Part 13 (1/2)
”_Per Bacco!_” said the man who was holding Moratti up; ”but it was an affair between the skin and the flesh, signore--steady!” and his arm tightened round the captain. As he did this, a long defiant howl floated back to them through the night, and Guido Moratti knew no more. He seemed to have dropped suddenly, into an endless night. He seemed to be flying through s.p.a.ce, past countless millions of stars, which, bright themselves, were unable to illumine the abysmal darkness around, and then--there was nothing.
When Moratti came to himself again, he was lying in a bed, in a large room, dimly lighted by a shaded lamp, set on a tall Corinthian pillar of marble. After the first indistinct glance around him, he shut his eyes, and was lost in a dreamy stupor. In a little, he looked again, and saw that the chamber was luxuriously fitted, and that he was not alone, for, kneeling at a _prie-dieu_, under a large picture of a Madonna and Child, was the figure of a woman. Her face was from him; but ill as he was, Moratti saw that the tight-fitting dress showed a youthful and perfect figure, and that her head was covered with an abundance of red-gold hair. The man was still in the shadowland caused by utter weakness, and for a moment he thought that this was nothing but a vision of fancy; but he rallied half unconsciously, and looked again; and then, curiosity overcoming him, attempted to turn so as to obtain a better view, and was checked by a twinge of pain, which, coming suddenly, brought an exclamation to his lips. In an instant the lady rose, and moving towards him, bent over the bed. As she did this, their eyes met, and the fierce though dulled gaze of the bravo saw before him a face of ideal innocence, of such saintlike purity, that it might have been a dream of Raffaelle. She placed a cool hand on his hot forehead, and whispered softly: ”Be still--and drink this--you will sleep.” Turning to a side table, she lifted a silver goblet therefrom, and gave him to drink. The draught was cool and refres.h.i.+ng, and he gathered strength from it.
”Where am I?” he asked; and then, with a sudden courtesy, ”Madonna--pardon me--I thank you.”
”Hus.h.!.+” she answered, lifting a small hand. ”You are in Pieve, and you have been very ill. But I must not talk--sleep now, signore.”
”I remember now,” he said dreamily--”the wolves; but it seems so long ago.”
She made no reply, but stepped softly out of the room, and was gone.
Moratti would have called out after her; but a drowsiness came on him, and closing his eyes, he slept.
It takes a strong man some time to recover from wounds inflicted by a wild animal; and when a man has, like Guido Moratti, lived at both ends, it takes longer still, and it was weeks before the captain was out of danger. He never saw his fair visitor again. Her place was taken by a staid and middle-aged nurse, and he was visited two or three times daily by a solemn-looking physician. But although he did not see her whom he longed to see, there was a message both morning and evening from the Count of Pieve and his daughter, hoping the invalid was better--the former regretting that his infirmities prevented his paying a personal visit, and the inquiries of the latter being always accompanied by a bouquet of winter flowers. But strange as it may seem, when he was under the influence of the opiate they gave him nightly, he was certain of the presence of the slight graceful figure of the lady of the _prie-dieu_, as he called her to himself. He saw again the golden-red hair and the sweet eyes, and felt again the touch of the cool hand. He began to think that this bright presence which lit his dreams was but a vision after all, and used to long for the night and the opiate.
At last one fine morning t.i.to appeared, and began to set out and brush the captain's apparel as if nothing had ever happened. Moratti watched him for a s.p.a.ce, and then rising up against his pillows, spoke: ”t.i.to!”
”Signore!”
”How is it that you have not been here before?”
”I was not allowed, Excellency, until to-day--your wors.h.i.+p was too ill.”
”Then I am better.”
”Excellency!”
There was a silence of some minutes, and the captain spoke again: ”t.i.to!”
”Signore!”
”Have you seen the Count and his daughter?”
”Excellency!”
”What are they like?”
”The Count old, and a cripple. Madonna Felicita, small, thin, red-haired like my wife Sancia.”
Moratti sank down again upon the bed, a satisfied smile upon his lips.
So there was truth in his dreams. The vision of the night was a reality. He would see her soon, as soon as he could rise, and he was fast getting well, very fast. He had gone back many years in his illness. He had thoughts stirred within him that he had imagined dead long ago. He was the last man to day-dream, to build castles in the air; but as he lay idly watching t.i.to, who was evidently very busy cleaning something--for he was sitting on a low chair with his back towards the captain, and his elbow moving backwards and forwards rapidly--the bravo pictured himself Guido Moratti as he might have been, a man able to look all men in the face, making an honourable way for himself, and worthy the love of a good woman. The last thought brought before him a fair face and sweet eyes, and a dainty head crowned with red-gold hair, and the strong man let his fancy run on with an uprising of infinite tenderness in his heart. He was lost in a cloudland of dreams.
”Signore!”
t.i.to's harsh voice had pulled down the castle in Spain, and t.i.to himself was standing at the bedside holding a bright and glittering dagger in his hand. But he had done more than upset his master's dreams. He had, all unwittingly, brought him back in a flash to the hideous reality, for, as a consequence of his long illness, of the weeks of fever and delirium, Moratti had clean forgotten the dreadful object of his coming to Pieve. It all came back to him with a blinding suddenness, and he closed his eyes with a shudder of horror as t.i.to laid the poniard upon the bed, asking: ”Will the signore see if the blade is keen enough? A touch of the finger will suffice.”
CHAPTER IV.