The Marble Faun Volume 1 - Page 39/130

As Miriam gave utterance to these words, Hilda looked from the picture

into her face, and was startled to observe that her friend's expression

had become almost exactly that of the portrait; as if her passionate

wish and struggle to penetrate poor Beatrice's mystery had been

successful.

"O, for Heaven's sake, Miriam, do not look so!" she cried. "What an

actress you are! And I never guessed it before. Ah! now you are yourself

again!" she added, kissing her. "Leave Beatrice to me in future."

"Cover up your magical picture, then," replied her friend, "else I

never can look away from it. It is strange, dear Hilda, how an innocent,

delicate, white soul like yours has been able to seize the subtle

mystery of this portrait; as you surely must, in order to reproduce it

so perfectly. Well; we will not talk of it any more. Do you know, I

have come to you this morning on a small matter of business. Will you

undertake it for me?"

"O, certainly," said Hilda, laughing; "if you choose to trust me with

business."

"Nay, it is not a matter of any difficulty," answered Miriam; "merely to

take charge of this packet, and keep it for me awhile."

"But why not keep it yourself?" asked Hilda.

"Partly because it will be safer in your charge," said her friend. "I

am a careless sort of person in ordinary things; while you, for all you

dwell so high above the world, have certain little housewifely ways of

accuracy and order. The packet is of some slight importance; and yet, it

may be, I shall not ask you for it again. In a week or two, you know,

I am leaving Rome. You, setting at defiance the malarial fever, mean to

stay here and haunt your beloved galleries through the summer. Now, four

months hence, unless you hear more from me, I would have you deliver the

packet according to its address."

Hilda read the direction; it was to Signore Luca Barboni, at the Plazzo

Cenci, third piano.

"I will deliver it with my own hand," said she, "precisely four months

from to-day, unless you bid me to the contrary. Perhaps I shall meet the

ghost of Beatrice in that grim old palace of her forefathers."

"In that case," rejoined Miriam, "do not fail to speak to her, and

try to win her confidence. Poor thing! she would be all the better for

pouring her heart out freely, and would be glad to do it, if she were

sure of sympathy. It irks my brain and heart to think of her, all shut

up within herself." She withdrew the cloth that Hilda had drawn over the

picture, and took another long look at it. "Poor sister Beatrice! for

she was still a woman, Hilda, still a sister, be her sin or sorrow what

they might. How well you have done it, Hilda! I knot not whether Guido

will thank you, or be jealous of your rivalship."