Sharing Her Crime Part 57

"'Yes, yes; to be sure,' he answered, quickly. Just then, the murmur of the sea reached my ear; the carriage stopped, and my husband a.s.sisted me out.

"A boat was in waiting on the sh.o.r.e. We both entered, and were rowed to the vessel lying in the harbor. I reached the deck, and was conducted below to a well-furnished cabin.

"'Now, Eveleen, you look fatigued and must retire to rest. I am going on deck to join the captain for a few hours,' said my husband, as he gently kissed my brow. His voice was low and agitated, and I could see his face was deadly pale. Still, no suspicion of the truth entered my mind. I was, indeed, tired; and wearily disengaging myself from the arms that clasped me in a parting embrace, I threw myself on my bed, and in a few minutes was fast asleep. My husband turned away and went on deck, and--I never saw him more."

Her voice failed, and her lips quivered; but after a few moments she went on.

"The next morning the captain entered the cabin and handed me a letter.

I opened it in surprise. A draft for five thousand dollars fell out, but I saw it not; my eyes were fixed in unspeakable horror on the dreadful words before me.

"The letter was from my husband. He told me that we were parted forever, that he had wedded another bride, and that the vessel I was in would convey me home, where he hoped I would forget him, and look upon the past year only as a dream. I read that terrible letter from beginning to end, while every word burned into my heart and brain like fire. I did not faint nor shriek; I was of too sanguine a temperament to do either; but I sat in stupefied despair; I was stunned; I could not realize what had happened. The captain brought me a newspaper, and showed me the announcement of his marriage to some great beauty and heiress--some Miss Erliston, who----"

"What!" exclaimed Louis, springing fiercely to his feet. "In the name of heaven, of whom have you been talking all this time?"

"Of my husband--of your father--of Barry Oranmore!"

He staggered into his seat, horror-stricken and deadly white. There was a pause, then he said, hoa.r.s.ely:

"Go on."

"I know not how that voyage pa.s.sed--it is all like a dream to me. I reached Liverpool. The captain, who had been well paid, had me conveyed home; and still I lived and moved like one who lives not. I was in a stupor of despair, and months pa.s.sed away before I recovered; when I did, all my childishness had pa.s.sed away, and I was in heart and mind a woman.

"Time pa.s.sed on. I had read in an American paper the announcement of my false husband's dreadful death. Years blunted the poignancy of my grief, and I began to tire of my aimless life. He had often told me my voice would make my fortune on the stage. Acting on this hint, I went to London, had it cultivated, and learned music. At last, after years of unremitting application, I made my _debut_. It was a triumph, and every fresh attempt crowned me with new laurels. I next visited France; then I came here; and here I have been ever since. To-day, when I beheld you, the very image of your father as I knew him first, I almost imagined the grave had given up its dead. Such is my story--every word true, as heaven hears me. Was I not right, when I said it concerned you more nearly than you imagined?"

"Good Heaven! And was my father such a villain?" said Louis, with a groan.

"Hus.h.!.+ Speak no ill of the dead. I forgave him long ago, and surely you can do so too."

"Heaven help us all! what a world we live in!" said Louis, while, with a pang of remorse, his thoughts reverted to Celeste; and he inwardly thought how similar her fate might have been, had she consented to go with him.

"And was your child really dead?" he inquired, after a pause, during which she sat with her eyes fixed sadly on the floor. "He may have deceived you in that as in other things."

"I know not," she answered; "yet I have always had a sort of presentiment that it still lives. Oh, if heaven would but permit me to behold her alive, I could die happy!"

Louis sat gazing upon her with a puzzled look.

"I know not how it is," he said, "but you remind me strangely of some one I have seen before. I recognize your face, vaguely and indistinctly, as one does faces they see in dreams. I am _sure_ I have seen some one resembling you elsewhere."

"Only fancy, I fear," said the lady, smiling, and shaking her head. "Do you intend hearing me sing to-night?"

"Oh, decidedly! Do you think I would miss what one might make a pilgrimage round the world to hear once?"

"Flattery! flattery! I see you are like all the rest," said Madame Evelini, raising her finger reprovingly.

"Not so, madam; I never flatter. And now I regret that a previous engagement renders it necessary for me to leave you," said Louis, taking his hat and rising to leave.

"Well, I shall expect to see you soon again," she said, with an enchanting smile; and Louis, having bowed a.s.sent, left the house; and, giddy and bewildered by what he had just heard, turned in the direction of his own residence.

CHAPTER x.x.xIII.

A STARTLING DISCOVERY.

"Fixed was her look and stern her air; Back from her shoulders streamed her hair; Her figure seemed to rise more high; Her voice, Despair's wild energy Had given a tone of prophecy."--MARMION.

Weeks pa.s.sed away. Louis became a daily visitor at the Palazzo B----.

His growing intimacy with the beautiful "Queen of Song" was looked upon with jealous eyes by her numerous admirers; and many were the rumors circulated regarding her affection for the handsome young American. But Madame Evelini was either too proud or too indifferent to heed these reports, and visited Louis in his studio whenever she pleased, leaving the world to say of her what it listed. Louis, too, was winning fame as an artist, and, next to madame herself, was becoming one of the greatest celebrities in Venice.

"What a handsome boy that attendant of yours is!" said the lady, one day, to Louis, as Isadore quitted the room; "all who visit you vie with each other in their praises of his beauty."

"Who? Isadore? Yes, he is handsome; but a most singular youth--silent, taciturn, at times almost fierce, and at others, sullenly morose."

"He seems to have a strong antipathy to ladies, and to me in particular," said Madame Evelini; "he looks as if he wished to shut the door in my face every time I come here."

"Yes, that is another of his oddities; in fact, he is quite an unaccountable lad."

"He is very much attached to _you_, at all events. If he were a woman, I should say he is in love with you, and jealous of the rest of us," said madame, laughing. "As it is, it can only be accounted for by ill-nature on his part. Well, adieu!" said madame, rising to take her leave.

Louis soon had a most convincing proof of the lad's attachment. Being detained one evening, by some business, in one of the narrow courts inhabited by the lower cla.s.s in Venice, he returned with a violent headache. He grew worse so rapidly, that before night he was in a high fever, raving deliriously.

A physician was sent for, who p.r.o.nounced it to be a dangerous and most infectious fever, and advised his immediate removal to a hospital, where he might receive better attendance than he could in his lodgings. But Isadore positively refused to have him removed, vehemently a.s.serting that he himself was quite competent to take care of him.

And well did he redeem his word. No mother ever nursed her sick child with more tender care than he did Louis. Night and day he was ever by his side, bathing his burning brow, or holding a cooling draught to his feverish lips. And though his pale face grew paler day after day, and his l.u.s.trous black eyes lost their brightness with his weary vigils, nothing could tempt him from that sick room. With womanly care, he arranged the pillows beneath the restless head of the invalid; drew the curtains to exclude the glaring light, totally unheeding the danger of contagion. With jealous vigilance, too, he kept out all strangers.

Madame Evelini, upon hearing of her friend's illness, immediately came to see him, but she was met in the outer room by Isadore, who said, coldly:

"You cannot see him, madame; the physician has forbidden it."

"But only for one moment. I will not speak to him, or disturb him,"

pleaded Madame Evelini.

"No; you cannot enter. It is impossible," said Isadore, as he turned and left the room, fairly shutting the door in her face.

In his wild delirium, Louis talked incessantly of Celeste, and urged her with pa.s.sionate vehemence to fly with him. At such times, the dark brow of Isadore would knit, and his eyes flash with smoldering fire beneath their lids. But if his own name was mentioned, his beautiful face would light up with such a radiant look of light and joy, that he seemed recompensed for all his weary watching and unceasing care.

At length, a naturally strong const.i.tution, and the tender nursing of Isadore triumphed over disease, and Louis became convalescent. And then he began to realize all he owed to the boy who had been his guardian-angel during his illness.

"How can I ever repay you, Isadore?" he said, one day, as the youth hovered by his side, smoothing the tossed pillows, and arranging the bed-clothes with a skill few nurses could have surpa.s.sed.

"I wish for no return, signor. I am only too happy to have been of service to you," said the boy, dropping his eyes.

"Well, at least, you will find I am not ungrateful. Once I am well, you shall no longer remain a servant. I will place you in a fair way to make your fortune," said Louis.

"Signor, I beg you will not think of such a thing. I have no wish to leave you," said Isadore, in alarm.

"But with me you will only be an obscure servant, while it is in my power to place you in a situation to become honored and wealthy."

"I would rather remain with you."