The Man with the Double Heart Part 76

For the girl's face had suddenly changed. Fear and amazement were written there. She could not take her eyes away, as, on the steep hill to the south, a cl.u.s.ter of slender towers rose up, ivory-white, against the sky.

"My dream!" she gasped. The hand on his arm clutched him. "It can't be! ... Yes, it _is_. The 'dream city' I told you about. Peter! It's all coming true. There--don't you see? _Do_ look, darling! With one tower taller than the rest ... and a little cap..."

Speech failed her. She leaned out, breathlessly.

A memory returned to McTaggart. "By Jove!--the 'Torre del Mangia.' Is that really your old dream, Jill? And you said it felt like 'coming home!'" He was almost as moved as herself.

Jill drew back with dazzled eyes. Her hair, disordered by the wind, framed her excited, awe-struck face.

"Isn't it wonderful!" she cried--"my dream city ... my very own! D'you think we've lived there before, Peter? You and I--in another life?"

"I hope so. But, anyhow, it can't be half as good as this!"

He drew her gently through the door of their coupe. "There's a tunnel coming. We're nearly there. Sit down a minute. I'll roll up the rugs. You'd better get into your coat, ready."

"I shan't want it. It's so hot." Mechanically, she straightened her hat, her gray eyes still wide with wonder. She caught sight of herself in the gla.s.s. "I am untidy! Won't it be nice to have a bath and feel clean again."

A "toob"--Peter smiled to himself as the train bolted into the dark.

He reached up for his hat on the peg.

"Now then!--we're coming out. Give me a kiss, quick!--There's a dear."

Sudden dazzling light again; the grind of brakes; the toot of a horn.

Then a deep voice, shouting clearly:

"Siena ... Si-e-na!" The train had stopped.

Mario came running up. McTaggart hurried Jill out and into a cab.

Purposely, he had "forgotten" to order the carriage.

They wound up the dusty road, glaring white in the morning sun, and through the great frowning wall that clips the city like a girdle.

Jill was too excited to talk, her eyes darting right and left as the high houses closed about them with the menace of their ancient strength.

McTaggart pointed out to her the Grey Wolf on its column, suckling the fabulous Twins.

"Romulus and Remus!" she gasped, with a clutch at Ancient History.

"That's it! The Son of Remus founded the place--so the legend runs--'Senius.' He gave his name to the city--hence 'Siena.'"

Down the one-time "Strada Romana," past the Palezzo Tolomei, they clattered, to the crack of the whip.

"See those lions?" he touched her arm. "Thirteenth Century." She stared--"That's the 'Balzana,' the s.h.i.+eld of the Commune, black and white. I'll tell you why. When Senius offered sacrifice to his G.o.ds, on his arrival here, from the altar of Diana rose a pure white smoke, and from that of Apollo a dense black one--and ever since it's been on the s.h.i.+elds of the city. Makes one think, doesn't it? All those centuries ago."

"It's wonderful!"

On they went, through shadowy streets, the deep blue sky overhead cut by castellated walls and pierced by towers, dark with age.

Then, with a final "Ee ... ah!" from the driver, a last flourish of whip, they swerved aside through the frowning arch of the palace into the vast courtyard.

Here the sun had found its way, bathing one side in golden light. The fountain leaped in a dazzling cloud; the delicate marble stairs curved up, fairy-like, to the gallery; and about them was the beat of wings...

"_Look_ at the pigeons!"--Jill cried. "Where are we?"

The carriage stopped. He helped her down and hurried her on, up the s.h.i.+ning silvery steps.

"Peter! What is this?" Jill asked. But McTaggart only smiled to himself.

"Come along"--he grasped her arm--"this way..." Narrow shafts of light through the twisted columns made a path, like striped satin under their feet.

Dark doors were swung wide, and they stood in the dim tapestried hall, the inquisitive suns.h.i.+ne following them and playing among the crystal l.u.s.tres.

Jill, dazed, saw servants stand, bowing before her, heard a hum of respectful greetings rise and fall as McTaggart swept her, ever on, down a corridor lined with statues, and into a room, endlessly long, with a painted ceiling and polished floor.

"Now!" said Peter. He laughed aloud, throwing a challenge to the walls, where on every side faces peered, measuring them with liquid eyes.

"Here we are, Jill--at home." He closed the doors as he spoke.

"Home?" Jill stared at him. "Peter--I _don't_ understand."

A shade of temper was in her voice as she looked up in his laughing eyes.

"It's the Maramonte palace"--he cried--"Mine!--and yours now, my darling. Where my mother lived ... And all these"--he waved his hand--"are my people."

Jill suddenly caught her breath.

"D'you mean to say"--her voice was tense--"You _live_ here?--that it's ... the house?"

"Yes..." he caught her in his arms. "Aren't you pleased?--It's my 'surprise!'"

But she pushed him away nervously. Wide-eyed she gazed around her.

Then, still silent, she crossed the floor, and gazed out of the nearest window.

He followed her, a shade anxious. Surely, she could not be upset?

"Forgive me, Jill ... I ought to have thought..."

But suddenly her face changed.

"The tower"--she whispered--"the tower of my dream ... Peter, tell me--it _is_ true? It won't go ... fade away..." She clung to him like a frightened child.

"No--I swear it." A swift remorse moved him as he saw the tears well up in the eyes he loved. "Jill!--don't cry--for Heaven's sake. I meant it to be such a lovely surprise!--Why, my darling..."

She buried her face in his coat, struggling for control.

"It is!"--she sobbed--"it's _too_ lovely! What a baby I am...!" she broke away--"It's ... the _beauty_--can't you understand?" She wiped her eyes defiantly.

"But--who are _you_?" she added slowly--"I don't see yet why it's yours."