Volume Iii Part 7 (2/2)

'In the fair city of Florence there was a girl, fair in person, a fine figure, a sunny face, a gift of song. She was the child of pious parents in the neighbouring mountains. The father was an officer in the Pope's army. When all Europe dashed its armies, not in vain, against the holy rock of St. Peter's, the father died as a brave man should. The mother lived on on her small estate on the mountains. The girl loved the city, and the museums, and the gardens, and the picture galleries. She would not go back to the solitude of her country home; in fact, she ran away, and one morning she met an English milor. He was rich, he was handsome, he was well-born; he told her he loved her to distraction-she would always be happy with him. In a foolish hour the silly girl went on board milor's yacht, that was lying in the bay-just as the yachts of milors lie there to-day.'

'Ah! that was bad,' said the priest.

'Yes, it was indeed, holy father,' continued the lady. 'The girl remained there; she believed in the milor; she learnt his language; she amused his idle hours. He did not know his own mind; she did not know hers, and both thought they were happy.'

'It was bad,' said the priest. 'Evil came of it. You need tell me no more. Evil always comes of such liaisons. Where the Church does not bless, the great enemy of souls, like a roaring lion, comes in.'

'But there is a good deal more to be told.'

'Proceed, madam, I am all attention.'

'The milor was lost sight of. The lady appears in London. Socially, she had kept her reputation untouched; she a.s.sumed an Italian t.i.tle of n.o.bility. There are only too many in London, especially among rich parvenues, who throw open their doors to anyone with a foreign t.i.tle, whether real or a.s.sumed.'

'So I have heard, madam.'

'The Italian lady in this way made many acquaintances and some friends.h.i.+ps. Amongst the latter was a lady in weak health, and in great trouble of body and mind. The Italian lady was interested in her; she seemed so sad and sorrowful-almost as sad and sorrowful as herself. The lady had many confidences to make. She was the wife of the rich milor; she was about to present him with a child-a son and heir it was to be hoped. She dreaded the event, she was so weak and sad.'

'”What will you?” said the Italian lady to the English one. ”That you come and stay with me-that you be my companion and friend. Everything shall be placed in your hands.” The Italian lady was delighted. In the first place it would give her an opportunity to meet her English milor again; perhaps to regain her old authority over him. Alas! she was mistaken.'

'And it was quite as well, too,' said the priest. 'Her better part was that of a penitent; it was only thus the ministers of the Church could absolve her of her sin.'

'Milor had lost all interest in the Italian woman who had given up to him her youth, her love, her innocence, and her life. Milor felt no pleasure at once more recognising her as established in his grand house in town as the friend and companion of his wife.'

'Was this madame, this Italian Countess, this friend of yours, very much distressed, was she broken-hearted?' asked the priest with a quiet smile.

'Not exactly. Her idea was to take a grand revenge.'

'Ah! that is more the way of Italians. But what was that revenge? Did she stab the milor? did she poison his wife?'

'Neither the one nor the other. As one of the household-as its mistress as it were for the time being-she saw how she could revenge herself in a better way.'

'Revenge! Ah, that is sinful, I fear,' said the priest. '”Vengeance is mine, saith the Lord.” Hear David, ”O Lord, to whom vengeance belongeth, show Thyself.” Ah, it may be sweet for a time,' said the priest, as he shook his head.

'Holy father,' replied the lady, 'you are right, as you always are. We women have not men's heads, we have only hearts, and those hearts often fill us with bad pa.s.sions.'

'I fear that is too true,' said the priest. 'But pray proceed with your narrative.'

'Well, her plans were artfully laid. The servants were her creatures.

The medical man was her dupe. She had sole command of the mansion. The poor dying wife had begged her to take the trouble off her hands. Milor fancied she was his slave; he in reality was her dupe. She made him believe that his child was dead. She did more, she paid some women to take care of a child which she pretended, with strict injunctions to secrecy, was the heir. Gold did it all. At that time the lady had plenty of gold.'

'Which might have been better spent in the service of the Holy Catholic Church, which needs the treasures of the faithful, and gives them interest for the money, which will yield rich fruit through the countless ages of eternity.'

'Ah, my friend did not think of such things. She was in the world and of it. There, in that island of heretics, she had given up her religious observances, and had almost lost her religious faith. Oh, how much better it is for the woman to stop in the land where the poetry of youth ripens and matures, till in her old age she has all the ardour and the blessedness of a devotee.'

'You speak truly and well,' said the priest, with an approving smile; and though he did not often smile, his smile, when it did appear on his marble face, was encouraging.

'My father,' said the penitent, weeping, 'I can keep up the deception no longer-I speak of myself!'

'I thought as much,' he replied. 'I am afraid you have done a great wrong. But what has become of the child?'

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