Sybert

“ As he caught sight of Marcia’s and Sybert’s eyes upon him, and knew that they had seen, a quick flush spread over his thin dark face, and turning away he bowed his head again.
Marcia broke the silence with a low laugh as they rode on into the shade of the cypresses.
‘He thought we were——’ and then she stopped.
‘Lovers too,’ said Sybert. ‘Poor devil! I suppose he thinks the world is full of lovers outside his monastery walls. There,’ he added, ‘is a man who is living for an idea.’
‘And is beginning to suspect that it is the wrong one.’
He shot her a quick glance of comprehension. ”

“ They pushed on farther up into the hills, between groves of twisted olive trees and sloping vineyards, through fields dyed blue and scarlet with forget-me-nots and poppies. All nature was green and glistening after the rain, and the mountain breeze blew fresh against their faces. Neither could be insensible to the influence of the day. Their talk was light and free and glancing—mere badinage; but it occasionally struck a deeper note, and holding it for an instant, half reluctantly let it go. Marcia had never known Sybert in this mood—she had not, as she realized, known him in any. ”

“ Again Marcia saw that quick look of pain shoot over Sybert’s face; he swallowed a couple of times before speaking, and when he did speak his voice was hard and cold.
‘Can you walk? Then climb over that railing and get away as fast as you can. The soldiers are here, and if they find you they will send you to the galleys—not that it would be any great loss,’ he added with a contemptuous laugh. ‘Italy has no need of such men as you.’
Something of the fierceness faded from the young fellow’s face, and he looked back with the pleading, child-like eyes of the Italian peasant. ”

“ Marcia’s eyes suddenly filled with tears and she bit her lip. Sybert leaned forward and poked the fire.
‘I should like to talk to you about your uncle,’ he said, with his eyes fixed on the embers. ‘He is one of the finest men I have ever known. And it is not often that a man in his position amounts to much—that is, as a human being; the temptations are all the other way. Most men, you know, with leisure and his tastes would—well, go in for collecting carved ivory and hammered silver and all that rubbish. Nobody understands what he is trying to do, least of all the people he is doing it for. ”

“ Sybert, you give a person a queer impression, as if you were acting a part all the time, and didn’t want people to know what you were really like.’
‘An anarchist must be careful; the police——’
‘I believe you are one!’ she cried.
‘Don’t be alarmed. I assure you I am not. But,’ he added, with a little flash of fire, ‘I swear, in a country like this, one would like to be—anything for action! Oh, I’m not a fool,’ he added, in response to her smile. ‘We’re living in the nineteenth century, and not in the thirteenth. ”

“ The question was unanswerable, and Sybert sat frowning down at the table without speaking. The Neapolitan presently broke in again. There was something electric about his words and the force behind them. Every one bent forward to listen.
‘Who is the King?’ he demanded. ‘He is only a man. So am I a man. Then what makes him so different from me? They may shoot me down if they like, but first I have work to do. The King shall know me before I die. And he is not all,’ he added darkly. ‘Do you know why 80 the wheat’s so scarce? ”

“ The newspapers have had a great deal to say about the matter, and the people, with their usual gratitude toward their benefactors, have turned against him.’
‘Mr. Sybert, you are not telling me the truth.’
Sybert did not see fit to answer this charge; he folded his arms and leaned against the cushions, with his eyes fixed on the two brass buttons on the back of Giovanni’s coat. And Marcia, the colour back in her cheeks, sat staring at the roadway with angry eyes. Neither spoke again till the carriage came to a stand before the loggia. ”

“ Sybert saw her look of fear and he said lightly: ‘There’s not the slightest danger, Miss Marcia. We’ll get the soldiers here in the morning; and for to-night, even if we can’t put much trust in the butler, there are at least three men in the house who are above suspicion and who are armed.’ He touched his pocket with a laugh. ‘When it comes to the point I am a very fair shot, and so is your uncle. ”

“ Melville glanced up at her with a little smile. ‘Ah, well, Miss Marcia, we’re growing old—moonlight and romance were made for the young.’
Sybert smiled rather coldly as he turned away. It struck him that the remark was singularly malapropos.
Marcia went on up to her room, and throwing about her shoulders a chiffon scarf, an absurd apology for a wrap, 226 she paused a moment by the open glass doors of the balcony and stood looking down upon the moonlit landscape. She felt sore and bruised and hopeless. Sybert was beyond her; she did not understand him. ”

“ A young man avec le cœur brisé is far more interesting than one who is heart-whole. There is that Laurence Sybert over there.’ She nodded toward the group on the other side of the room. ‘For the last ten years, when the forestieri in Rome haven’t had anything else to talk about, they’ve talked about him. And all because they think that under that manner of his he’s carrying around a broken heart for the pretty little Contessa Torrenieri.’
Marcia laughed lightly. ‘Mr. Sybert at least carries his broken heart easily. ”

“ Sybert laughed. ‘It’s been a long time since I saw twenty-three—when I first came back to Rome.’
‘Twelve years,’ said Marcia.
‘It’s an easy enough problem if you care to work it out. I don’t care to, any more.’
‘It’s not bad for a man,’ she said; ‘but a woman grows old so young!’
‘You need not worry over that just now. ”

“ He opened his eyes wide. ‘And will I be an Americano then?’
‘No, Gervasio,’ said Sybert, quickly. ‘You’ll never be an Americano. You were born Italiano, and you’ll be Italiano till you die. You should be proud of it—it’s your birthright. We are Americani, and we are going—home. You may come with us and study and learn, but when you get to be a man you must come back to your own country. It will need you—and now run to bed. And you too, Miss Marcia,’ he added. ‘You are tired and there’s nothing to be done. Melville and I will attend to locking up.’
‘Locking up!’ cried Melville. ”

“ He is only a man. Why is he so different from me? Am I not a man, too? I am, and before I die the King shall know it.”’
Sybert raised his eyes and glanced about the table. Copley nodded and Melville frowned thoughtfully. The two elder ladies were listening with polite attention, and Marcia was leaning forward with her eyes on his face. Sybert immediately dropped his own eyes to the flowers again. ”

“ Sybert was watching her lazily, with an amused smile about his lips. ‘Will you pardon me, Miss Marcia, if I ask 30 if those are your own conclusions, or the opinions of our young friend the American artist?’
‘He does not plot against the King, at any rate!’ she retorted.
‘Please, Miss Marcia,’ he begged, ‘don’t think so badly of me as that. Really, I’m not an anarchist. I don’t want to blow His Majesty up.’
‘Go home and dress, Sybert,’ Copley murmured, taking him by the arm. ‘I have to go and interview the cook, and I don’t dare leave you and my niece together. ”

“ There was an undertone in Sybert’s voice different from his usual listless drawl. Marcia glanced up at him quickly and Dessart’s insinuations flashed through her mind.
‘Do you mean you would rather have Leo XIII king instead of Humbert?’ she asked.
‘Heavens, no! No one wants the temporal power back—not even the Catholics themselves.’
‘I should think that when the Italians have gone through so much to get their king, they might be satisfied with him. They ought to have more patience, and not expect the country to be rich in a minute. Everything can’t be done all at once ”

“ The morro-players stopped their game and looked at each other with startled eyes; and then, after a moment of hesitation, went on with the play. At the first cry Sybert had leaped from the carriage, and seizing one of the boys by the shoulder, he demanded the cause.
92 The boy wriggled himself free with a gesture of unconcern.
‘Gervasio Delano’s mother is beating him. He always makes a great fuss because he is afraid.’
‘What is it?’ Marcia cried as she sprang from the carriage and ran up to Sybert. ”

“ Gervasio, meanwhile, sat up very straight and very scared, clutching the arms of the big carved chair in which Sybert had placed him.
‘We thought he might be useful to run errands,’ Sybert suggested as they finished the account of the boy’s maltreatment.
‘Poor child!’ said Mrs. Copley. ‘We can find something 96 for him to do. He is small, but he looks intelligent. I have always intended to have a little page—or he might even do as a tiger for Gerald’s pony-cart.’
‘No, Aunt Katherine,’ expostulated Marcia. ‘I shan’t have him dressed in livery. ”

“ There’s a very nice man who’s often driven us out.’
Sybert frowned slightly as he considered the question. It was rather inconvenient for him to go out to the villa that night; but he reflected that it was his duty toward Copley to get his niece back safely—as to letting her set out alone on a seven-mile drive with a strange Palestrina driver, that was clearly out of the question.
‘I think I’ll run out with you,’ he said, looking at his watch.
She had seen his frown and feared some such proposition. ‘No, indeed!’ she cried. ‘I shouldn’t think of letting you. ”

“ The Embassy does very well for a blind, for he doesn’t take any more interest in it than he does in whether or not Tammany runs New York. All that Sybert knows anything about or cares anything about is Italian politics, and there are some who think that he knows a good sight more about them than he ought. ”

“ He looked to-night, through and through, what Marcia had always taken him for—the finished cosmopolitan—the diplomat—the diner-out. But he was not just that, she knew; she had seen him off his guard in the midst of the storm that afternoon, and she was still tingling with the surprise of it. She recalled what Mr. Melville had said that afternoon in the ilex grove—she was always recalling 142 what people said about Sybert. The things seemed to stick in one’s mind; he was a subject that gave rise to many mots. ‘You think you are very broad-minded because you see the man underneath the peasant. ”

“ Chivalry and crusading and going to war and living as hermits—I really don’t see what’s left.’
‘The most of the old ideals are exploded,’ he agreed. ‘But we have new ones to-day—sufficiently bad—to meet the needs of the present century. A man can make a god of his business, for instance.’
Marcia shifted her seat a trifle uneasily as she thought of her father, who certainly did make a god of his business. It may have struck Sybert that it was not a propitious subject, for he added almost instantly—
‘And there’s always art to fall back upon.’
‘But you don’t object to that,’ she remonstrated. ”

“ Sybert was the one who broke the silence. ‘I think,’ he said slowly, ‘that I could spot your man with the crucifix this very moment.’ He pointed with his cigar toward the hill above them, where little stone-walled Castel Vivalanti was outlined against the sky. ‘If I am not mistaken, he is in the back room of a trattoria up there, in company with our friend Tarquinio of the Bed-quilt, who,’ he added meditatively, ‘is a fool. Those carabinieri are not guarding the roads for nothing. ”

“ I decidedly 60 prefer the peasants as they are. They are far more attractive when they are poor, and since they are happy in spite of it, I don’t see why it is our place to object.’
Sybert eyed the pavement impassively a moment: then he raised his head and turned to Marcia. He swept her a glance from head to foot which took in every detail of her dainty gown, her careless grace as she leaned against the balustrade, and he made no endeavour to conceal the look of critically cold contempt in his eyes. Marcia returned his glance with an air of angry challenge ”

“ Their voices, rising high and clear, filled the night with the swinging melody. It seemed strangely out of place there, in the midst of the Sabine hills, with the old villa behind them and the Roman Campagna at their feet. As their voices died away Sybert laughed softly.
‘I swear I’d forgotten it!’
Margaret shook her head in mock reproof. ‘Forgotten it!’ she cried. ‘A man ought to be ashamed to acknowledge it if he had forgotten his Alma Mater song. It’s like forgetting his country.’
‘I suspect,’ said Eleanor, ‘that it’s time for you to go back to America and be naturalized, Mr. ”

“ To lofe another land and peoples besides your own makes you, not littler, but, as you say, wider—broader. We are—we are—— Ah, mademoiselle!’ he broke off, ‘if you would let me talk in French I could say what I mean; but how can one be eloquent in this halting tongue of yours?’
‘Coraggio, Benoit! You are doing bravely,’ Sybert laughed.
‘We are,’ the young man went on with a sudden inspiration, ‘what you call in English, citizens of the world. You, mademoiselle, are American, La Signora Contessa is Italian, Mr. ”

“ When Sybil Berners found herself for a moment alone with her husband, she laid her hand upon his coat sleeve to stay him, in his haste, and she inquired:
“What do you think of her now?”
“I think, my darling Sybil, that you were right in your judgment of this lady. And I agree with you perfectly. I think, my only love, that in what you have done for this stranger, you have acted not only with the goodness, but with the wisdom of an angel,” replied Lyon Berners, snatching her suddenly to his heart, and holding her closely there while he pressed kiss after kiss upon her crimson lip ”