The Gadfly by Ethel Voynich (top fiction books of all time .txt) 📕

to Louisa for her passport; she promised to lend it whenever I want one. What about money? Shall I draw some out of the bank?”

“No; don’t waste time on that; I can draw enough from my account to last us for a bit. We will fall back on yours later on if my balance runs short. Till half-past five, then; I shall be sure to find you here, of course?”

“Oh, yes! I shall be back long before then.”

Half an hour after the appointed time he returned, and found Gemma and Martini sitting on the terrace together. He saw at once that their conversation had been a distressing one; the traces of agitation were visible in both of them, and Martini was unusually silent and glum.

“Have you arranged everything?” she asked, looking up.

“Yes; and I have brought you some money for the journey. The horse will be ready for me at the Ponte Rosso barrier at one in the night.”

“Is not that rather late? You ought to get into San Lorenzo before the people are up in the morning.”

“So I shall; it’s a very fast horse; and I don’t want to leave here when there’s a chance of anyone noticing me. I shan’t go home any more; there’s a spy watching at the door, and he thinks me in.”

“How did you get out without his seeing you?”

“Out of the kitchen window into the back garden and over the neighbour’s orchard wall; that’s what makes me so late; I had to dodge him. I left the owner of the horse to sit in the study all the evening with the lamp lighted. When the spy sees the light in the window and a shadow on the blind he will be quite satisfied that I am writing at home this evening.”

“Then you will stay here till it is time to go to the barrier?”

“Yes; I don’t want to be seen in the street any more tonight. Have a cigar, Martini? I know Signora Bolla doesn’t mind smoke.”

“I shan’t be here to mind; I must go downstairs and help Katie with the dinner.”

When she had gone Martini got up and began to pace to and fro with his hands behind his back. The Gadfly sat smoking and looking silently out at the drizzling rain.

“Rivarez!” Martini began, stopping in front of him, but keeping his eyes on the ground; “what sort of thing are you going to drag her into?”

The Gadfly took the cigar from his mouth and blew away a long trail of smoke.

“She has chosen for herself,” he said, “without compulsion on anyone’s part.”

“Yes, yes⁠—I know. But tell me⁠—”

He stopped.

“I will tell you anything I can.”

“Well, then⁠—I don’t know much about the details of these affairs in the hills⁠—are you going to take her into any very serious danger?”

“Do you want the truth?”

“Yes.”

“Then⁠—yes.”

Martini turned away and went on pacing up and down. Presently he stopped again.

“I want to ask you another question. If you don’t choose to answer it, you needn’t, of course; but if you do answer, then answer honestly. Are you in love with her?”

The Gadfly deliberately knocked the ash from his cigar and went on smoking in silence.

“That means⁠—that you don’t choose to answer?”

“No; only that I think I have a right to know why you ask me that.”

“Why? Good God, man, can’t you see why?”

“Ah!” He laid down his cigar and looked steadily at Martini. “Yes,” he said at last, slowly and softly. “I am in love with her. But you needn’t think I am going to make love to her, or worry about it. I am only going to⁠—”

His voice died away in a strange, faint whisper. Martini came a step nearer.

“Only going⁠—to⁠—”

“To die.”

He was staring straight before him with a cold, fixed look, as if he were dead already. When he spoke again his voice was curiously lifeless and even.

“You needn’t worry her about it beforehand,” he said; “but there’s not the ghost of a chance for me. It’s dangerous for everyone; that she knows as well as I do; but the smugglers will do their best to prevent her getting taken. They are good fellows, though they are a bit rough. As for me, the rope is round my neck, and when I cross the frontier I pull the noose.”

“Rivarez, what do you mean? Of course it’s dangerous, and particularly so for you; I understand that; but you have often crossed the frontier before and always been successful.”

“Yes, and this time I shall fail.”

“But why? How can you know?”

The Gadfly smiled drearily.

“Do you remember the German legend of the man that died when he met his own double? No? It appeared to him at night in a lonely place, wringing its hands in despair. Well, I met mine the last time I was in the hills; and when I cross the frontier again I shan’t come back.”

Martini came up to him and put a hand on the back of his chair.

“Listen, Rivarez; I don’t understand a word of all this metaphysical stuff, but I do understand one thing: If you feel about it that way, you are not in a fit state to go. The surest way to get taken is to go with a conviction that you will be taken. You must be ill, or out of sorts somehow, to get maggots of that kind into your head. Suppose I go instead of you? I can do any practical work there is to be done, and you can send a message to your men, explaining⁠—”

“And let you get killed instead? That would be very clever.”

“Oh, I’m not likely to get killed! They don’t know me as they do you. And, besides, even if I did⁠—”

He stopped, and the Gadfly looked up with a slow, inquiring gaze. Martini’s hand dropped by his side.

“She very likely wouldn’t miss me as much as she would you,” he said in his most matter-of-fact voice. “And then, besides, Rivarez, this is public business, and we have to look at it