Part 76 (2/2)
He entreated her to. Thereat she pulled gently for her hand, and persisting, it was grudgingly let go.
”One night Countess Branciani put the Austrians on her husband's track.
He knew that she was true to her country, and had no fear of her, whether she touched the Black-yellow gold or not. But he did not confide any, of his projects to her. And his reason was, that as she went to the Governor's, she might accidentally, by a word or a sign, show that she was an accomplice in the conspiracy. He wished to save her from a suspicion. Brave Branciani!”
Emilia had a little shudder of excitement.
”Only,” she added, ”why will men always think women are so weak? The Count worked with conspirators who were not dreaming they would do anything, but were plotting to do it. The Countess belonged to the other party--men who never thought they were strong enough to see their ideas acting--I mean, not bold enough to take their chance. As if we die more than one death, and the blood we spill for Italy is ever wasted! That night the Austrian spy followed the Count to the meeting-house of the conspirators. It was thought quite natural that the Count should go there. But the spy, not having the pa.s.sword, crouched outside, and heard from two that came out muttering, the next appointment for a meeting.
This was told to Countess Branciani, and in the meantime she heard from the Austrian Governor that her husband had given in names of the conspirators. She determined at once. 'Now may Christ and the Virgin help me!'”
Emilia struck her knees, while tears started through her shut eyelids.
The exclamation must have been caught from her father, who liked not the priests of his native land well enough to interfere between his English wife and their child in such a matter as religious training.
”What happened?” said Wilfrid, vainly seeking for personal application in this narrative.
”Listen!--Ah!” she fought with her tears, and said, as they rolled down her face: ”For a miserable thing one can not help, I find I must cry.
This is what she did. She told him she knew of the conspiracy, and asked permission to join it, swearing that she was true to Italy. He said he believed her.--Oh, heaven!--And for some time she had to beg and beg; but to spare her he would not let her join. I cannot tell why--he gave her the pa.s.sword for the neat meeting, and said that an old gold coin must be shown. She must have coaxed it, though he was a strong man, who could resist women. I suppose he felt that he had been unkind.--Were I Queen of Italy he should stand for ever in a statue of gold!--The next appointed night a spy entered among the conspirators, with the pa.s.sword and the coin. Did I tell you the Countess had one child--a girl! She lives now, and I am to know her. She is like her mother. That little girl was playing down the stairs with her nurse when a band of Austrian soldiers entered the hall underneath, and an officer, with his sword drawn, and some men, came marching up in their stiff way--the machines!
This officer stooped to her, and before the nurse could stop her, made her say where her father was. Those Austrians make children betray their parents! They don't think how we grow up to detest them. Do I? Hate is not the word: it burns so hot and steady with me. The Countess came out on the first landing; she saw what was happening. When her husband was led out, she asked permission to embrace him. The officer consented, but she had to say to him, 'Move back,' and then, with her lips to her husband's cheek, 'Betray no more of them!' she whispered. Count Branciani started. Now he understood what she had done, and why she had done it. 'Ask for the charge that makes me a prisoner,' he said. Her husband's n.o.ble face gave her a chill of alarm. The Austrian spoke. 'He is accused of being the chief of the Sequin Club.' And then the Countess looked at her husband; she sank at his feet. My heart breaks. Wilfrid!
Wilfrid! You will not wear that uniform? Say 'Never, never!' You will not go to the Austrian army--Wilfrid? Would you be my enemy? Brutes, knee-deep in blood! with b.l.o.o.d.y fingers! Ogres! Would you be one of them? To see me turn my head s.h.i.+vering with loathing as you pa.s.s? This is why I sent for you, because I loved you, to entreat you, Wilfrid, from my soul, not to blacken the dear happy days when I knew you! Will you hear me? That woman is changeing you--doing all this. Resist her!
Think of me in this one thing! Promise it, and I will go at once, and want no more. I will swear never to trouble you. Oh, Wilfrid it's not so much our being enemies, but what you become, I think of. If I say to myself, 'He also, who was once my lover--Oh! paid murderer of my dear people!'”
Emilia threw up both hands to her eyes: but Wilfrid, all on fire with a word, made one of her hands his own, repeating eagerly: ”Once? once?”
”Once?” she echoed him.
”'Once my love?'” said he. ”Not now?--does it mean, 'not now?' My darling!--pardon me, I must say it. My beloved! you said: 'He who was once my lover:'--you said that. What does it mean? Not that--not--? does it mean, all's over? Why did you bring me here? You know I must love you forever. Speak! 'Once?'”
”'Once?'” Emilia was breathing quick, but her voice was well contained: ”Yes, I said 'once.' You were then.”
”Till that night in Devon?
”Let it be.”
”But you love me still?”
”We won't speak of it.”
”I see! You cannot forgive. Good heavens! I think I remember your saying so once--Once! Yes, then: you said it then, during our 'Once;' when I little thought you would be merciless to me--who loved you from the first! the very first! I love you now! I wake up in the night, thinking I hear your voice. You haunt me. Cruel! cold!--who guards you and watches over you but the man you now hate? You sit there as if you could make yourself stone when you pleased. Did I not chastise that man Pericles publicly because he spoke a single lie of you? And by that act I have made an enemy to our house who may crush us in ruin. Do I regret it? No. I would do any madness, waste all my blood for you, die for you!”
Emilia's fingers received a final twist, and were dropped loose. She let them hang, looking sadly downward. Melancholy is the most irritating reply to pa.s.sion, and Wilfrid's heart waged fierce at the sight of her, grown beautiful!--grown elegant!--and to reject him! When, after a silence which his pride would not suffer him to break, she spoke to ask what Mr. Pericles had said of her, he was enraged, forgot himself, and answered: ”Something disgraceful.”
Deep colour came on Emilia. ”You struck him, Wilfrid?”
”It was a small punishment for his infamous lie, and, whatever might be the consequences, I would do it again.”
”Wilfrid, I have heard what he has said. Madame Marini has told me. I wish you had not struck him. I cannot think of him apart from the days when I had my voice. I cannot bear to think of your having hurt him. He was not to blame. That is, he did not say: it was not untrue.”
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