The Net: A Novel | Page 4

late. Once, seven
years ago, it arrived upon the moment. There were no passengers at the
station to meet it, however, so it was forced to wait, and now, in order
to keep our good-will it always arrives thus."
The Count was a well-set-up youth of an alert and active type, tall, dark,
and vivacious, with a skin as smooth as a girl's. He had an impulsive,
energetic nature that seldom left him in repose, and hence the contrast
between the two men was marked, for Blake was of a more serious cast
of features and possessed a decidedly Anglo-Saxon reserve. He was
much the heavier in build, also, which detracted from his height and
robbed him of that elegance which distinguished the young Sicilian.
Yet the two made a fine-looking pair as they stood face to face in the

yellow glare of the station lights.
"What the deuce made me agree to this trip, I don't know," the
American declared. "It was vile. I've been carsick, seasick, homesick--"
"And all for poor, lovesick Martel!" The Count laughed. "Ah, but if
you knew how glad I am to see you!"
"Really? Then that squares it." Blake spoke with that indefinable
undernote which creeps into men's voices when friend meets friend.
"I've been lost without you, too. I was quite ashamed of myself."
The Count turned to a middle-aged man who had remained in the
shadows, saying: "This is Ricardo Ferara, my good right hand, of
whom you have heard me speak." The overseer raised his hat, and
Blake took his hand, catching a glimpse of a grizzled face and a stiff
mop of iron-gray hair. "You will see to Signore Blake's baggage,
Ricardo. Michele! Ippolito!" the Count called. "The carretta, quickly!
And now, caro Norvin, for the last leg of your journey. Will you ride in
the cart or on horseback? It is not far, but the roads are steep."
"Horseback, by all means. My muscles need exercise."
The young men mounted a pair of compact Sicilian horses, which were
held by still another man in the street behind the depot, and set off up
the winding road which climbed to the village above. Blake regretted
the lateness of the hour, which prevented him from gaining an adequate
idea of his surroundings. He could see, however, that they were
picturesque, for San Sebastiano lay in a tiny step hewed out of the
mountain-side and was crowded into one street overlooking the railway
far below and commanding a view of the sea toward the Calabrian
coast. As the riders clattered through the poorly lighted village, Blake
saw the customary low-roofed houses, the usual squalid side-streets,
more like steep lanes than thoroughfares, and heard the townspeople
pronouncing the name of the Count of Martinello, while the
ever-present horde of urchins fled from their path. A beggar appeared
beside his stirrup, crying, "I die of hunger, your worship." But the
fellow ran with surprising vigor and manifested a degree of endurance
quite unexampled in a starving man. A glimpse of these, and then the
lights were left behind and they were moving swiftly upward and into
the mountains, skirting walls of stone over which was wafted the
perfume of many flowers, passing fragrant groves of orange and lemon
trees, and less fragrant cottages, the contents of which were bared to

their eyes with utter lack of modesty. They disturbed herds of drowsy
cattle and goats lying at the roadside, and all the time they continued to
climb, until their horses heaved and panted.
The American's impressions of this entire journey, from the time of his
leaving Paris up to the present moment, had been hurried and unreal,
for he had made close connections at Rome, at Naples, and at Palermo.
Having the leisurely deliberateness of the American Southerner, he
disliked haste and confusion above all things. He had an intense desire,
therefore, to come to anchor and to adjust himself to his surroundings.
As Martel chattered along, telling of his many doings, Blake noted that
Ricardo and the man who had held the horses were following closely.
Then, as the cavalcade paused at length to breathe their mounts, he saw
that both men carried rifles.
"Why! We look like an American sheriff's posse, Martel," said he. "Do
all Sicilian bridegrooms travel with an armed escort?"
Savigno showed a trace of hesitation. "The nights are dark; the country
is wild."
"But, my dear boy, this country is surely old enough to be safe. Why,
Sicily was civilized long before my country was even heard of. All
sorts of ancient gods and heroes used to live here, I am told, and I
supposed Diana had killed all the game long ago."
He laughed, but Savigno did not join him, and a moment later they
were under way