Part 91 (2/2)
”No; it is your heart. And she will be sorry for having pained a true friend: is not that as it should be? Why, your proposal, if she agreed to it, what would be the result? You would stab her with remorse. For this momentary slight you would say, 'See, I have killed myself. Learn now that Calabressa loved you.' But that would be very like revenge, my Calabressa; and you ought not to think of taking revenge on the daughter of Natalie Berezolyi.”
”Your Excellency--”
Calabressa was about to protest: but he was stopped.
”Leave it to me, my friend. The day after to-morrow we shall have more leisure. Meanwhile, no more thoughts of quixotism. _Addio!_”
CHAPTER LVIII.
A SACRIFICE.
It would be difficult to say whether Calabressa was altogether sincere in claiming to become the subst.i.tute for Ferdinand Lind, or whether he was not practising a little self-deception, and pacifying his wounded pride and affection by this outburst of generosity, while secretly conscious that his offer would not be accepted. However, what Calabressa had declared himself ready to do, in a fit of wild sentimentalism, another had already done, in terrible earnest. A useless life had suddenly become enn.o.bled by a tragic and self-sacrificing death.
Two days after Lord Evelyn left for Naples, Brand and Gathorne Edwards were as usual in the chambers in Lisle Street, and, the business of the morning being mostly over, they were chatting together. There was a brighter look on George Brand's face than there had been there for many a day.
”What an indefatigable fellow that Molyneux is!” Edwards was saying.
”It is a good thing some one can do something,” Brand answered. ”As for me, I can't settle down to anything. I feel as if I had been living on laughing-gas these last two days. I feel as if I had come alive again into another world, and was a little bit bewildered just as yet.
However, I suppose we shall get shaken into our new positions by-and-by; and the sooner they let us know their final arrangements the better.”
”As for me,” said Edwards, carelessly, ”now that I have left the Museum I don't care where I may have to go.”
At this moment a note was brought in by the old German, and handed to Edwards. He glanced at the straggling, almost illegible, address in pencil on the dirty envelope.
”Well, this is too bad,” he said, impatiently.
”What is it?”
”That fellow Kirski. He is off again. I can see by his writing. He never was very good at it; but this is the handwriting of delirium tremens.”
He opened the letter, and glanced at the first page.
”Oh yes,” he said, in disgust, ”he's off again, clearly.”
”What does he say?”
”The usual rigmarole--only not quite so legible. The beautiful angel who was so kind to him--he has taken her portrait from its hiding-place--it is sacred now--no more public house--well, it looks rather as if he had been to several.”
At this point, however, Edwards's pale, high forehead flushed a little.
”I wish I had not told him; but he speaks of Miss Lind being in trouble--and he says G.o.d never meant one so beautiful and kind as she to be in trouble--and if her father--”
His face grew grave.
”What is this?”
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