To Win the Love He Sought Part 29

"What do you mean?"

"I will answer you by asking a question. Will you promise to reply to it?"

"_Cela depend._ I won't be rash."

"Do you care for me--just a little?" he asked, tenderly but hopefully.

Oh, horrible! A vision seemed to float suddenly before my eyes. The darkness faded away, to be replaced by a little whitewashed chamber in a distant land. I saw an old man dying, with his eyes fixed upon me full of mute reproach, his trembling fingers pointed at me with scorn, and his lips framing a feeble curse. Suddenly his look changed, his arm fell, his face grew suddenly bright and joyful, and the curse changed into a fervent blessing. Then the room widened, and the little figure under that spotless coverlet faded away. It was a chamber in a palace, and I saw Lady St. Maurice, also on her death-bed. Her husband and her son knelt by her side with bared heads, and the air was laden and heavy with the sound of their sobs. She alone did not weep, and her pale, spiritualized face glowed like the face of a martyred saint. And as I watched I seemed to hear one word constantly escaping from those who watched by her side, and caught up and echoed a thousand times by the sad wailing wind until it rang in my ears unceasingly--and the word was "Murderess!"

It pa.s.sed away--vanished in a phantom of mist, like some weird morbid fancy, but the joy of those last few minutes was quenched. I drew myself from his arms, and pressed my hand to my side. There was a sharp pain there.

"We must go back to the house," I said. "I have been a little mad, I think, and I am very wet."

He looked at me, amazed.

"Won't you answer my question first?" he pleaded. "Margharita, make me very happy. Be my wife."

His wife. Oh, the grim grotesque agony of it all. My strength would never be sufficient to carry me through all this. My heart was faint, and my speech was low; yet it was as cold and resolute as I could make it.

"Never! never! I would sooner die than that. Let us go back at once--at once!"

He caught me by the wrist, and forced me to look into his face. It was unwise of him to touch me against my will, for the fire flashed into my eyes, and my anger gave me strength.

"Margharita, what does this mean? You do care for a me a little, don't you?"

"No!"

I lied, G.o.d knows, and all in vain.

"Perhaps not so very much now," he said, with a little sigh, "but you will some day. I know that you will. Be generous, Margharita, give me a little hope."

I laid my hand upon his arm. How could I convince him. Anger, lies, reasoning, all seemed so weak and ineffective; and he was so strong--strong in his own love, strong unconsciously in mine.

"Lord Lumley, I can only give you one answer, and that is--'No.' Nothing can change me. I would sooner throw myself from these cliffs than become your wife."

He considered for a moment, while I watched him anxiously.

"I have a right to know your reason for that speech," he said in a low but firm tone. "Give me your hands for one moment, Margharita--so! Now, look me in the eyes, and tell me that you do not care for me!"

I was a fool to try. I might have known that, after all I had pa.s.sed through that day, it was beyond my strength. I got as far as the first three words, and then I burst into tears. His whole face lit up with joy at my failure.

"I am satisfied!" he said, drawing my hand through his arm. "Come! we will go back to the house. I must not have you catch cold!"

He spoke with an air of fond proprietorship which made my heart tremble, but I had no more words left with which to fight my battle. My strength was gone; I did not even try to withdraw my hand.

We walked away, and I did my best to choke the hysterical sobs which threatened me. Directly we left the shelter of the pine grove, speech became impossible. We had to fight our way along, step by step, with the wind and rain beating in our faces. I was thankful for it, for the physical effort seemed to stimulate and calm me.

When at last we reached the house and stood inside the hall, he turned to me and spoke for the first time.

"That walk was quite an event, wasn't it? Let me feel how wet you are."

He ran his fingers down my arm and back, and then rang the hall bell violently.

"You are wet through," he said gravely. "And it is my fault. Instead of bringing you home at once, as I ought to have done, I kept you out there talking. Run upstairs at once, Margharita, please, and change all your things. I will send up hot water."

He had been hurrying me to the stairs all the time, and I began slowly to ascend them. He stood down in the white stone hall, watching me anxiously.

"You won't be long, will you?" he said, as I reached the corner. "I want to talk to you before dinner."

I answered him mechanically, and turning away, went along the corridor to my room, and flung myself upon the bed. I had scarcely been there five minutes when there was a knock at the door.

"Who is there?" I asked, sitting up and hastily drying my eyes.

A servant's voice answered, and I recognized Cecile, the Countess's own maid.

"Her ladyship has sent you a cup of tea, miss, and hopes you will be sure to change all your clothes. There is a letter for you, too, miss."

I bade the girl come in and put the tea down. When she had gone, I stretched out my hand, and took up the letter with trembling fingers. It was from my uncle, and the postmark was Rome.

CHAPTER XXVII

A LIFE IN THE BALANCE

I suppose it is absurd to talk about presentiments, and yet I knew what was in that letter. As plainly as though I saw it written up in characters of fire, I knew its contents and my doom. The climax of all things was at hand. The time was approaching when I must keep my vow, or confess myself foresworn--an unworthy daughter of the Marionis. It was a bitter choice, for there was a life in either balance; the life of this traitress of five-and-twenty years ago, or of an old man sick to the heart with disappointment; deceived by a woman in his youth, and a woman again in his old age.

I bathed my eyes and face, and, throwing off my wet things, wrapped myself in a dressing robe. Then I poured out a cup of tea and drank it over the fire. All the while that letter lay before me on the tray, face upward, and my eyes kept straying unwillingly toward it. It had a sort of fascination for me, and in the end it conquered. I had meant to give myself a few hours' more freedom--to have put it away until bedtime, but a sudden impulse came to me, and I yielded. I caught it up with firm fingers and tore it open.

"PALEZZO CARLOTTI, ROME.

"MARGHARITA,--Beloved. Success! success! My search is over, my purpose is accomplished. I have found Paschuli. Enclosed in this letter you will find a smaller envelope. It contains the powder.

"Can you wonder that my hand is shaking, and that there is a mist before my eyes! I am an old man, and great joy is hard to bear; harder still after a weary, wretched life such as mine. You will understand, though--you will be able to decipher this faint, uncertain handwriting, and you will forgive me if it tires you. Ay, you will do that, Margharita, I know!

"Let me tell you how I found him. It was by the purest accident. I turned aside into an old curio shop to buy some trifle for you which took my fancy, and it was Paschuli himself who served me. Thus you see how indirectly even your star always shines over mine and leads me aright. If it had not been for you I should never have dreamed of entering the place, but I thought of you and your taste for Roman jewelry, and behold, I found myself in the presence of the man for whom I was making vain search. My Margharita! my good angel! I have you to thank even for the successful accomplishment of my part in that edict of our Order which you and I are banded together to carry out.

"At first, Paschuli did not recognize me, and it was long before I could make him believe that I was indeed that most unfortunate of men, Leonardo di Marioni. But when he was convinced, he promised me what I sought. That same evening he gave it to me.

"Margharita, there is no poison in the world like that which I send you in this letter. The merest grain of it is sufficient, in wine or water, or food of any sort. There is no art of medicine which could detect it--no means by which the death, which will surely follow, can be averted; so you run no risk, my child! Bide your time, and then--then!

"Margharita, I am coming to you. Nay, do not be alarmed, I run no risk.

I shall come disguised, and no one will know me, but I must see something of the end with my own eyes, or half its sweetness would be untasted. I would see her face and die! I would trace, day by day, the workings of the poison; and in the last moments of her agony I would reveal myself, and would point to my withered frame and the hand of death upon my forehead, and cry out to her that the Order of the White Hyacinth had kept its vow. I would have her eyes meet mine as the mists of death closed in upon her. I would have her know that the oath of a Marioni, in friendship or in hate, in protection or in vengeance, is one with his honor. This may not be, Margharita! I cannot see all this! I cannot even stand by her bedside for a moment and show her my face, that she might know whose hand it is which has stricken her down. Yet, I must be near! Fear not but that I shall manage it safely! I would not bring danger or the shadow of danger upon you, my beloved.

"I leave Rome to-night, and I leave it with joy. You cannot imagine how inexpressibly sad it has been for me to find myself in the place where the greater part of my youth--my too ambitious youth was spent. All is changed and strange to me. There are new streets and many innovations which puzzle me; and although my friends are kind, twenty-five years have crushed our sympathies. To them I am like a sad figure from a bygone world, a Banquo at the feast, something to pity a little--no more. I am nothing to anybody beyond that. I am a wearisome old man, whose mind is a blank, and who only c.u.mbers the way. Ah, well, it is not for long. The day of my desire is at hand, and G.o.d has given me you, Margharita, to accomplish it, and to close my eyes in peace. Bless you, my dear, dear child! You have sweetened the end of a marred and wretched life! Yours has been an angel's task, and you will have an angel's reward."