yet asked me what my new mode of life is to be."
"Tell me," he smiled. "My only wish is that it will bring you happiness."
"Then your wish is granted," she smiled back. "For it lies solely with you to ensure it. I have made up my mind not to go to Naples. Instead I intend to make you a most devoted wife."
CHAPTER NINE
MEDITERRANEAN IDYLL
HAD the bottom fallen out of the carriage Roger could not have been more shaken. From the beginning the possibility of marrying Isabella had appeared so fantastically remote that he had never given it a second thought. That she should secretly become his mistress for a brief season had always been by no means improbable, as, provided they were circumspect, she could have done so without sacrificing anything except, possibly, her virginity. But by marrying him she would at once lose her status as a great lady and the obvious highroad to a brilliant future, besides being repudiated by her family and excommunicated by her Church.
Quite unsuccessfully he strove to hide his amazement and confusion; but as it had not even entered her mind that he might be unwilling to marry her, she took them as a charming compliment and was simply joking when she said: "Will you have me for a wife, Monsieur, or must I cast myself into the river and die a virgin?"
That settled one point for him, although for the past week or more he had had little doubt upon it. A little breathlessly he said: "Isabella, my beloved, I am so overcome at the joy and honour you propose for me that I can no longer find words to express my feelings. But what of your family? Are you indeed prepared to sacrifice all that they must mean to you for my sake? For I fear your father and mother will never forgive your making so poor a match."
"Is it not said that a woman should leave all and cleave to the man she loves?"
"And what of the difference in our religions?"
"I will not pretend that I am not reluctant to place myself outside the rites of the Church. But as I told you on Saturday, I do not believe that the way to Heaven lies in the observance of rituals. If you are unwilling to be received into the Church of Rome I will marry you by a Protestant ceremony."