Dorothy, and Other Italian StoriesWoolson, Constance Fenimore
General
Dorothy, and Other Italian Stories
Woolson, Constance Fenimore
Americans -- Italy -- Fiction; Italy -- Social life and customs -- Fiction; Short stories, American
Gray, having got the Swede off the ground, put his left arm under her
back at the shoulders, and his right under her knees, and, lifting her
in this position, he carried her down the hill with as much speed as was
possible. This was not great, because the ground was uneven, and as he
could not see where to place his steps, he was obliged to feel his way
with his feet as he advanced--to shuffle along cautiously. In time,
however, he reached the bottom of the hill. Then slowly he began to
cross the field. This, too, was difficult, owing to the soft, crumbling
earth of the freshly ploughed furrows. But here at last the girl opened
her eyes.
"Can you stand?" asked Gray, breathlessly. Then he thought, with
irritation, "None of them can speak _anything_!"
But the Swede now made of her own accord the motion of trying to get to
her feet, and gladly enough he let her slip down and stand on the
ground, as his arms were aching. He still supported her, however, lest
she should fall.
But the girl seemed to be more terrified than weak; the instant her feet
touched the earth she began to run towards the stone boundary wall,
looking back every half-minute to see that no one was following. He went
with her, trying to help her over the furrows; and as they hurried
onward side by side, her face was such a picture of deathly fear that
the feeling took possession of him also; he found himself regretting
that their figures were so plainly visible on the moonlit expanse, and
he too looked nervously over his shoulder, as though he expected to see
the Italian woman coming after them madly, with her glittering eyes and
the shining knife.
They reached the wall, and climbed over into the road outside, the Swede
needing no help, but quicker in her movements than he was. In the road
he tried to stop her, but she pulled herself from him. Still holding
her, he showed her the horses tied in the shadow of the hedge. This she
comprehended. She waited, therefore; but she kept herself several yards
away from him, so that he should not stop her in case she should again
wish to flee. She was a slender young creature, and she stood there much
as a bird poises itself on a twig; not resting, not bearing its full
weight, but perched provisionally, as it were--ready to fly away again
in an instant.
Gray, who had now recovered his composure, tried to soothe her. With his
most encouraging inflections he repeated: "All safe now. _All-ll_ safe!
Stay right here with me."
She paid not the least attention to him. Her eyes continued their
strained watch of the lower trees of the grove. At length a man's figure
emerged from these trees, and the girl gave a muffled scream. But Gray
had caught hold of her arm; pointing to the horses and then to Dennison,
he said, gesticulating energetically: "Horses are _his_. Dennison's.
_My_ friend. _Your_ friend. (Oh, what _is_ 'friend?') Amicus! Don't you
see he's alone? Nobody with him? Solo? Sola?"
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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