The Duke's Prize Part 19

Teresa wrung her hands and exclaimed--"Villani, Villani! Could you know what I suffer, even your hard heart would pity me!"

The afternoon dragged heavily along, and evening was approaching, when a knock at the door aroused Teresa from a restless reverie.

Bidding the person enter, she beheld Villani, who seated himself by her side, and informed her that he had something to propose which might please her. Teresa wondering what it could be, begged him to proceed.

"I sincerely repent the compact I obliged you to make, and now wish to destroy it."

Teresa looked at him in undisguised astonishment. "I do not think I understand you-is it your wish that I should enjoy the whole of the proceeds of my singing?"

"You have said it."

"And what concession am I to make in return?" she inquired, as though suspicious some greater enormity than he had yet been guilty of, was intended.

"What return? O Teresa, cannot you comprehend and believe, that I expect and desire none?"

"I know not how I should, since your whole conduct has hardly been such as to impress me very profoundly with the idea that generosity is a prominent characteristic of Signor Villani's!"

"Say no more-let us be friends, Teresa. I will do all I can for you, and do not utter reproaches for what is a misfortune to me, although it were a glory to any other."

His companion scarce credited her senses. Was it possible that Villani, her tormentor and cruel persecutor, indeed wished her well and desired to become her friend? It seemed strange, yet his manner was more like truth than she had ever seen it before, and she felt she had perhaps wronged him, that beneath all, a heart, human and accessible to some generous emotion, yet beat, and her own n.o.ble, ingenuous nature, ever ready to accuse itself and offer atonement, impelled her to extend both hands to Villani and reply:

"Pardon me, I have wronged you-it is indeed worse than foolish to cherish animosity toward each other, and henceforth let us not forget we are of one great family, equally cared for by our heavenly Father!"

Villani took Teresa's hands, and kissing them, thanked her so warmly and earnestly that she could not doubt his sincerity, and though she was aware love was impossible, she hoped to respect him more than she had done. Villani on his part, had acquired enough by Teresa to afford this seeming generosity, and his sole object was to win her love; he was well aware if his motive was known to her, she would not have accepted this proffered friendship, and he rejoiced that his past conduct had been such as to forbid the supposition that he sought anything more. Presently there came a pause in the conversation, and Villani, after gazing intently upon his companion, observed:

"How much you have altered since I first saw you, Teresa. I suppose it is partly owing to your natural progress from childhood to womanhood-why, you must be nineteen?"

"Just twenty."

"Perhaps you are even handsomer than you were four years ago, although I see you have called in the aid of foreign ornament-it was the wisest course, however."

The rich color which suddenly dyed Teresa's cheeks, most certainly was not the gift of art, yet she a.s.sented to Villani's words.

"Not but what I think your beauty sufficient to challenge improvement-indeed, I prefer you as you used to be-but you are lovely enough to cause heart aches as it is."

After some further conversation, Villani, saying it was time for Teresa to prepare for the opera, left her. No sooner did the door close, than loosening the rich ma.s.ses of jetty hair which formed a veil around her and descended far below her waist, Teresa advanced to a large mirror, and without a shadow of vanity or a smile, gazed steadily at her reflection. Never had a gla.s.s shown a fairer face or form to the gazer.

The image that met Teresa's glance was majestic, with a regal expression of countenance. A broad, but not too high brow, eyes dark as a raven's wing-no, they are only deep, golden brown, yet the long lashes and eyebrows of jet, together with the ever dilating pupil, give the impression that they are darker, a complexion of sunny olive, and locks which are certainly the hue of night; a form richly moulded and of perfect symmetry, from the exquisite head to the slippered foot, stood before her. Surely it was not a vision from which my lady had cause to turn in vexation, yet with an expression of scorn, and a bright flush apparently of shame, mounting to her cheek, she impatiently moved away, and commenced braiding up the rich tresses. Throwing a mantle on her shoulders, she descended to the carriage and was soon at the opera house.

During the evening, in the midst of the performance, Teresa's eye lit for the first time on the nearest stage box. A mist overspread her eyes, her breath came hot and thick, a dizzy sense of overpowering fulness stole upon her, and when the time came for her response, she had hardly the strength to perform her part; yet she acquitted herself so well, that her emotion was unnoticed. The person who caused this wild tumult in Teresa's frame, was a stately, handsome man, evidently of high birth, and apparently forty-five years of age, although the raven curls around the high, majestic brow were untouched by time. The slightly aquiline features, and dark, flashing eyes, revealed the haughty spirit within, which was softened, however, by the look of sorrow around the mouth, and the general expression of a settled grief. He was dressed in black, relieved by a brilliant and splendid order on the left breast, and unaccompanied, save by a servant in white and gold livery.

The n.o.bleman, for such his appearance declared him, was evidently a stranger in the city, for every gla.s.s was levelled at him, but he seemed quite unconscious, and wholly indifferent. At the conclusion of the opera, roused from his languor by the thrilling manner in which Teresa rendered the last aria, the now animated listener rose and gracefully threw a garland of white lilies with such admirable precision, that they encircled the beautiful head of Teresa; upon which the audience, delighted at the compliment paid in so marked a manner, no less to the well known purity, than the wonderful voice of their favorite, made the theatre ring with their applause.

As soon as possible, Teresa arrived at her own apartments, and throwing herself on her knees, buried her face in the cushions of a lounge, while faint murmurs and sobs alone broke the stillness.

Nearly a quarter of an hour had elapsed, when the opening of the door roused her, and starting up, she beheld Villani about to enter.

Hastily motioning him not to advance, she wildly said:

"Forbear! Do not cross that threshold tonight! Villani, I have seen him this very evening--he sat so near I might almost have touched him-so near, and yet not a thought that I was more to him than any other of that crowd! Bear with me for this night-I must be alone."

"It shall be as you wish--I will speak of what brought me here some other time, perhaps to-morrow."

"To-morrow let it be then."

Presently Teresa became calmer, yet through the remainder of the night she sat by the open cas.e.m.e.nt without motion or apparent life, thinking over bitter memories without a gleam of hope to illumine the future.

After Teresa's first agitation had subsided, the stranger's presence seemed to exert a most powerful and calming influence upon her mind.

He was seldom absent at her performances, and it seemed to give her an increase of strength as well as happiness; she always received some token of his delight, and many said the Duke di Castiglioni-so he was called-had a very superior taste, and wondered what would come of it. Villani had exacted a promise from Teresa, that she would not permit an introduction to him, and shortly after left the city for a few weeks.

Teresa felt relieved by his absence, although they were no longer enemies, and her mode of life was unchanged. Nearly a fortnight had elapsed, when another incident occurred that changed the whole future of her life. One evening Teresa eagerly sought the familiar face of the foreign n.o.bleman, but in vain, and a disappointed look replaced the smile; but presently he entered the accustomed place, followed by a young man of aristocratic bearing, but no likeness bespoke them to be father and son. Teresa turned pale as marble, but a tear started to her eye as she observed the complete friendship and affection that evidently existed between them, and a thrill of anguish shot through her heart, as she murmured, while her eyes met the young stranger's gaze--"So near-yet so distant!" Several times in the course of the evening she fancied a look of recognition pa.s.sed over his face, and once, when he touched his companion's arm, her heart leaped to her mouth, but in an instant, perceiving they both glanced at some one on the opposite side of the house, she smiled bitterly, and thought--"How should they know me, in this place, and so altered!"

Late that night when the city was wrapped in slumber, a lamp burned brightly in Teresa's chamber, and a figure paced wildly up and down with clasped hands and floating hair. At last the restless girl stopped and exclaimed:

"If I am wrong, Heaven help me-but this agony is killing me! If I sin, I am sinned against, and G.o.d judge between us, Villani!"

Then hurriedly, as though fearful her resolution would falter, Teresa drew her writing-desk towards her, and wrote a note so rapidly, and with so unsteady a hand, that there was little resemblance to her usual writing, and then sought for sleep-but in vain-and at the earliest possible hour she despatched a messenger with the note.

Just as the hour of eleven chimed, the door of the room where Teresa sat, was opened, and a servant, announcing Signor Da Vinci, ushered in the young stranger of the preceding night. He advanced with a puzzled, inquiring expression, and with a slightly apologetic bow, said:

"I came in accordance with a request expressed in a note from Signorina Zampieri."

"I presume you were somewhat surprised, signor, but my motive must be my excuse. I have a friend in whom you were greatly interested, and who wishes you to be made acquainted with the solution of the mystery which separated her from you."

The gentleman had hitherto been only attentive, but at these last words, an expression of eager inquiry pervaded every feature. Teresa continued:

"This lady, five years ago, was betrothed to Leonarde Da Vinci."

"Myself!"

"I am aware of that fact, but permit me to continue without interruption. Well knowing her father would never consent to her marriage, a plan of elopement was arranged. On the appointed night, the lady, according to agreement, stole to the palace steps, and seeing in the deep shadow a gondola which drew up as she approached, doubted not that the occupant was her lover. She was received, to her belief, in his arms, the light was burning but dimly, and for greater security her companion, who was masked, proposed in a whisper that she should cover her face also. She was nearly beside herself with agitation, and when the gondola drew up at a little chapel standing nearly by itself, she unhesitatingly accompanied him, and knelt beside the altar where stood a priest and attendants.

"So absorbed with the various and conflicting emotions in her heart, she uttered the responses mechanically, and when she rose, the chapel was deserted, save by her husband and herself. Turning to him, what was her horror at seeing not Leonarde Da Vinci, as she had supposed, but Villani Brandini, a rejected suitor, and seeming friend to Da Vinci, who had discovered the plan of escape by some means, and revenged himself upon the lady in this manner. In spite of her resistance, she was carried to Brandini's palace, from whence in three days she escaped; and fearing her father would never grant his forgiveness, knowing she was forever separated from the one to whom her heart was given, she managed by the sale of several valuable jewels which she had upon her person at the time of her flight, to procure a pa.s.sage to Naples, where she hoped to turn her numerous accomplishments to advantage.

"Shortly after her arrival in that place, an American family, who were in need of a governess for two little girls, met with her. Her appearance spoke so strongly in her favor, that notwithstanding the absence of credentials, they engaged her, and in a little while sailed for America. When near the place of their destination, a violent storm arose, and they were shipwrecked. The young girl was lashed to a spar, and the last thing she remembered was, being washed overboard by a mountain wave. She was picked up by a merchant vessel bound for Havana. There she arrived in a state of utter dest.i.tution, and she who was once the companion of princesses, was obliged to sing in the street for a living, and now--"

"Viola-my long sought love-where, where is she?"

"She stands before you!" said a thrilling voice, while Teresa, now divested of her disguise, stood with clasped hands, eagerly gazing at Da Vinci, her long, bright golden curls enveloping her as with a veil. In an instant Da Vinci, recovering from his overwhelming surprise, had folded her to his heart. Viola, as we must now call her, after an instant's silence, disengaged herself, saying;

"We must not forget that we can never be more than friends, Leonarde."

"Never more than friends, Viola! Why do you not know that you are free?"

"Free! What is it you mean?"

"Is it possible you still believe yourself Brandini's wife?"

"Believe myself! Am I not?"

"No, my own dearest Viola! It was no priest who performed that ceremony. Two years since, a dying man confessed that for a large sum he had a.s.sumed the character of a minister of G.o.d, and performed a mock marriage between Brandini and yourself. Your father and I have been seeking you ever since your flight, and at last our dearest wish is granted."