Adventure, June 1911 — page 73: what you’re looking at

Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.

sir John Hawkwood thought of what you were, and of what I was, and how far I had fallen from what I might have been, then do you think I did not suffer?”’ She did not speak. She was staring at me, her face very pale in the gloom. Night was coming fast, and I could see her only with dimness now. “There is no need that you should feel anger at me,” I told her gently. “My love never harmed you. It harmed no one save myself, and even to me it has brought great good. Do you think, Madonna Giulia, that [I would have had it otherwise? I would rather suffer for your sake than be happy because I had never seen you. And I have known happy hours, too. Will you hate me if I tell you this? Well, I must take the risk, since I have sworn to tell the truth. “Sometimes I lay by the camp fire at midnight and dreamed I was a great prince. and free to tell you of my love. Sometimes { pictured what I well knew could never be —what I would not have had be, for your sake. I dreamed that if you knew me, and learned to love me, out of the nobleness of your heart you might find the power to toss away rank and greatness and gladly give yourself to a poor soldier of fortune who stood alone save for his sword. I saw my- self shield you and protect you, and make poverty so sweet a thing that you would never look back with longing to the days when you reigned a Princess. I saw you learn that want, sweetened by love, is far happier than state and power without it. I pictured us all alone, you and I, hand in hand, walking through life, well contented singe we had each other. Was not that a foolish dream, Madonna Giulia? Yet it was so dear to me that I could not tear it from my heart!” 2... - THE room was dark now, and I could see nothing but the dim out- line of her form. She did not speak as I paused, and I was glad, for I had not dared to hope that she would hear my tale with so much patience. “T had a third dream,” I said slowly. “‘Sometimes I thought that, since I could never possess you, it would be the crown of my life if I might die in doing you some service. I was accustomed to hold this the most foolish of all my vain imaginings. And yet at last the time has come when I can serve you, and I do it gladly and proudly; 259 and if I die in the enterprise, I will die in the most worthy act of all my life. First I must get you into safety, then I care not a jot what may come—it would be as well that my life should end with its best deed.” “End!” She breathed the word so softly that I hardly heard it. “Vou will think,” I said in a low voice, “that my love was a poor thing, since it made me no better than I was before. I raged against fate, and my anger drove me to many evil things, and day by day I made myself more and more unworthy of a glance from your eyes. In one short night I be- came another man. Since I have brought you here I have not been the mercenary who served Antonio della Scala at Verona. I have been an English knight once more.” In the pause there was a sound of stum- bling steps outside, and Pierre came in from the gallery, bearing lights. The blackness of the room flamed suddenly into brightness, and I saw something that made my heart leap. Pierre set the candles down, then stood staring stupidly until I curtly bade him begone. The Princess was lying back in her chair, her face hidden in her arms, her shoulders shaken. She was not angered at me for my presumption, not embittered at my daring —she was weeping as if her heart would break. What had I done to wound her? I cursed myself for a rough fool who had no place among women, and racked my brains for a way to soothe her. ‘“‘Are you weeping because you pity me, madonna?” I asked, thrilling with joy de- spite myself at the thought. ‘There is no need. God knows I had not meant to pain you! See you, although my love is mad and hopeless, it has done great good, for as long as I may live now I can never be again what I was a week ago.” She said nothing, and I crossed the room and fell on one knee beside her. ‘‘ You have brought back the old Sir John Hawkwood,' Princess,’ I said, ‘and I thank you, and am your servant for as long as my life shall last.” I gently raised one of her hands from where it lay against the chair, and touched it to my lips. It had the chill of death. “That is all,” I said cheerfully, stepping back. “TI thank you for your patient hear- ing, which will be a sweet memory to me in days to come, when I am far from you and may not see your face. Now I will tell you what chanced in Verona a few days since, Go NOOKS ANUC (C@