Sharing Her Crime Part 56

From the first moment the lady's eyes had fallen on the face of Louis, she had gazed as if fascinated. Every trace of color slowly faded from her face, leaving her cold and pale as marble. As his name was uttered she reeled, as if she were faint, and grasped the arm of Lugari for support.

"_Whom_ did you say?" she asked, in a breathless voice.

"Mr. Oranmore, a young American," replied Lugari, looking in amazement from the lady to Louis--who, quite as much amazed as himself, stood gazing upon her, lost in wonder.

"Oranmore!" she exclaimed, unheeding their looks--"Oranmore! Surely not Barry Oranmore?"

"That was my father's name," replied the astonished Louis.

A low cry broke from the white lips of the lady, as her hands flew up and covered her face. Lugari and Louis gazed in each other's faces in consternation. She dropped her hands at last, and said, in a low, hurried voice:

"Excuse this agitation, Mr. Oranmore. Can I have the pleasure of a private interview with you?"

"a.s.suredly, madam," said the astonished Louis.

"Well, call at my residence in the Palazzo B----, this afternoon. And now I must ask you to excuse me, gentlemen. Good-morning."

She hurried away, leaving the two young men overwhelmed with amazement.

"What the deuce does this mean?" said Lugari.

"That's more than I can tell. I'm as much in the dark as you are."

"She cannot have fallen in love with him already," said Lugari, in the musing tone of one speaking to himself.

Louis laughed.

"Hardly, I think. I cannot expect to succeed where a royal duke failed."

"There's no accounting for a woman's whims; and he's confoundedly good-looking," went on Lugari, in the same meditative tone.

"Come, Antonio, none of your nonsense," said Louis. "Come with me to my studio, and spend the morning with me. It will help to pa.s.s the time until the hour for calling on her ladys.h.i.+p."

They soon reached the residence of the artist. The door was opened for them by a boy of such singular beauty, that Lugari stared at him in surprise and admiration. His short, crisp, black curls fell over a brow of snowy whiteness, and his pale face looked paler in contrast with his large, melancholy, black eyes.

"Well, Isadore," said Louis kindly, "has there been any one here since?"

"No, signor," replied the boy, dropping his eyes, while a faint color rose to his cheek, as he met the penetrating gaze of the stranger.

"That will do, then. Bring wine and cigars, and leave us."

The boy did as directed, and hurried from the room.

"Handsome lad, that," said Lugari, carelessly. "Who is he?"

"Isadore something--I forget what. He _is_, as you say, remarkably handsome."

"He is not a Venetian?"

"No; English, I believe. I met him in Naples, friendless and nearly dest.i.tute, and took charge of him. Have a gla.s.s of wine?"

Lugari looked keenly in the face of his friend with a peculiar smile, that seemed to say: "Yes--I understand it perfectly;" but Louis, busy in lighting a cigar, did not observe him.

The morning pa.s.sed rapidly away in gay conversation; and at the hour appointed, Louis sat in one of the magnificent rooms of the Palazzo B----, awaiting the entrance of the singer.

She soon made her appearance, quite bewitching in blue silk, but looking paler, he thought, than when he had seen her in the morning.

"I see you are punctual," she said, holding out her hand, with a slight smile. "Doubtless you are at your wits' end trying to account for my singular conduct."

"My only wonder is, madam, how I could have merited so great an honor."

"Ah! I knew you would say something like that," said the lady.

"Insincere, like the rest of your s.e.x. Well, you shall not be kept long in suspense. I have sent for you here to tell you my history."

"Madam!" exclaimed Louis, in surprise.

"Yes, even so. It concerns you more nearly, perhaps, than you think.

Listen, now."

She leaned her head in her hand, and, for a moment, seemed lost in thought; while Louis, with eager curiosity, waited for her to begin.

"I am Irish by birth," she said, at last, looking up; "I was born in Galway. My father was a poor farmer, and I was his only child. I grew up a wild, untutored country girl; and reached the age of fifteen, knowing sorrow and trouble only by name.

"My occupation, sometimes, was watching my father's sheep on the mountain. One day, as I sat merrily singing to myself, a horseman, attracted by my voice, rode up and accosted me. I was bold and fearless, and entered into conversation with him as if I had known him all my life--told him my name and residence; and learned, in return, that he was a young American of respectable and wealthy connections, who had visited Galway to see a friend.

"From that day forth, he was constantly with me; and I soon learned to watch for his coming as I had never watched for any one before. He was rash, daring, and pa.s.sionate; and, captivated by my beauty (for I _was_ handsome then), he urged me to marry him privately, and fly with him. I had never learned to control myself in anything; and loving him with a pa.s.sion that has never yet died out, I consented. I fled with him to England. There we were secretly wedded. He took me to France, where we remained almost a year--a year of bliss to me. Then he received letters demanding his immediate presence in America. He would have left me behind him, and returned for me again; but I refused to leave him; I therefore accompanied him to his native land, and a few weeks after--one stormy Christmas Eve--my child, a daughter, was born.

"I never saw it but once. The nurse must have drugged me--for I have a dim recollection of a long, long sleep, that seemed endless; and when I awoke, I found myself in a strange room with the face of a strange woman bending over me. To my wild, bewildered inquiries, she answered, that I had been very ill, and my life despaired of for several weeks; but that I was now recovering. I asked for my husband and child. She knew nothing of them, she said. I had been brought there in a carriage, after night, by a man whose features she could not recognize--he was so m.u.f.fled up.

He had paid her liberally for taking charge of me, and promised to return to see me in a few weeks.

"I was a child in years and wisdom, and suspected nothing. I felt angry at his desertion, and cried like the petted child I was, at his absence.

The woman was very kind to me, though I saw she looked upon me with a sort of contempt, the reason of which I did not then understand. Still, she took good care of me, and in a fortnight I was as well as ever.

"One evening, I sat in my room silent and alone (for _I_ was not permitted to go out), and crying like a spoiled baby, when the sound of a well-known voice reached my ear from the adjoining room. With a cry of joy, I sprang to my feet, rushed from the room, and fell into the arms of my husband. In my joy at meeting him, I did not perceive, at first, the change those few weeks had made in him. He was pale and haggard, and there was an unaccountable something in his manner that puzzled me. He was not less affectionate; but he seemed wild, and restless, and ill at ease.

"My first inquiry was for my child.

"'It is dead, Eveleen,' he answered, hurriedly; 'and you were so ill that it became necessary to bring you here. Now that you are better, you must leave this and come with me.'

"'And you will publicly proclaim our marriage, and we will not be separated more?' I eagerly inquired.

"He made no answer, save to urge me to make haste. In a few moments I was ready; a carriage at the door. He handed me in, then followed, and we drove rapidly away.

"'Where are we going?' I asked, as we drove along.

"'Back to Ireland; you are always wis.h.i.+ng to return.'

"'But you will go with me, will you not?' I asked, in vague alarm.