Part 66 (1/2)
It was a long and agonizing night, despite all his resolutions. The gray morning, appearing palely over the river and the bridges, found him still pacing up and down there, with nothing settled at all, no letter written, no memoranda made. All that the night had done was to increase a hundred-fold his dread of meeting Natalie. And now the daylight only told him that that interview was coming nearer. It had become a question of hours.
At last, worn out with fatigue and despair, he threw himself on a couch hard by, and presently sunk into a broken and troubled sleep. For now the mind, emanc.i.p.ated from the control of the will, ran riot; and the quick-changing pictures that were presented to him were full of fearful things that shook his very life with terror. Awake he could force himself to think of this or that; asleep, he was at the mercy of this lurid imagination that seemed to dye each successive scene in the hue of blood. First of all, he was in a great cathedral, sombre and vast, and by the dim light of the candles he saw that some solemn ceremony was going forward. Priests, mitred and robed, sat in a semicircle in front of the altar; on the altar-steps were three figures; behind the altar a s.p.a.ce of gloom, from whence issued the soft, clear singing of the choristers. Then, suddenly, into that clear sweet singing broke a loud blare of trumpets; a man bounded on to the altar-steps; there was the flash of a blade--a shriek--a fall; then the roar of a crowd, sullen, and distant, and awful. It is the cry of a great city; and this poor crouching fugitive, who hides behind the fountain in the Place, is watching for his chance to dart away into some place of safety. But the crowd have let him pa.s.s; they are merciful; they are glad of the death of their enemy; it is only the police he has to fear. What lane is dark enough? What ruins must he haunt, like a dog, in the night-time? But the night is full of fire, and the stars overhead are red, and everywhere there is a roar and a murmur--_the a.s.sa.s.sination of the Cardinal_!
Well, it is quieter in this dungeon; and soon there will be an end, and peace. But for the letters of fire that burns one's brain the place would be as black as night; and it is still as night; one can sit and listen. And now that dull throbbing sound--and a strain of music--is it the young wife who, all unknowing, is digging her husband's grave? How sad she is! She pities the poor prisoner, whoever he may be. She would not dig this grave if she knew: she calls herself _Fidelio_; she is faithful to her love. But now--but now--though this hole is black as night, and silent, and the waters are lapping outside, cannot one know what is pa.s.sing there? There are some who are born to be happy. Ah, look at the faithful wife now, as she strikes off her husband's fetters--listen to the glad music, _destin ormai felice!_--they take each other's hand--they go away proudly into the glad daylight--husband and wife together for evermore. This poor prisoner listens, though his heart will break. The happy music grows more and more faint--the husband and wife are together now--the beautiful white day is around them--the poor prisoner is left alone: there is no one even coming to bid him farewell.
The sleeper moaned in his sleep, and stretched out his hand as if to seek some other hand.
”No one--not even a word of good-bye!” he murmured.
But then the dream changed. And now it was a wild and windy day in the blowing month of March, and the streams in this Buckinghams.h.i.+re valley were swollen, and the woods were bare. Who are these two who come into the small and bleak church-yard? They are a mother and daughter; they are all in black; and the face of the daughter is pale, and her eyes filled with tears. Her face is white, and the flowers she carries are white, and that is the white tombstone there in the corner--apart from the others. See how she kneels down at the foot of the grave, and puts the flowers lightly on the gra.s.s, and clasps her trembling hands, and prays.
”_Natalie--my wife!_” he calls in his sleep.
And behold! the white tombstone has letters of fire written on it, and the white flowers are changed to drops of blood, and the two black figures have hurried away and disappeared. How the wind tears down this wide valley, in which there is no sign of life. It is so sad to be left alone.
Well, it was about eight o'clock when he was awakened by the entrance of Waters. He jumped up, and looked around, haggard and bewildered. Then his first thought was,
”A few more nights like this, and Zaccatelli will have little to fear.”
He had his bath and breakfast; all the time he was forcing himself into an indignant self-contempt. He held out his hand before him, expecting to see it tremble: but no. This rea.s.sured him somewhat.
A little before eleven he was at the house in Hans Place. He was immediately shown up-stairs. Natalie's mother was there to receive him, she did not notice he looked tired.
”Natalie is coming to you this morning?” he said.
”Oh yes; why not? It gives her pleasure, it gives me joy. But I will not keep the child always in the house; no, she must have her walk.
Yesterday, after you had left, we went to a very secluded place--a church not far from here, and a cemetery behind.”
”Oh, yes; I know,” he said. ”But you might have chosen a more cheerful place for your walk.”
”Any place is cheerful enough for me when my daughter is with me,” said she, simply; ”and it is quiet.”
George Brand sat with his hands clinched. Every moment he thought he should hear Natalie knock at the door below.
”Madame,” he said, with some little hesitation, ”something has happened of serious importance--I mean, of a little importance. When Natalie comes I must tell her--”
”And you wish to see her alone, perhaps?” said the mother, lightly. ”Why not? And listen--it is she herself, I believe!”
A minute afterward the door was opened, and Natalie entered, radiant, happy, with glad eyes. Then she started when she saw George Brand there, but there was no fear in her look. On the contrary, she embraced her mother; then she went to him, and said, with a pleased flush in her face,
”I had no message this morning. You did not care, then, for our little bunch of flowers?”
He took her hand, and held it for a second.
”I thought I should see you to-day, Natalie; I have something to tell you.”
Her face grew graver.
”Is it something serious?”