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Princess Galva, The

<h3> CHAPTER XII </h3> <h4> IN THE CATHEDRAL AT CORBO </h4> Shopping was very far from the thoughts of Galva Baxendale as she made her way up the street that ran at right angles to the promenade. Tumultuous thoughts they were, in which the figures of Lieutenant Mozara and the Duc de Choleaux Lasuer played important parts. She must have walked a considerable distance, for when she glanced at the tiny watch at her wrist she saw that it was eleven o'clock. At the same moment the sonorous chimes of a clock reached her, and glancing up she saw, between the gables of the houses at the end of the street, the white fa�ade of Corbo Cathedral showing brightly in the sunlight. It had been her first thought on arriving in San Pietro to pay a visit to the tombs of her ill-fated father and mother. Never having known them, she could not be expected to feel a very poignant or present grief, but the sadness of the story made a deep impression, and at times she tried to tell herself that within the storehouse of her memory there was a corner in which a black-bearded man, a-glitter with scarlet and gold, had place. A fancy, doubtless, and one that would have had no existence had she never left her Cornish home. But the knowledge that she had been born in the palace behind the town, helped the illusion, an illusion of a father, and she grappled it to her soul with all the strength of her loving nature. Edward Sydney had, however, reasoning with the brain of your true conspirator, been firm. There was, to his mind, a grave risk to the living in a too demonstrative reverence for the dead. It is true he had agreed to one visit to the tombs, as ordinary tourists, and Galva gave a little shudder at the recollection. She had looked through tear-dimmed eyes at the marble effigies of the monarchs, at the stern cameo of her father, and the cold beauty of her mother. In the latter figure the sculptor had with a cunning hand suggested the form of a little child beneath the drapery at the breasts. Galva had listened as in a dream to the little black-robed sacristan, whose duty it was to show the burial-place to visitors, as he had gabbled through the history of the tragedy. He described minutely the attack upon the palace and told of how the king and queen met their deaths. The baby princess Miranda had her share, too, in the history, and it was evident that no suspicion had ever come into the mind of the little sacristan that the body of the princess had not indeed been buried with the mother. Galva noticed that the narrator carefully avoided mentioning the names of any who had taken part in the attack, and she found it hard to believe that such scenes could have ever taken place in this kingdom of gaiety and pleasure. There would have been a grim humour almost in this listening to the details of her own death when an infant, were the circumstances less pitiful. She had dropped a gold piece into the box for the masses for the dead, which the sacristan noticed, and he looked curiously at this pretty little tourist who gave so generously. Then, there had been nothing to tell them from the ordinary sight-seers, and it was the only visit that Edward had thought expedient. And now, finding herself alone, she felt an uncontrollable desire to enter the cathedral and pray for a little while. She would not go against her guardian's wish, but would be content to kneel in the great nave and look through the oak screen that divided the mausoleum of the Estratos from the main body of the church. The cathedral stood on the edge of the old part of the town, and Galva was struck by the difference in her surroundings. Apart from a group of green-veiled American tourists, who, guide-book in hand, were gazing up at the famous rose window over the central porch, she seemed alone with the natives of San Pietro. She looked in astonishment at the poor houses, with their broken roofs, and their windows stuffed with rags and brown paper, at the mean little shops and at the dirtiness and poverty-stricken look of the people. Little dark-eyed urchins, filthy in the extreme, rolled and played in the gutters unchecked by the untidy women who idled and gossiped in the doorways. The men loafing at the street corners were a lazy-looking set of ruffians, and the whole aspect was most depressing. As Galva ascended the steps of the building between the rows of ragged and crippled beggars who daily congregated there to expose their miseries to the charitably inclined, a conviction came to her that all this hopeless poverty was the real result of the rule of the dissipated old monarch who lay dying up at the Palace. The new town of Corbo with its palatial hotels and wide boulevards was a whited sepulchre, behind which the sores of the true San Pietro festered in hiding. As she walked slowly up the high-roofed nave she told herself that she was doing wrong to shirk her destiny, and that in the joys of Paris and Corbo she was apt to forget that she was God's anointed, and that these people were hers. The royal blood of the Estratos leaped in her veins as her duty was so plainly shown to her, and she took from her little handbag a rosary—for Galva had been brought up by Anna Paluda in the true Catholic faith—and registered a vow that with the Blessed Virgin's help she would be the salvation of her people, and would act to the utmost in her power in the high position to which she had been called. She was in an ecstasy as she stood before the oak screen and let the ivory and rosewood beads slip through her little fingers. The sunlight pierced the emblazonry of the window set high above the tombs, and threw a pure orange stream of radiance upon the sculptured image of the babe at the breast, and the girl watching with parted lips took it for an omen. Then as her sight grew more accustomed to the vague dimness of the cathedral she started and gazed into the gloom at the foot of her mother's sarcophagus. Dimly outlined against the tesselated pavement knelt the black-robed figure of a woman, a woman who, as she watched, rose to her feet and looking round timidly placed a spray of white blossoms full in the orange light. With compressed lips and a heart bursting with compassion Galva drew back into the shadow of a little chapel as Anna Paluda, walking with bowed head, passed her and left the cathedral. ***** It had been arranged that Se�or Luazo and his nephew should dine that evening at Venta Villa, and Galva looked forward with no little trepidation to re-encountering the amorous lieutenant. As she entered the drawing-room where Edward and Anna awaited the coming of their guests, the long mirror facing the door and between the two French windows showed her a picture of a radiant girl in a simple robe of a soft clinging blue material and with dark hair coiled turban-wise around a shapely head. Edward looked up as she entered and smiled his admiration. He was fast growing accustomed to his changed mode of life, and he was beginning to take as a matter of course things which a few months ago he scarcely knew existed. It was very pleasant to be standing there on the white bearskin rug in front of the fire waiting to extend the hand of welcome to Se�or Luazo and Lieutenant Mozara. He smiled to himself grimly as he thought what either of these distinguished personages would think if they could look back a while and see a bowed little figure shuffling across London Bridge. Seated in a low wicker chair Anna Paluda was watching with folded hands the flickering of the firelight on the Dutch tiles of the hearth. She looked very dignified in her black silk dress—Anna never wore colours—relieved by a touch of Honiton lace at throat and wrists. The room was small, cosily so. The carpets and curtains were of a rich terra-cotta and the furniture was brocaded in a dull yellow. Delicate china showed richly in the shadowy recesses of a cabinet, and the little cluster of electric bulbs shaded in yellow silk gave a soft light. The two long windows, reaching to the floor, looked like panels of blue-black velvet in which the lights of the yachts anchored in the bay gleamed like diamonds. One could catch a glimpse also of a balcony on which were pots of shrubs and little green painted tables. Galva was relieved to find that Mozara greeted her as usual. In fact, he was so attentive to her during dinner that she found herself wondering if she had not taken his remarks of the morning too seriously, and whether he had not been in fun half the time. The dinner, well served and admirably cooked, was a success, and it was about ten o'clock when Mozara made an excuse to leave them, pleading another appointment. Galva had hoped that he wished the episode of the morning to be forgotten, but as she stood by the drawing-room door bidding him "good-night" he touched on the subject. "Did you find the shop you wanted, Miss Baxendale?" She felt the colour come to her cheeks, but the soldier was waiting for an answer. "No, I'm afraid not—it was rather a disappointing morning." "It was to me," he said; "but we are friends, I hope, Miss Baxendale, eh? Our appointment for to-morrow holds good, I hope?" And Galva had looked serious for a moment, then smiled sunnily in answer. Once clear of Venta Villa, the lieutenant turned, and the arc lamps showed the cunning ferocity of his sallow face as he shook his fist at the house he had just left. "Friends!" he hissed. "Yes, my work will be easier if we are friends." Then he hurried on to keep his appointment with Dasso. ***** After Galva and Anna had retired, Edward sat smoking with his guest in the little library of the villa. He thought it a good opportunity to talk over the state of affairs, and he opened by remarking on the rumours of the king's health that had been rife in Corbo the last few days. The old gentleman stroked his long white beard meditatively for a moment. "It cannot be long now," he said at last; "the good God ease his passing. The princess must hold herself in readiness, for at the moment the breath leaves the body of Enrico, Dasso, who has many friends in the army, will hasten to the Palace, and will cause himself to be proclaimed king. I know that, in this, he has a secret understanding with Spain herself. Miranda—I mean Galva—must be there also, Mr. Sydney; the people must choose." "And what will Spain say to that?" "Spain, my dear sir, is powerless where an Estrato is concerned. Enrico's nephew even must bow to her claim. Believe me there will be no difficulty; but it is better to be in time and not to allow Dasso to mount the throne at all. It might be harder to dislodge him once there, than we imagine." The old man paused for a moment and drew his chair nearer to Edward. "I saw him look at her very hard that evening they met at my house. They say," his voice sank to a whisper, "that Gabriel Dasso's was the hand that struck down the royal victims that night fifteen years ago. It is said that he and one other alone of all the band of conspirators went right through with it. That other, a Se�or Orates, shot himself within a week." "And the people—do they know this?" Se�or Luazo made an expressive gesture with his hands. "Fifteen years is a long time, Mr. Sydney, and the people of San Pietro have a short memory. There are a few of us old ones, we who knew the king and his queen, who do not forget. We have been unconsciously awaiting this day for fifteen years. I wonder if Dasso saw any likeness when he looked at her? There is a likeness, elusive indeed, but at times I see the eyes of Queen Elene as I have seen them look on those she liked. If Dasso saw it too, he will be dangerous. I would like to come to an issue with Gabriel; regicide that he is, he is received everywhere. His crime has never been brought home to him, and in any case is regarded as a political one. It has made my blood boil, se�or, to see him at my table." Long after Se�or Luazo had left, Edward sat gazing into the dying fire. The windows of the library looked inland, and by turning his head he could see the row of lights in the Palace windows. He thought of the dying king and of how the affair that looked at first like being a comedy, might at any moment now develop into a tragedy. <div style="break-after:column;"></div>

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