 | CHAPTER XVII.
WHOLESALE MURDER. Outpost |  |
17. CHAPTER XVII.
WHOLESALE MURDER.
In the course of that day, Giovanni and his little danseuse
visited all the principal public places in the town, and also
several of the best private houses; and, at all, the performances
of the child called forth the surprise, delight, and
admiration of those who witnessed them. Nor were more
substantial proofs of their approval wanting; so that at
night, when Giovanni counted up his gains, he found them
so large, that he cried, while embracing poor weary little
Cherry, —
“O blessed, blessed moment when thou didst cross my
path, Ciriegia carissima!”
“Now can't we go home to mammy? I am so tired,
and my head feels sick!” moaned the child, laying the poor
aching little head upon his shoulder.
Giovanni looked down at the pale face, and, meeting the
languid eyes, felt a pang of conscience and pity.
“Thou art tired, bambína povera mia,” said he kindly.
and sleep for a while. We go again in the steam-carriage
to-night.”
Cherry climbed upon the bed without reply, and in a
moment was fast asleep. The Italian drew the coverings
about her, and stooped to kiss the pale cheek, where showed
already a dark circle beneath the eye, and a painful contraction
at the corner of the mouth.
“Poveracita!” murmured he. “But soon we will have
money enough to go home to the father-land, and then all
will be well with her as with me.”
Three hours later, he came to arouse the child, and prepare
her to renew the journey.
“Oh, I am so tired! I want to sleep some more so
bad, 'Varny! — no, my father, I mean. I don't want to go
somewhere,” said she piteously, closing her eyes, and struggling
to lay her head again upon the pillow. Giovanni
hesitated for a moment; and then, never knowing that the
decision was one of life and death, the question of a whole
future career, he determined to pursue his plan in spite of
that plaintive entreaty, and, hastily wrapping a shawl about
the child, took her in his arms, and carried her down stairs.
The organ and Pantalon waited in the hall below; and
organ, and, taking the little girl by the hand, led her out
into the quiet street, where lay the light of a full moon,
making the night more beautiful than day. Cherry's drowsy
eyes flew wide open; and, looking up in Giovanni's face
with eager joy, she cried, —
“Oh! now we're going back to heaven; aren't we, my
father? It was bright and still like this in heaven; and I
saw a star, and — and then the naughty lady struck me” —
“Peace, little one! I know not of what you speak, nor
any thing of heaven,” said the Italian in a troubled voice;
and the child, hurrying along at his side, raised her face
silently to the summer sky, seeking there, perhaps, the
answer to the questions forever stirring in her struggling
soul.
A little later, and the swift train, flying through the
sleeping land, bore away the travellers; while Giovanni,
settling himself as easily as possible, laid the head of his
little Ciriegia upon his breast, tenderly smoothed down her
silky curls, and laid his hand upon the bright eyes, that
frightened him with the intensity of their gaze.
“Sleep, carissima mia, sleep,” murmured he soothingly;
“sleep, and forget thy weariness and thy memories.”
“I can't sleep now, my father. It seems to me that we
are going to heaven; and I want to be awake to see — the
lady” —
The words faltered, and died upon her lips. The beautiful
image of her mother, fading slowly from her memory,
seemed already a vision so vague, that to name it were to
lose it, — an idea too precious and too impalpable to put
in words. The past, with all its love and joy and beauty,
was becoming for our 'Toinette what we may fancy heaven
is to a little baby, whose solemn eyes and earnest gaze
seem forever attempting to recall the visions of celestial
beauty it has left for the pale, sad skies, and mournful
sounds of earth.
On rushed the train through the quiet night, waking wild
echoes in the woods, and leaving them to whisper themselves
again to sleep when it had passed; lighting dark valleys,
that the moonlight left unlighted, with its whirling banner of
flame and sparks, and its hundred blazing windows; moving
across the holy calm of midnight like some strange and
troubled vision, some ugly nightmare, that for the moment
changes peace and rest to horror and affright, and then
passes again to the dim and ghostly Dreamland, whose frontier
crowds our daily life on every hand, and whence forever
human mind.
On and on and on, through misty lowland and shadowy
wood, and over shining rivers, and through sleeping hamlets,
and winding, snake-like, between great round hills and
along deep mountain-gorges, until the wild, bright eyes that
watched beneath Cherry's matted curls grew soft and dim;
and at last the white lids fell, and the curve of the sad lips
relaxed beneath the kiss of God's mildest messenger to
man, — the spirit of sleep.
As for Giovanni, he long had slumbered heavily; and
even Pantalon, whose bright eyes were seldom known to
close, was now curled up beneath the organ-covering,
dreaming, perhaps, of the nut - groves and spice - islands
where he had once known liberty and youth.
Just then it came, — a crash as if heaven and earth had met;
a wild, deep cry, made up of all tones of human agony and
fright; the shriek of escaping steam; the rending and splintering
of wood and iron; destruction, terror, pain, and death, all
mingled in one awful moment. Then those who had escaped
unhurt began the sad and terrible task of withdrawing
from the ruin the maimed and bleeding bodies of those who
yet lived, the crushed remains and fragments of those who
the bewildering confusion of the scene, none had eyes for
the little childish figure, who, hurled from the splintered car,
lay for a while stunned and shaken among the soft grass
where she had fallen, and then, staggering to her feet, fled
wildly away into the dim forest-land.
| CHAPTER XVII.
WHOLESALE MURDER. Outpost | |