15. CHAPTER XV.
BIANCA.
Much the valley people marvelled, many
were the murmurs, and not a few the threats,
on the second morning following Nicolo's death,
when it was discovered that the youth, suspected
of being its cause, had disappeared from the
village, leaving no traces of his flight. More
astonishment still was created when the magistrate,
Signore Leoni, openly declared that he had
ordered the accused to be released; and the popular
wonder was redoubled when, on the succeeding
day, which was the Sabbath, Padre Ambrosio
preached a funeral sermon over the old
guide, in which he dwelt solemnly upon the
event of the week, and asserted his knowledge
of the young man's innocence, together with his
conviction that to the avalanche alone was attributable
the catastrophe. But when, in connection
with this, the priest revealed the startling
fact that Tomaso's robber-band had, by the
same terrible agency, been annihilated, and that
the bodies of a dozen brigands now lay wrapped
in a winding-sheet of snow, beneath the Huguenots'
Altar, there to remain until the spring
floods should melt the deep drifts around them,
the good villagers began to believe that a special
revelation from divine intelligence had been
vouchsafed to their pastor, and that, as devout
Catholic Christians, they were bound to look
upon the escape of Valentine as the result of
direct heavenly interposition.
So the remains of Nicolo were quietly deposited
in the little burial-place of Val d'Orazio,
and the peasantry in a short time ceased to revert
to his death, or to the flight of Valentine.
Rumors and speculations concerning the latter,
were indeed rife during a few weeks, but these
gradually died away, and as the spring drew
near, the valley inhabitants, preparing for the
avocations which its coming rendered necessary,
ceased to think of the events that had broken in
upon the quiet of the winter months. No intelligence
of the youth's fate ever reached Val d'
Orazio, and if any conjecture concerning it was
hazarded, it was to the effect that Valentine,
escaped as he deemed from fatal danger, had
leagued himself with one of the brigand-bands
infesting the northern declivities of the extensive
range of mountains.
In Berthold, the vine-dresser, however, it was
remarked that a notable alteration had been effected,
whether on account of the circumstances
in which his brother had been involved, or from
other causes. The young man, immediately
after the funeral of Nicolo, appeared to change
both in demeanor and character. He no longer
seemed the morose and repellant being which
the villagers had so long considered him. His
looks become serious, without sullenness; he
mingled often with the peasants, apparently
seeking their good opinion; and he became,
moreover, a constant attendant of mass at the
little chapel in which Padre Ambrosio officiated.
It was commented upon by many as a marvellous
occurrence, that the vine-dresser should
present so great an improvement; but the wonder
of all was excited when, in a short time, not
only was Berthold, but the old Monna Barbara,
beheld on the Sabbath mornings winding their
way, with sober looks, to listen to the priest and
join in his simple worship. What occasioned
the apparent regeneration of Berthold, and how
far it was genuine, will appear in the sequel of
events.
The spring-time began to advance through the
more sheltered valleys, swift footed and laden
with all good gifts. Flowers and fruitage came
to adorn the hillsides, and the Easter festival
was at hand which, after the long season of
fasts, enjoined by the church, and more religiously
observed in these districts than at the
great capital of Rome, the youths and maids
welcomed with glad anticipations.
Nicolo had not left his grandchild destitute of
the world's goods; for a life of frugality had
enabled him to lay by a small store, designed at
first for Bianca's marriage portion, but now (a
sadder gift) become his funeral bequest. It was
no great legacy, to be sure, but it sufficed for the
maiden's ample wants, especially as, after the
old guide's death, his sister Agata joined with
it her little means, and removing from the neighboring
valley, took up her abode in the cottage.
Beneath the protection of her aunt, Bianca
kept herself retired from the little village world.
In vain the brisk young hunters and peasants,
with their gaily embroidered jackets thrown
jauntily over their shoulders, came often before
the cottage gate, to ask of aunt Agata how fared
that worthy dame's health, and—incidentally, of
course—that of her lovely niece. In vain did
many a bouquet of early blossoms, with more
substantial gifts from mountaineer and villager,
find their way to good Agata's hands, reminding
her of the time when she herself was young and
beautiful. But Bianca appeared regardless of
all, remaining secluded in her aunt's society,
never seen by the admiring youths, save when,
on the Sabbath or saints' days, she slowly
passed from her dwelling to the little chapel of
the hills, holding closely to Agata's arm, and
lifting not her eyes from the ground, save when
she returned the salutations of her oldest friends.
But, strange to say, among the latter, distinguished
by a faint smile, or passing word, was
one who certainly seemed the last person worthy
of the maiden's notice—namely, the vine-dresser,
Berthold, who seldom failed to be near the
church door when Bianca approached, and was
ever the first to offer her the holy water, as she
passed modestly to her seat. Some persons
averred that he was the favored one among all
the youths who contested for her good graces;
that she always greeted him with a smile when
he presented himself, and that it was quite evident
there was more between them than the
world knew of. And, indeed, it appeared sufficiently
mysterious that Bianca should regard the
son of Monna Barbara with preference, considering
the implication of his brother in the events
connected with old Nicolo's death. “But,” said
the gossips, “there is no accounting for a woman!”
The true reason of Bianca's favor was not,
however, fathomed by the gossips—which reason
was simply that the maiden believed Berthold to
have loved his brother, and truly befriended him
in assisting his escape. The vine-dresser had
acquainted her of the fact that he had liberated
Valentine, on the very night when that event
took place, and thereafter Bianca, cherishing as
she did an unchangeable affection for her lover,
began to entertain a feeling of gratitude to his
brother, which manifested itself on the few occasions
when they met. It was ever with a
thought of the exiled Valentine, and perchance
with the faint hope that she might hear intelligence
of him, that she so quickly raised her
glance when Berthold greeted her, and thus appeared
to distinguish him from the rest of her
admirers.
But Berthold—what thought he? We shall
learn if we follow him from the church, after
one of his brief interviews with Bianca, and accompany
him to the place where we first encountered
him—that is to the hut of Monna Barbara;
but before doing this, it is necessary that we return
for a space to the vine dresser's much injured
brother.
