The Call of the Blood

"Maddalena," Maurice said to the girl, in a low voice, "can you guess

what I am thinking about?"

She shook her head.

"No, signore."

"You see the mountain!"

He pointed to the end of the little street.

"Si, signore."

"I am thinking that I should like to go there now with you."

"Ma, signorino--the fiera!"

Her voice sounded plaintive with surprise and she glanced at her

pea-green skirt.

"And this, signorino!"--she touched it carefully with her slim fingers.

"How could I go in this?"

"When the fair is over, then, and you are in your every-day gown,

Maddalena, I should like to carry you off to Etna."

"They say there are briganti there."

"Brigands--would you be afraid of them with me?"

"I don't know, signore. But what should we do there on Etna far away from

the sea and from Marechiaro?"

"We should"--he whispered in her ear, seizing this chance almost angrily,

almost defiantly, with the thought of Salvatore in his mind--"we should

love each other, Maddalena. It is quiet in the beech forests on Etna. No

one would come to disturb us, and----"

A chuckle close to his ear made him start. Salvatore's hand was on his

arm, and Salvatore's face, looking wily and triumphant, was close to his.

"Gaspare was wrong, there are splendid donkeys here. I have been talking

to some friends who have seen them."

There was a tramp of heavy boots on the stones behind them. The fishermen

from Catania were coming to see the fun. Salvatore was in glory. To get

all and give nothing was, in his opinion, to accomplish the legitimate

aim of a man's life. And his friends, those who had dared to sneer and to

whisper, and to imagine that he was selling his daughter for money, now

knew the truth and were here to witness his ingenuity. Intoxicated by his

triumph, he began to show off his power over the Inglese for the benefit

of the tramplers behind. He talked to Maurice with a loud familiarity,

kept laying his hand on Maurice's arm as they walked, and even called

him, with a half-jocose intonation, "compare." Maurice sickened at his

impertinence, but was obliged to endure it with patience, and this act of

patience brought to the birth within him a sudden, fierce longing for

revenge, a longing to pay Salvatore out for his grossness, his greed, his

sly and leering affectation of playing the slave when he was really

indicating to his compatriots that he considered himself the master.

Again Maurice heard the call of the Sicilian blood within him, but this

time it did not call him to the tarantella or to love. It called him to

strike a blow. But this blow could only be struck through Maddalena,

could only be struck if he were traitor to Hermione. For a moment he saw

everything red. Again Salvatore called him "compare." Suddenly Maurice

could not bear it.