The Masked Bridal Part 21

"You--you have been in--Rome?" the man faltered.

"Oh, yes."

"Recently?"

There was a sort of breathless intensity about the man as he asked this question.

"No; I was in Rome--in the year 18--."

At this response, Gerald G.o.ddard involuntarily put out his hand and laid it upon the bal.u.s.trade, near which he was standing, while he gazed spell-bound into the proud, beautiful face before him, searching it with wild, eager eyes.

After a moment he partially recovered himself, and remarked:

"Is it possible? I myself was in Rome during the same year and painted this picture at that time. Were--were you in the city long?" he concluded, in a voice that trembled in spite of himself.

"From January until--until June."

For the second time that evening Mr. G.o.ddard suppressed a groan with a cough.

"Ah! It is a singular coincidence, is it not, that I also was there during those months?" he finally managed to articulate.

"A coincidence?" his companion repeated, with a slight lifting of her shapely brows, a curious gleam in her eyes. Then throwing back her head with an air of defiance which was intensified by the glitter of those magnificent stones which crowned her l.u.s.trous hair, and with a peculiar cadence ringing through her tones, she observed: "Rome is a lovely city--do you not think so? And, as it happened, I resided in a delightful portion of it. Possibly you may remember the locality. It was a charming little house, with beautiful trees--oleander, orange, and fig--growing all around the s.p.a.cious court. This pretty ideal home was Number 34, Via Nationale."

The wretched man stared helplessly at her for one brief moment when she had concluded, then a cry of despair burst from him.

"Oh, G.o.d! I knew it! You--you are Isabel?"

"Yes."

"Then you were not--you did not--"

"Die? No," was the brief response; but the beautiful eyes looking so steadily into his seemed to burn into his very soul.

A mighty shudder shook Gerald G.o.ddard from head to foot as he reeled backward and leaned against the wall for support.

"Oh, G.o.d!" he cried again, in a voice of agony; then his head dropped heavily upon his breast.

His companion gazed silently upon him for a minute; then, turning, she brushed by him without a word and went on into the dressing-room for her wraps.

Presently she came forth again, enveloped from head to foot in a long garment richly lined with fur, the scarlet lining of the hood contrasting beautifully with her clear, flawless complexion and her brown eyes.

Gerald G.o.ddard still stood where she had left him.

She would have pa.s.sed him without a word, but he put out a trembling hand to detain her.

"Isabel!" he faltered.

"Mrs. Stewart, if you please," she corrected, in a cold, proud tone.

"Ha! you have married again!" he exclaimed, with a start, while he searched her face with a despairing look.

"Married again?" she repeated, with curling lips. "I have not so perjured myself."

"But--but--"'

"Yes, I know what you would say," she interposed, with a proud little gesture; "nevertheless, I claim the matron's t.i.tle, and 'Stewart' was my mother's maiden name," and she was about to pa.s.s on again.

"Stay!" said the man, nervously. "I--I must see you again--I must talk further with you."

"Very well," the lady coldly returned, "and I also have some things which I wish to say to you. I shall be at the Copley Square Hotel on Thursday afternoon. I will see you as early as you choose to call."

Then, with an air of grave dignity, she pa.s.sed on, and down the stairs, without casting one backward glance at him.

The man leaned over the bal.u.s.trade and watched her.

She moved like a queen.

In the hall below she was joined by her attendant, whom she welcomed with a ravishing smile, and the next moment they had pa.s.sed out of the house together.

"Heavens! and I deserted that glorious woman for--a virago!" Gerald G.o.ddard muttered, hoa.r.s.ely, as he strode, white and wretched, to his room.

CHAPTER XVI.

"YOU SHALL NEVER WANT FOR A FRIEND."

Up in the third story, poor Edith lay upon her bed, still in an unconscious state.

All the wedding finery had been removed and carried away, and she lay scarcely less white than the spotless _robe de nuit_ she wore, her lips blue and pinched, her eyes sunken and closed.

A physician sat beside her, his fingers upon her pulse, his eyes gravely fixed upon the beautiful, waxen face lying on the pillow.

Two housemaids, looking frightened and anxious, were seated near him, watching him and the still figure on the bed, but ready to obey whatever command he might issue to them.

After introducing his sister to Mrs. Stewart, Emil Correlli had slipped away from the scene of gayety, which had become almost maddening to him, and mounted to that third-story room to inquire again regarding the condition of the girl he had so wronged.

"No better," came the answer, which made him turn with dread, and a terrible fear to take possession of his heart.

What if Edith should never revive? What if she should die in one of these dreadful swoons?

His guilty conscience warned him that he would have been her murderer.

He could not endure the thought, and slinking away to his own room, he drank deeply to stupefy himself, and then went to bed.

Gerald G.o.ddard also was strangely exercised over the fair girl's condition, and half an hour after his interview with Mrs. Stewart he crept forth from his room again and went to see if there had been any change in her condition.