Part 29

"Then I will go to her," she answered, "that she may see a face of love when she passes," and pushing them all aside, she resolutely entered the sick-chamber, signing to Maestro Gentile to follow her; but the protest from the group of learned men was less than she had feared, since the Queen was now so ill that nothing could cure or harm.

The fair young mother, fever flushed, with wandering eyes, lay tossing on the silken cushions of her low couch--broken words feebly struggling from the parted lips in pathetic tones, "Madonna--I am so tired--so tired--take me----"

There was no recognition in her eyes, as the Lady Beata leaned over her, startled at the words, her soul wrung with sympathy.

"Why can they do nothing?" she asked in low authoritative tones of the physician.

"The will is gone," he answered sorrowfully; "she hath lost all desire of life; she will not rally, being too weak for the effort, and having no consciousness to help herself."

There was a hunted, frightened look in Caterina's face; the words came again, more faintly--"tired--take me----"

"She shall not die until she hath known this joy which Heaven hath sent her!" the Lady Beata cried with conviction and a sudden sense of power. "We will save her--thou, Maestro Gentile--and I--who love her. Give her only some potion for her strengthening, I beseech thee, caro Maestro;--life is flickering--she must not die yet."

"There is no hope," he answered her again; but he gave the strengthening draught, for he could not resist her imploring eyes.

The Lady Beata had been moving noiselessly, throwing wide the curtains; a faint, pitying evening breeze stole into the chamber. She came now and knelt beside the couch.

"Bring the little Prince hither with all possible haste, from his chamber," she said without lifting her eyes from Caterina's face. "We must rouse her!"

And now the Maestro went without further question, to do her bidding, although the child, and all that belonged to him had been kept out of sight and sound of the invalid, through these days of danger, lest an emotion should snap the slender thread of life.

"Bring none with thee," she said, "save only the peasant-nurse; for we must be alone."

Quite alone, with death so near, out of the marvellous great strength in her heart, the Lady Beata laid her firm, cool touch on the restless hands, scarcely restraining them--yet the spasmodic movements grew quieter; she smiled into her eyes, until the strain of the frightened gaze relaxed; she folded her close in the arms of her deep tenderness and willed her back to life with the strenuousness of a great purpose--for was there not the little wailing child to live for, to give her sight of the love and happiness for which she was starving!

Closer and closer yet she folded her, with light caressing motions on hair and brow, calling to her with all sweet names that deep-hearted women know, in tones so like a dream that they caught the wandering consciousness and lighted it with a faint, far hope.

Time is not when such momentous issues are pending. Whether the moments passed into hours, or whether each instant were so fraught with its intensity of hope and fear that every heart-throb seemed an eternity, the yearning watchers never knew. Slowly--or was it swiftly?--Just as hope was dying in despair--a breath of peace, like the wafting of the wings of some heavenly messenger, stirred softly among them, dropping balm on the face of the sleeper.

They bent above her breathlessly; the pale eyelids fluttered and unclosed.

Her breath came gently and broke in a restful sigh; she lay quietly within the shielding arms that had held her back from the dread abyss; the light of recognition was dawning in her eyes.

The Lady Beata trembled for joy; but she scarce dared move or speak; she kept her eyes fixed on the dear, fragile face,--deep in her heart that ceaseless prayer for life.

Maestro Gentile was dumb with awe:--it was a miracle! He stood watching, intent to help--holding his breath lest he should work some harm, while he kept guard over the nurse who held the sleeping child; he was so completely under the spell of that wonder-working will that he needed scarce a sign to work with her.

But the Lady Beata was no thaumaturgist; only a loving woman, standing where science had failed, translating another's desperate need from her own depths of sympathy--arresting the oncoming shadow because of her faith and her great love.

"Now!" she exclaimed under her breath.

She laid the infant on its mother's breast; its dainty breath came and went upon her face with the fragrance of a violet. She uncurled a little crumpled, rose-leaf palm and pressed it close upon the mother's cheek--never moving her gaze, with the will of life strong within it, from the eyes in which recognition had dawned with a strange, sweet surprise. A smile was brooding on lips and eyes. One baby-hand lay clasped in Caterina's--the wee pink fingers closed on hers like the tendrils of a vine.

The Lady Beata's heart throbbed to breaking, but her voice came low and calm--stilled with the passion of her gladness, as Caterina's eyes smiled into hers:

"It is thine own little son, who hath need of thy love:--God's wonderful gift of joy that only mothers know!"

XVII

With whatever magnificence of pageantry the ceremonies of the Baptism and Coronation of the infant Prince of Galilee were surrounded--and under the tutelage of Venice and the auspices of Cyprus which aspired to the splendor of an Eastern Empire, there could be nothing lacking--there were nobler aspects of that brilliant festival which those who witnessed never forgot.

The Embassies which had been despatched to all friendly courts had returned with deputations of rejoicing; a fleet from Venice and ships from the East had brought costly gifts of welcome and men, high in dignity, charged to represent their governments: and the Admiral Morenigo, with two Provveditori had arrived to stand sponsors for the Grandson of the Republic. In the vast banquet-hall of the palace, decorated with all its ancient heraldic devices and trophies of Crusades and Eastern victories, the Coronation Feast was spread, where presently the knights of the noblest families of the kingdom would count it an honor to serve: and the splendid city of Famagosta was gay with the suites and banners of foreign guests.

But, for all that, it was the People's Day--for the young Queen had willed it so.