The Master-Christian Part 61

"There!--go and make happiness with that bit of paper!" he said--"Who can tell through what dirty usurer's hand it has been, carrying curses with it perchance on its way! Use it now for the comfort of a woman and her little children, and perhaps it will bring blessing to a living man as well as to a departed soul!"

And he literally put the poor stupefied fellow outside his door, shutting it gently upon him.

That night he left for Rome. And as the express tore its grinding way along over the iron rails towards the south, he repeated to himself over and over again as in a dream--

"No--Angela Sovrani is not dead! She cannot be dead! G.o.d is too good for that. He will not let her die before she knows--before she knows I love her!"

x.x.xIII.

The chain of circ.u.mstance had lengthened by several links round the radiant life of Sylvie Hermenstem since that bright winter morning when she had been startled out of her reverie, in the gardens of the Villa Borghese, by the unexpected appearance of Monsignor Gherardi. The untimely deaths of the Marquis Fontenelle and the actor Miraudin in the duel over her name, had caused so much malicious and cruel gossip, that she had withdrawn herself almost entirely from Roman society, which had, with one venomous consent, declared that she was only marrying Aubrey Leigh to shield herself from her esclandre with the late Marquis. And then the murderous attack on her friend Angela Sovrani, which occurred almost immediately after her engagement to Aubrey was announced, had occupied all her thoughts--so that she had almost forgotten the promise she had made to grant a private interview to Gherardi whenever he should seek it. And she was not a little vexed one morning when she was talking to her betrothed concerning the plans which were now in progress for their going to England as soon as possible, to receive a note reminding her of that promise, and requesting permission to call upon her that very afternoon.

"How very unfortunate and tiresome!" said Sylvie, with a charming pout and upward look at her lover, who promptly kissed the lips that made such a pretty curve of disdain--"I suppose he wants to give me a serious lecture on the responsibilities of marriage! Shall I receive him, Aubrey? I remember when I met him last that he had something important to say about Cardinal Bonpre."

"Then you must certainly give him an audience," answered Aubrey--"You may perhaps find out what has happened to bring the good Cardinal into disfavour at the Vatican, for there is no doubt that he is extremely worried and anxious. He is strongly desirous of leaving Rome at once with that gentle lad Manuel, who, from all I can gather, has said something to displease the Pope. Angela is out of danger now--and I am trying to persuade the Cardinal to accompany us to England, and be present at our marriage."

"That would be delightful!" said Sylvie with a smile,--"But my Aubrey, where are we going to be married?"

"In England, as I said--not here!" said Aubrey firmly--"Not here, where evil tongues have spoken lies against my darling!" He drew her into his arms and looked at her fondly. "I want you to start for England soon, Sylvie--and if possible, I should like you to go, not only with the faithful Bozier, but also in the care of the Cardinal. I will precede you by some days, and arrange everything for your reception. And then we will be married--in MY way!"

Sylvie said nothing--she merely nestled like a dove in the arms of her betrothed, and seemed quite content to accept whatever ordinance he laid down for the ruling of her fate.

"I think you must see Gherardi," he resumed--"Write a line and say you will be happy to receive him at the hour he appoints."

Sylvie obeyed--and despatched the note at once to the Vatican by her man-servant.

Aubrey looked at her intently.

"I wonder--Sylvie, I wonder--" he began, and then stopped.

She met his earnest eyes with a smile in her own.

"You wonder what, caro mio?" she enquired.

"I wonder whether you could endure a very great trial--or make a very great sacrifice for my sake!" he said,--then as he saw her expression, he took her little hand and kissed it.

"There! Forgive me! Of course you would!--only you look such a slight thing--such a soft flower of a woman--like a rose-bud to be worn next the heart always--that it seems difficult to picture you as an inflexible heroine under trying circ.u.mstances. Yet of course you would be."

"I make no boast, my Aubrey!" she said gently.

He kissed her tenderly,--reverently,--studying her sweet eyes and delicate colouring with all the fond scrutiny of a love which cannot tire of the thing it loves.

"Are you going round to see Angela this morning?" he asked.

"Yes, I always go. She is much better--she sits up a little every day now."

"She says nothing of her a.s.sa.s.sin?"

"Nothing. But I know him!"

"We all know him!" said Aubrey sternly--"But she will never speak--she will never let the world know!"

"Ah, but the world will soon guess!" said Sylvie--"For everyone is beginning to ask where her fiance is--why he has shown no anxiety--why he has not been to see her--and a thousand other questions."

"That does not matter! While she is silent, no one dare accuse him.

What a marvellous spirit of patience and forgiveness she has!"

"Angela is like her name--an angel!" declared Sylvie impulsively, the tears springing to her eyes--"I could almost worship her, when I see her there in her sickroom, looking so white and frail and sad,--quiet and patient--thanking us all for every little service done--and never once mentioning the name of Florian--the man she loved so pa.s.sionately.

Sometimes the dear old Cardinal sits beside her and talks--sometimes her father,--Manuel is nearly always with her, and she is quite easy and content, one would almost say happy when he is there, he is so very gentle with her. But you can see through it all the awful sorrow that weighs upon her heart,--you can see she has lost something she can never find again,--her eyes look so wistful--her smile is so sad--poor Angela!"

Aubrey was silent a moment. "What of the Princesse D'Agramont?"

"Oh, she is simply a treasure!" said Sylvie enthusiastically--"She and my dear old Bozier are never weary in well-doing! As soon as Angela can be moved, the Princesse wants to take her back to Paris,--because then Rome can be allowed to pour into her studio to see her great picture."

"What does Angela say to that?"

"Angela seems resigned to anything!" answered Sylvie. "The only wish she ever expresses is that Manuel should not leave her."

"There is something wonderful about that boy," said Aubrey slowly--"From the first time I saw him he impressed me with a sense of something altogether beyond his mere appearance. He is a child--yet not a child--and I have often felt that he commands me without my realising that I am so commanded."

"Aubrey! How strange!"

"Yes, it is strange!--" and Aubrey's eyes grew graver with the intensity of his thought--"There is some secret--but--" he broke off with a puzzled air--"I cannot explain it, so it is no use thinking about it! I went to Varillo's studio yesterday and asked if there had been any news of him--but there was none. I wonder where the brute has gone!"

"It would be well if he had made exit out of the world altogether,"

said Sylvie--"But he is too vain of himself for that! However, his absence creates suspicion--and even if Angela does not speak, people will guess for themselves what she does not say. He will never dare to show himself in Rome!"

Their conversation was abruptly terminated here by the entrance of Madame Bozier with a quant.i.ty of fresh flowers which she had been out to purchase, for Sylvie to take as usual on her morning visit to her suffering friend; and Aubrey took his leave, promising to return later in the afternoon, after Monsignor Gherardi had been and gone.

But he had his own ideas on the subject of Gherardi's visit to his fair betrothed,--ideas which he kept to himself, for if his surmises were correct, now was the time to put Sylvie's character to the test. He did not doubt her stability in the very least, but he could never quite get away from her mignonne child-like appearance of woman, to the contemplation of the spirit behind the pretty exterior. Her beauty was so riante, so dazzling, so dainty, that it seemed to fire the very air as a sunbeam fires it,--and there was no room for any more serious consideration than that of purely feminine charm. Walking dreamily, almost unseeingly through the streets, he thought again and yet again of the sweet face, the rippling hair, the laughing yet tender eyes, the sunny smile. Behind that beautiful picture or earth-phantom of womanhood, is there that sword of flame, the soul?--the soul that will sweep through shams, and come out as bright and glittering at the end of the fight as at the beginning?--he mused;--or is it not almost too much to expect of a mere woman that she can contend against the anger of a Church?

He was still thinking on this subject, when someone walking quickly came face to face with him, and said--

"Aubrey!" He started and stared,--then uttered a cry of pleasure.

"Gys Grandit!"

The two men clasped each other's hands in a warm, strong grasp--and for a moment neither could speak.

"My dear fellow!" said Aubrey at last--"This is indeed an unexpected meeting! How glad I am to see you! When did you arrive in Rome?"

"This morning only," said Cyrillon, recovering his speech and his equanimity together--"And as soon as I arrived, I found that my hopes had not betrayed me--she is not dead!"

"She?" Aubrey started--"My dear Grandit! Or rather I must call you Vergniaud now--who is the triumphant 'she' that has brought you thus post haste to Rome?"

Cyrillon flushed--then grew pale.