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Updated: April 30, 2025
The key was in the pocket of Gino's best suit the English check which he never wore. The stairs creaked and the key-hole screamed; but Perfetta was growing deaf. The walls were beautiful, but as they faced west they were in shadow. To see the light upon them she must walk round the town a little, till they were caught by the beams of the rising moon. She looked anxiously at the house, and started.
Miss Abbott allowed him to get up, though she still held him firmly. He gave a loud and curious cry a cry of interrogation it might be called. Below there was the noise of Perfetta returning with the baby's milk. "Go to him," said Miss Abbott, indicating Philip. "Pick him up. Treat him kindly." She released him, and he approached Philip slowly. His eyes were filling with trouble.
For an impressive interval there was no reply. Then the figure of a woman appeared high up on the loggia. "That is Perfetta," said the girl. "I want to see Signor Carella," cried Philip. "Out!" "Out," echoed the girl complacently. "Why on earth did you say he was in?" He could have strangled her for temper.
He touched her on the shoulder like a good comrade, half amused and half penitent, and then, murmuring and smiling to himself, ran quietly out of the room. Perfetta burst into congratulations. "What courage you have!" she cried; "and what good fortune! He is angry no longer! He has forgiven you!" Neither Perfetta, nor Gino, nor Lilia herself knew the true reason of all the misery that followed.
Miss Abbott laid him tenderly on the couch and wiped his face. Then she said gravely to them both, "This thing stops here." "Latte! latte!" cried Perfetta, hilariously ascending the stairs. "Remember," she continued, "there is to be no revenge. I will have no more intentional evil. We are not to fight with each other any more." "I shall never forgive him," sighed Philip.
And Philip knew that he was still voyaging on the same magnificent, perilous sea, with the sun or the clouds above him, and the tides below. The course of the moment that, at all events, was certain. He and no one else must take the news to Gino. It was easy to talk of Harriet's crime easy also to blame the negligent Perfetta or Mrs. Herriton at home.
Her face was red with more than the reflection of evening. "My interview how do you know of it?" "From Perfetta, if it interests you." "Who ever is Perfetta?" "The woman who must have let you in." "In where?" "Into Signor Carella's house." "Mr. Herriton!" she exclaimed. "How could you believe her? Do you suppose that I would have entered that man's house, knowing about him all that I do?
"Oh, the night air, I suppose," she said, "or perhaps the wet of the rain." "I say, you haven't hurt it, or held it the wrong way, or anything; it is too uncanny crying and no noise. Why didn't you get Perfetta to carry it to the hotel instead of muddling with the messenger? It's a marvel he understood about the note." "Oh, he understands." And he could feel her shudder.
Food, bedclothes, patent-leather boots, dirty plates, and knives lay strewn over a large table and on the floor. But it was the mess that comes of life, not of desolation. It was preferable to the charnel-chamber in which she was standing now, and the light in it was soft and large, as from some gracious, noble opening. He stopped singing, and cried "Where is Perfetta?"
Miss Abbott was engaged with Harriet, and people had sprung out of the darkness and were conducting them towards some cottage. Philip had only to get into the uninjured carriage and order the driver to return. He was back at Monteriano after a two hours' absence. Perfetta was in the house now, and greeted him cheerfully. Pain, physical and mental, had made him stupid.
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