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Page 75
As yet he could scarcely survey the thing. It was too
great. Round the Italian baby who had died in the mud there
centred deep passions and high hopes. People had been
wicked or wrong in the matter; no one save himself had been
trivial. Now the baby had gone, but there remained this
vast apparatus of pride and pity and love. For the dead,
who seemed to take away so much, really take with them
nothing that is ours. The passion they have aroused lives
after them, easy to transmute or to transfer, but well-nigh
impossible to destroy. 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. Every one had
contributed--even Miss Abbott and Irma. If one chose, one
might consider the catastrophe composite or the work of
fate. But Philip did not so choose. It was his own fault,
due to acknowledged weakness in his own character.
Therefore he, and no one else, must take the news of it to Gino.
Nothing prevented him. 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. It was some time before he realized that she had
never missed the child.
Gino was still out. The woman took him to the
reception-room, just as she had taken Miss Abbott in the
morning, and dusted a circle for him on one of the horsehair
chairs. But it was dark now, so she left the guest a little
lamp.
"I will be as quick as I can," she told him. "But there
are many streets in Monteriano; he is sometimes difficult to
find. I could not find him this morning."
"Go first to the Caffe Garibaldi," said Philip,
remembering that this was the hour appointed by his friends
of yesterday.
He occupied the time he was left alone not in
thinking--there was nothing to think about; he simply had to
tell a few facts--but in trying to make a sling for his
broken arm. The trouble was in the elbow-joint, and as long
as he kept this motionless he could go on as usual. But
inflammation was beginning, and the slightest jar gave him
agony. The sling was not fitted before Gino leapt up the
stairs, crying--
"So you are back! How glad I am! We are all waiting--"
Philip had seen too much to be nervous. In low, even
tones he told what had happened; and the other, also
perfectly calm, heard him to the end. In the silence
Perfetta called up that she had forgotten the baby's evening
milk; she must fetch it. When she had gone Gino took up the
lamp without a word, and they went into the other room.
"My sister is ill," said Philip, "and Miss Abbott is
guiltless. I should be glad if you did not have to trouble them."
Gino had stooped down by the way, and was feeling the
place where his son had lain. Now and then he frowned a
little and glanced at Philip.
"It is through me," he continued. "It happened because
I was cowardly and idle. I have come to know what you will do."
Gino had left the rug, and began to pat the table from
the end, as if he was blind. The action was so uncanny that
Philip was driven to intervene.
"Gently, man, gently; he is not here."
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