Italian vengeance is slow,
but sure. To all outward appearance, he had forgotten his faithless
wife. He had even formed a friendship with her lover, which he did the
more effectually to blind his ultimate designs. Meanwhile, time rolled
on, and the marchesa gave birth to a child--the offspring of her
seducer." "Great God!" I exclaimed, "was that child a boy?" "It was--but listen to me. My tale draws to a close. One night, during
the absence of the Englishman, by secret means we entered the palazzo
where the marchesa resided. We wandered from room to room till we came
to her chamber. She was sleeping, with her infant by her side. The sight
maddened the marchese. He would have stricken the child, but I held back
his hand. He relented. He bade me make fast the door. He approached the
bed. I heard a rustle--a scream. A white figure sprang from out the
couch. In an instant the light was extinguished--there was a
blow--another--and all was over. I threw open the door. The marchese
came forth. The corridor in which we stood was flooded with moonlight. A
glove was in his hand--it was dripping with blood. His oath was
fulfilled--his vengeance complete--no, not complete, for the Englishman
yet lived." "What became of him?" I inquired. "Ask me not," replied the old man; "you were at the Chiesa Santa Maria
Maggiore this morning. If those stones could speak, they might tell a
fearful story." "And that was the reason you did not dare to unclose your eyes within
those holy precincts?--a film of blood floated between you and heaven." The old man shuddered, but replied not. "And the child?" I asked, after a pause; "what of their wretched
offspring?" "It was conveyed to England by a friend of its dead father. If he were
alive, that boy would be about your age, signor." "Indeed!" I said; a horrible suspicion flashing across my mind. "After the Englishman's death," continued Cristofano, "my master began
to treat me with a coldness and suspicion which increased daily. I was a
burden to him, and he was resolved to rid himself of me. I spared him
the trouble--quitted Rome--sought the mountains of the Abruzzi--and
thence wandered to the fastnesses of Calabria, and became--no matter
what. Here I am. Heaven's appointed minister of vengeance. The marchese
dies to-night!" "To-night! old man," I echoed, horror-stricken. "Add not crime to crime. If he has indeed been guilty of the foul offence you have named, let him
be dealt with according to the offended laws of the country. Do not
pervert the purposes of justice." "Justice!" echoed Cristofano scornfully. "Ay, justice. You are poor and powerless, but means may be found to aid
you. I will assist the rightful course of vengeance." "You _shall_ assist it. I have sworn he shall die before dawn, and the
hand to strike the blow shall be yours." "Mine! never!" "Your own life will be the penalty of your obstinacy, if you refuse; nor
will your refusal save him. By the Mother of Heaven, he dies! and by
your hand. You saw how he was struck by your resemblance to the young
Englishman this morning in the chiesa. It is wonderful! I know not who
or what you are; but to me you are an instrument of vengeance, and as
such I shall use you. The blow dealt by you will seem the work of
retribution; and I care not if you strike twice, and make my heart your
second mark." Ere I could reply he called to his comrades, and in a few moments we
were speeding across the campagna. We arrived at a high wall:--the old man conducted us to a postern-gate,
which he opened. We entered a garden filled with orange-trees, the
perfume of which loaded the midnight air. We heard the splash of a
fountain at a distance, and the thrilling notes of a nightingale amongst
some taller trees. The moon hung like a lamp over the belvidere of the
proud villa. We strode along a wide terrace edged by a marble
balustrade. The old man pointed to an open summer-house terminating the
walk, and gave me a significant look, but he spoke not. A window thrown
open admitted us to the house. We were within a hall crowded with
statues, and traversed noiselessly its marble floors. Passing through
several chambers, we then mounted to a corridor, and entered an
apartment which formed the ante-room to another beyond it. Placing his
finger upon his lips, and making a sign to his comrades, Cristofano
opened a door and disappeared. There was a breathless pause for a few
minutes, during which I listened intently, but caught only a faint sound
as of the snapping of a lock. Presently the old man returned. "He sleeps," he said, in a low deep tone to me; "sleeps as his victim
slept--sleeps without a dream of remorse; and he shall awaken, as she
awoke, to despair. Come into his chamber!" We obeyed. The door was made fast within side. The curtains of the couch were withdrawn, and the moonlight streamed
full upon the face of the sleeper. He was hushed in profound repose. No
visions seemed to haunt his peaceful slumbers. Could guilt sleep so
soundly? I half doubted the old man's story. Placing us within the shadow of the canopy, Cristofano approached the
bed. A stiletto glittered in his hand. "Awake!" he cried, in a voice of
thunder. The sleeper started at the summons. I watched his countenance. He read Cristofano's errand in his eye. But
he quailed not. "Cowardly assassin!" he cried, "you have well consulted your own safety
in stealing on my sleep." "And who taught me the lesson?" fiercely interrupted the old man. "Am I
the first that have stolen on midnight slumber? Gaze upon this? When and
how did it acquire its dye?" And he held forth a glove, which looked
blackened and stained in the moonlight. The marchese groaned aloud. "My cabinet broken open!" at length he exclaimed--"villain! how dare you
do this? But why do I rave? I know with whom I have to deal." Uttering
these words he sprung from his couch with the intention of grappling
with the old man; but Cristofano retreated, and at that instant the
brigands, who rushed to his aid, thrust me forward. I was face to face
with the marchese. The apparition of the murdered man could not have staggered him more. His limbs were stiffened by the shock, and he remained in an attitude of
freezing terror. "Is he come for vengeance?" he ejaculated. "He is!" cried Cristofano. "Give him the weapon!" And a stiletto was thrust into my hand. But I heeded not the steel. I
tore open my bosom--a small diamond cross was within the folds. "Do you recollect this?" I demanded of the marchese. "It was my wife's!" he shrieked in amazement. "It was upon the infant's bosom as he slept by her side on that fatal
night," said Cristofano. "I saw it sparkle there." "That infant was myself--that wife my mother!" I cried. "The murderer stands before you! Strike!" exclaimed Cristofano. I raised the dagger. The marchese stirred not. I could not strike. "Do you hesitate?" angrily exclaimed Cristofano. "He has not the courage," returned the younger Calabrian.