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Updated: May 28, 2025
She had been struck by the practical necessity for doing something, when Don Teodoro had first written to her about the condition of the people in Muro, and her own observations made on her farms in the Falernian district one of the richest corners of vine land in all Italy had convinced her that some sort of action was urgently necessary.
She should not care, for she should have done right. That was the way in which she accounted to herself for her action; but the consciousness that Don Teodoro was not quite wrong was there. She remembered it afterwards, when the fatality that was quietly lying in wait for her raised its head from ambush and stared her in the face.
"I think I assure you that nobody knows anything but I think that Don Gianluca will improve rapidly after this crisis." That was the opinion of the great doctor, when he had seen the patient on the afternoon of that memorable day. For Veronica, Taquisara, and Don Teodoro had all three been mistaken when they had thought that Gianluca was dead.
He started, and looked up through the broad leaves. "Get Don Teodoro at once, and bring him," she cried. "He is in the house somewhere." Taquisara thought that Gianluca was dying, and neither paused nor answered, as he disappeared within. Veronica came back instantly. She had not been gone thirty seconds, but already the sick man's face was grey again, though his eyes were wide and staring.
She brushed them away, and left her letter unfinished. Half an hour later she was with Don Teodoro, busy about her usual occupations and plans. But she was absent-minded, and matters did not go well. She left him earlier than usual and shut herself up in her own room.
Veronica and Don Teodoro descended again, and he led her through many strange places, dimly lighted by small windows piercing ten feet of masonry, and through the enormous hall which had been the guard-room or barrack in old days, and had served as a granary since then, and up and down dark stairs, through narrow ways, out upon jutting bastions, down and up, backwards and forwards, as it seemed to her, till she could only guess at the direction in which she was going, by the glimpses of distant mountain and valley as she passed the irregularly placed windows.
And, while Teodoro set a meandering trail, it was not one which a determined pursuer would have too much trouble following, come sunup or whenever that sentry discovered he was guarding a straw prisoner. Once when they pulled up to breathe their horses, dismounting to loose cinches and cool the backs of the mounts, Drew indulged his curiosity further.
"I knew that I should find it," said Veronica, at last. "I always knew that it was here. I shall live in this room." "It is a good room," said Don Teodoro, quietly, and not at all understanding what she meant. "And I have an idea that I shall die in this room," added the young girl, in a dreamy tone, not caring whether he heard or not. "I am the last of them, you know.
There was clearly nothing more to be said, as there was most certainly nothing more to hope. Don Teodoro had undoubtedly consulted the archbishop of Naples, thought Taquisara, and such a decision was final and authoritative. He had succeeded in forcing himself into a sort of mechanical regularity of life which helped him through the day.
In these legends, in a few instances, the exact phrases of the narrators have been retained for the sake of their quaintness. Obtained from José Teodoro, Bay, Laguna, P.I. Obtained from Fabian de la Paz, San Fernando, Pompanga, P. I., who says it was "handed down from old time." Obtained from Camilo Osias, Balayan, Luzon, P. I.
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