Vendetta Part 24

"GUIDO FERRARI."

This was the letter, and I read it over and over again. Some of the words burned themselves into my memory as though they were living flame. "All her letters to me have been full of the utmost tenderness!"

Oh, miserable-dupe! fooled, fooled to the acme of folly even as I had been! SHE, the arch-traitress, to prevent his entertaining the slightest possible suspicion or jealousy of her actions during his absence, had written him, no doubt, epistles sweet as honey br.i.m.m.i.n.g over with endearing epithets and vows of constancy, even while she knew she had accepted me as her husband--me--good G.o.d! What a devil's dance of death it was!

"On my return I shall make it my first duty to pay back with interest the rather large debt I owe you" (rather large indeed, Guido, so large that you have no idea of its extent!), "thus my honor will be satisfied" (and so will mine in part), "and you, I am sure, will have a better opinion of yours to command." Perhaps I shall, Guido--mine to command as you are--perhaps when all my commands are fulfilled to the bitter end, I may think more kindly of you. But not till then! In the meantime--I thought earnestly for a few minutes, and then sitting down, I penned the following note.

"Caro amico! Delighted to hear of your good fortune, and still more enchanted to know you will soon enliven us all with your presence! I admire your little plan of surprising the countess, and will respect your wishes in the matter. But you, on your part, must do me a trifling favor: we have been very dull since you left, and I purpose to start the gayeties afresh by giving a dinner on the 24th (Christmas Eve), in honor of your return--an epicurean repast for gentlemen only.

Therefore, I ask you to oblige me by fixing your return for that day, and on arrival at Naples, come straight to me at this hotel, that I may have the satisfaction of being the first to welcome you as you deserve.

Telegraph your answer and the hour of your train; and my carriage shall meet you at the station. The dinner-hour can be fixed to suit your convenience of course; what say you to eight o'clock? After dinner you can betake yourself to the Villa Romani when you please--your enjoyment of the lady's surprise and rapture will be the more keen for having been slightly delayed. Trusting you will not refuse to gratify an old man's whim, I am,

"Yours for the time being,

"CESARE OLIVA."

This epistle finished and written in the crabbed disguised penmans.h.i.+p it was part of my business to effect, I folded, sealed and addressed it, and summoning Vincenzo, bade him post it immediately. As soon as he had gone on this errand, I sat down to my as yet untasted breakfast and made some effort to eat as usual. But my thoughts were too active for appet.i.te--I counted on my fingers the days--there were four, only four, between me and--what? One thing was certain--I must see my wife, or rather I should say my BETROTHED--I must see her that very day. I then began to consider how my courts.h.i.+p had progressed since that evening when she had declared she loved me. I had seen her frequently, though not daily--her behavior had been by turns affectionate, adoring, timid, gracious and once or twice pa.s.sionately loving, though the latter impulse in her I had always coldly checked. For though I could bear a great deal, any outburst of sham sentiment on her part sickened and filled me with such utter loathing that often when she was more than usually tender I dreaded lest my pent-up wrath should break loose and impel me to kill her swiftly and suddenly as one crushes the head of a poisonous adder--an all-too-merciful death for such as she. I preferred to woo her by gifts alone--and her hands were always ready to take whatever I or others chose to offer her. From a rare jewel to a common flower she never refused anything--her strongest pa.s.sions were vanity and avarice. Sparkling gems from the pilfered store of Carmelo Neri-trinkets which I had especially designed for her--lace, rich embroideries, bouquets of hot-house blossoms, gilded boxes of costly sweets--nothing came amiss to her--she accepted all with a certain covetous glee which she was at no pains to hide from me--nay, she made it rather evident that she expected such things as her right.

And after all, what did it matter to me--I thought--of what value was anything I possessed save to a.s.sist me in carrying out the punishment I had destined for her? I studied her nature with critical coldness--I saw its inbred vice artfully concealed beneath the affectation of virtue--every day she sunk lower in my eyes, and I wondered vaguely how I could ever have loved so coa.r.s.e and common a thing! Lovely she certainly was--lovely too are many of the wretched outcasts who sell themselves in the streets for gold, and who in spite of their criminal trade are less vile than such a woman as the one I had wedded. Mere beauty of face and form can be bought as easily as one buys a flower--but the loyal heart, the pure soul, the lofty intelligence which can make of woman an angel--these are unpurchasable ware, and seldom fall to the lot of man. For beauty, though so perishable, is a snare to us all--it maddens our blood in spite of ourselves--we men are made so. How was it that I--even I, who now loathed the creature I had once loved--could not look upon her physical loveliness without a foolish thrill of pa.s.sion awaking within me--pa.s.sion that had something of the murderous in it--admiration that was almost brutal--feelings which I could not control though I despised myself for them while they lasted! There is a weak point in the strongest of us, and wicked women know well where we are most vulnerable. One dainty pin-p.r.i.c.k well-aimed--and all the barriers of caution and reserve are broken down--we are ready to fling away our souls for a smile or a kiss.

Surely at the last day when we are judged--and may be condemned--we can make our last excuse to the Creator in the word? of the first misguided man:

"The woman whom thou gavest to be with me--she tempted me, and I did eat!"

I lost no time that day in going to the Villa Romani. I drove there in my carriage, taking with me the usual love-offering in the shape of a large gilded osier-basket full of white violets. Their delicious odor reminded me of that May morning when Stella was born--and then quickly there flashed into my mind the words spoken by Guido Ferrari at the time. How mysterious they had seemed to me then--how clear their meaning now! On arriving at the villa I found my fiance in her own boudoir, attired in morning deshabille, if a trailing robe of white cashmere trimmed with Mechlin lace and swan's-down can be considered deshabille. Her rich hair hung loosely on her shoulders, and she was seated in a velvet easy-chair before a small sparkling wood fire, reading. Her att.i.tude was one of luxurious ease and grace, but she sprung up as soon as her maid announced me, and came forward with her usual charming air of welcome, in which there was something imperial, as of a sovereign who receives a subject. I presented the flowers I had brought, with a few words of studied and formal compliment, uttered for the benefit of the servant who lingered in the room--then I added in a lower tone:

"I have news of importance--can I speak to you privately?"

She smiled a.s.sent, and motioning me by a graceful gesture of her hand to take a seat, she at once dismissed her maid. As soon as the door had closed behind the girl I spoke at once and to the point, scarcely waiting till my wife resumed her easy-chair before the fire.

"I have had a letter from Signor Ferrari."

She started slightly, but said nothing, she merely bowed her head and raised her delicately arched eyebrows with a look of inquiry as of one who should say, "Indeed! in what way does this concern me?" I watched her narrowly, and then continued, "He is coming back in two or three days--he says he is sure," and here I smiled, "that you will be delighted to see him."

This time she half rose from her seat, her lips moved as though she would speak, but she remained silent, and sinking back again among her violet velvet cus.h.i.+ons, she grew very pale.

"If," I went on, "you have any reason to think that he may make himself disagreeable to you when he knows of your engagement to me, out of disappointed ambition, conceit, or self-interest (for of course YOU never encouraged him), I should advise you to go on a visit to some friends for a few days, till his irritation shall have somewhat pa.s.sed.

What say you to such a plan?"

She appeared to meditate for a few moments--then raising her lovely eyes with a wistful and submissive look, she replied:

"It shall be as you wish, Cesare! Signor Ferrari is certainly rash and hot-tempered, he might be presumptuous enough to--But you do not think of yourself in the matter! Surely YOU also are in danger of being insulted by him when he knows all?"

"I shall be on my guard!" I said, quietly. "Besides, I can easily pardon any outburst of temper on his part--it will be perfectly natural, I think! To lose all hope of ever winning such a love as yours must needs be a sore trial to one of his hot blood and fiery impulses.

Poor fellow!" and I sighed and shook my head with benevolent gentleness. "By the way, he tells me he has had letters from you?"

I put this question carelessly, but it took her by surprise. She caught her breath hard and looked at me sharply, with an alarmed expression.

Seeing that my face was perfectly impa.s.sive, she recovered her composure instantly, and answered:

"Oh, yes! I have been compelled to write to him once or twice on matters of business connected with my late husband's affairs. Most unfortunately, Fabio made him one of the trustees of his fortune in case of his death--it is exceedingly awkward for me that he should occupy that position--it appears to give him some authority over my actions. In reality he has none. He has no doubt exaggerated the number of times I have written to him? it would be like his impertinence to do so."

Though this last remark was addressed to me almost as a question, I let it pa.s.s without response. I reverted to my original theme.

"What think you, then?" I said. "Will you remain here or will you absent yourself for a few days?"

She rose from her chair and approaching me, knelt down at my side, clasping her two little hands round my arm. "With your permission," she returned, softly, "I will go to the convent where I was educated. It is some eight or ten miles distant from here, and I think" (here she counterfeited the most wonderful expression of ingenuous sweetness and piety)--"I think I should like to make a 'RETREAT'--that is, devote some time solely to the duties of religion before I enter upon a second marriage. The dear nuns would be so glad to see me--and I am sure you will not object? It will be a good preparation for my future."

I seized her caressing hands and held them hard, while I looked upon her kneeling there like the white-robed figure of a praying saint.

"It will indeed!" I said in a harsh voice. "The best of all possible preparations! We none of us know what may happen--we cannot tell whether life or death awaits us--it is wise to prepare for either by words of penitence and devotion! I admire this beautiful spirit in you, carina! Go to the convent by all means! I shall find you there and will visit you when the wrath and bitterness of our friend Ferrari have been smoothed into silence and resignation. Yes--go to the convent, among the good and pious nuns--and when you pray for yourself, pray for the peace of your dead husband's soul--and--for me! Such prayers, unselfish and earnest, uttered by pure lips like yours, fly swiftly to heaven!

And as for young Guido--have no fear--I promise you he shall offend you no more!"

"Ah, you do not know him!" she murmured, lightly kissing my hands that still held hers; "I fear he will give you a great deal of trouble."

"I shall at any rate know how to silence him," I said, releasing her as I spoke, and watching her as she rose from her kneeling position and stood before me, supple and delicate as a white iris swaying in the wind. "You never gave him reason to hope--therefore he has no cause of complaint."

"True!" she replied, readily, with an untroubled smile. "But I am such a nervous creature! I am always imagining evils that never happen. And now, Cesare, when do you wish me to go to the convent?"

I shrugged my shoulders with an air of indifference.

"Your submission to my will, mia bella" I said, coldly, "is altogether charming, and flatters me much, but I am not your master--not yet! Pray choose your own time, and suit your departure to your own pleasure."

"Then," she replied, with an air of decision, "I will go today. The sooner the better--for some instinct tells me that Guido will play us a trick and return before we expect him. Yes--I will go to-day."

I rose to take my leave. "Then you will require leisure to make your preparations," I said, with ceremonious politeness. "I a.s.sure you I approve your resolve. If you inform the superioress of the convent that I am your betrothed husband, I suppose I shall be permitted to see you when I call?"

"Oh, certainly!" she replied. "The dear nuns will do anything for me.

Their order is one of perpetual adoration, and their rules are very strict, but they do not apply them to their old pupils, and I am one of their great favorites."

"Naturally!" I observed. "And will you also join in the service of perpetual adoration?"

"Oh, yes!"

"It needs an untainted soul like yours," I said, with a satirical smile, which she did not see, "to pray before the unveiled Host without being conscience-smitten! I envy you your privilege. _I_ could not do it--but YOU are probably nearer to the angels than we know. And so you will pray for me?"

She raised her eyes with devout gentleness. "I will indeed!"

"I thank you!"--and I choked back the bitter contempt and disgust I had for her hypocrisy as I spoke--"I thank you heartily--most heartily!

Addio!"

She came or rather floated to my side, her white garments trailing about her and the gold of her hair glittering in the mingled glow of the firelight and the wintery sunbeams that shone through the window.

She looked up--a witch-like languor lay in her eyes--her red lips pouted.

"Not one kiss before you go?" she said.