Part 61 (1/2)
”There!--go and make happiness with that bit of paper!” he said--”Who can tell through what dirty usurer's hand it has been, carrying curses with it perchance on its way! Use it now for the comfort of a woman and her little children, and perhaps it will bring blessing to a living man as well as to a departed soul!”
And he literally put the poor stupefied fellow outside his door, shutting it gently upon him.
That night he left for Rome. And as the express tore its grinding way along over the iron rails towards the south, he repeated to himself over and over again as in a dream--
”No--Angela Sovrani is not dead! She cannot be dead! G.o.d is too good for that. He will not let her die before she knows--before she knows I love her!”
x.x.xIII.
The chain of circ.u.mstance had lengthened by several links round the radiant life of Sylvie Hermenstem since that bright winter morning when she had been startled out of her reverie, in the gardens of the Villa Borghese, by the unexpected appearance of Monsignor Gherardi. The untimely deaths of the Marquis Fontenelle and the actor Miraudin in the duel over her name, had caused so much malicious and cruel gossip, that she had withdrawn herself almost entirely from Roman society, which had, with one venomous consent, declared that she was only marrying Aubrey Leigh to s.h.i.+eld herself from her esclandre with the late Marquis. And then the murderous attack on her friend Angela Sovrani, which occurred almost immediately after her engagement to Aubrey was announced, had occupied all her thoughts--so that she had almost forgotten the promise she had made to grant a private interview to Gherardi whenever he should seek it. And she was not a little vexed one morning when she was talking to her betrothed concerning the plans which were now in progress for their going to England as soon as possible, to receive a note reminding her of that promise, and requesting permission to call upon her that very afternoon.
”How very unfortunate and tiresome!” said Sylvie, with a charming pout and upward look at her lover, who promptly kissed the lips that made such a pretty curve of disdain--”I suppose he wants to give me a serious lecture on the responsibilities of marriage! Shall I receive him, Aubrey? I remember when I met him last that he had something important to say about Cardinal Bonpre.”
”Then you must certainly give him an audience,” answered Aubrey--”You may perhaps find out what has happened to bring the good Cardinal into disfavour at the Vatican, for there is no doubt that he is extremely worried and anxious. He is strongly desirous of leaving Rome at once with that gentle lad Manuel, who, from all I can gather, has said something to displease the Pope. Angela is out of danger now--and I am trying to persuade the Cardinal to accompany us to England, and be present at our marriage.”
”That would be delightful!” said Sylvie with a smile,--”But my Aubrey, where are we going to be married?”
”In England, as I said--not here!” said Aubrey firmly--”Not here, where evil tongues have spoken lies against my darling!” He drew her into his arms and looked at her fondly. ”I want you to start for England soon, Sylvie--and if possible, I should like you to go, not only with the faithful Bozier, but also in the care of the Cardinal. I will precede you by some days, and arrange everything for your reception. And then we will be married--in MY way!”
Sylvie said nothing--she merely nestled like a dove in the arms of her betrothed, and seemed quite content to accept whatever ordinance he laid down for the ruling of her fate.
”I think you must see Gherardi,” he resumed--”Write a line and say you will be happy to receive him at the hour he appoints.”
Sylvie obeyed--and despatched the note at once to the Vatican by her man-servant.
Aubrey looked at her intently.
”I wonder--Sylvie, I wonder--” he began, and then stopped.
She met his earnest eyes with a smile in her own.
”You wonder what, caro mio?” she enquired.
”I wonder whether you could endure a very great trial--or make a very great sacrifice for my sake!” he said,--then as he saw her expression, he took her little hand and kissed it.
”There! Forgive me! Of course you would!--only you look such a slight thing--such a soft flower of a woman--like a rose-bud to be worn next the heart always--that it seems difficult to picture you as an inflexible heroine under trying circ.u.mstances. Yet of course you would be.”
”I make no boast, my Aubrey!” she said gently.
He kissed her tenderly,--reverently,--studying her sweet eyes and delicate colouring with all the fond scrutiny of a love which cannot tire of the thing it loves.
”Are you going round to see Angela this morning?” he asked.
”Yes, I always go. She is much better--she sits up a little every day now.”
”She says nothing of her a.s.sa.s.sin?”
”Nothing. But I know him!”
”We all know him!” said Aubrey sternly--”But she will never speak--she will never let the world know!”