Francesca Carrara/Chapter 67
CHAPTER VIII.
"How felt the maiden in that hour?"
Scott.
The first few moments after the door closed upon Evelyn and his companion were passed by Francesca in a state of horrible anxiety; every instant she expected to hear that the sentinel had discovered the deception. She counted in her own mind the steps along the gallery; at last she heard, as those whose senses are quickened by some strong excitement can hear, the door at the end of the passage close; then all was still, save the measured tread of the soldier passing to and fro. With an intense feeling of composure and relief, she let her head sink on her arm; and, while a few large but quiet tears fell almost unconsciously, remained for a time only alive to the repose that follows when the nerves have been overwrought, and mind and body taxed to their utmost; the feverish restlessness which is sure to succeed exhaustion was yet to come.
The noise of relieving the guard at the door of the chamber first roused her. Some one looked in, but, apparently satisfied, did not enter; and again all was silent, save the tramp of heavy steps up and down the gallery. Francesca gazed around; the dim lump was flickering in the socket, and spread a far black shadow; a cold gray light came through the dusty and broken windows, while the unfurnished and disconsolate chamber, floor, and walls, discoloured with neglect and time, added to the gloomy influence of the scene.
The first struggle between light and darkness is a dreary hour,—the air is so raw, so cold; the want of rest is then most severely felt; sleep avenges itself for its dismissal by sending stupor in its place; and the relaxed nerves and worn-out spirits presage the misfortunes which they yet lack strength to meet. All the annoyance to which she might presently be subjected, all the misconception to which her conduct was liable, rose gloomily upon her mind. With feverish impatience she watched the objects grow more and more distinct, while the perpetual pacing of the sentinel outside seemed insupportable to her jaded hearing. A rosier tint came upon the atmosphere, and at length a sunbeam fell upon the expiring lamp—its glad and golden radiance was a mockery, and the wan flame perished before it. Sounds now began to break the monotony of the soldier's steps; first, a low chirp ran through the boughs, and soon the songs of the many birds filled the air with the music and cheerfulness of morning; while through the shattered lattices came the rich flush—the crimson beauty of an autumn dawn.
"Major Johnstone must soon be here!" and, in spite of herself, Francesca trembled, though more from feminine timidity than alarm. In the hurry and fever of the previous night, she had not given a thought to the consequences—now they arose in painful array before her; her very courage, as concerned danger, rather heightened than diminished their annoyance—had she been more fearful, she would have been less embarrassed; love, too, would have supported her by its own engrossing nature; but she had acted solely from an impulse of high-toned generosity. When she could assist Evelyn, she disdained to visit upon him aught of personal resentment.
As the morning advanced, her anxiety increased. Suddenly an unusual noise broke in upon the singing of the birds;—surely it was the trampling of horses' feet! She held her breath to listen, for she could scarcely catch it;—yes, there certainty was the sound of voices, confused and distant; then all was still again. A few minutes of agonising suspense succeeded; then came the tread of heavy feet along the gallery. She heard a loud, harsh voice distinct above the others, though, of course, she could not distinguish the words. The door of the chamber opened, and some one entered slowly, and approached the table. She felt, though her face was bowed upon her hand, that the darkness of his shadow was upon her.
The visitor paused; then, shaking her roughly by the arm, exclaimed, "Up, thoughtless sleeper! there is but brief space between thee and eternity: give that space to thy God! Great as are the injuries now about to be requited on thy own head, I would not have thee depart this life with no prayer on thy lips for forgiveness." He drew aside the cloak, and all concealment was over. The young Italian rose from the seat, pale, but resolved; and if her hands were involuntarily clasped in the timid supplication belonging to her sex, her dark eyes were filled with the fiery pride native to her heroic race. The surprise was so great, that for a moment Major Johnstone neither spoke nor moved, but remained gazing on the beautiful face so suddenly presented to his view, as if it had been the head of Medusa, and had turned him to stone. But he was too used to the changes of his stirring time for surprise to last. His brow darkened, and his mouth contracted with a fierce expression of rage,—
"Where is the prisoner?" demanded he, in a tone scarcely audible.
"Far beyond the power of his enemies," replied Francesca.
"You contrived his escape, and remained in his place; you are therefore, doubtless, ready to meet the penalty which awaited him. I give you five minutes to prepare for death!" and, turning away, he began to pace the chamber with rapid steps.
Francesca felt, as who but must, the blood recede from her heart; but her self-possession deserted her not.
"Why," thought she, "should I care to die? Who do I leave behind to regret me? Life is my only link with life. Isolated and wretched, why should I care how early that is snapped? Guido, we shall meet sooner than we deemed!" and, leaning on the back of the chair, she hid her eyes with her hand, and strove to fix her thoughts on a far and other world.
The republican officer had expected a burst of womanish terror, and had nerved himself in advance for passionate appeals; but Francesca's quiet submission and calm resolve at once surprised and touched him. His words were but a threat which, to do him justice, he never dreamed of carrying into effect; but he had hoped, in the agitation and fear of the announcement, that he should be able to gather such particulars of the prisoner's escape and destination as might lead to his recapture. Her perfect beauty, her noble air, and her stately composure, inspired him with a respect and interest which influenced him unawares; and when he next spoke it was in a gentler tone.
"It must have been some strong motive which induced you thus to peril your life, and to set at nought the laws of the land in which you dwell. But why do I say strong motive? There needs but one for your weak and ill-judging sex—the fair face of the young cavalier, and perchance a few honeyed words, soon throw aside all restraints of duty, age, and of decency. Mr. Evelyn was your lover?"
"Sir," said Francesca, raising her eyes, "the meanest hind in yonder field is an object of as much interest to me; I had no motive but compassion; and I do now deem myself justified in aiding a fellow-creature to escape from a violent and dreadful death."
"And so," exclaimed he, angrily, "for a foolish, vain, and womanish fancy—compassion, as you call it—you have let loose a firebrand on this unhappy land, and defrauded a vengeance as just as ever exacted the fearful penalty of blood for blood!"
"I will but answer," replied Francesca, in the words of your own holy creed,—'Vengeance is mine, saith the Lord; I will repay.'"
"Maiden," interrupted Major Johnstone, pale with rage and a yet deeper feeling, "it is but a little while ago, according to ordinary reckonings—but a miserable eternity to the miserable—that I dwelt, a man of peace, in a happy home—happy in content and affection. In one night that house was burnt to the ground—ground reddened with the blood of those nearest and dearest to me. I was left without one kindred tie on earth; and stood next morning beside the blackened heap which had been my happy, happy house, with but one thought of the future in my heart. Maiden, that was vengeance!”
Francesca could not speak, but her eyes fully showed the intense sympathy the story had awakened.
"That ruin—that work of death—was the act of a midnight revel, the deed of those who sat at my board, and who deemed it only too great an honour for the scorned Puritan to perish by their hands. Your young cavalier was the foremost of those brawlers. One dear to me as a son fell by his sword. Others of that merciless band have fallen before me one by one, but he has eluded my pursuit. God delivered him unto my wrath, and lo! the vain foolishness of a woman has again deferred that righteous judgment which I feel written in my inmost soul it is given unto me to execute!"
"Alas!" exclaimed Francesca; "I do not plead to excuse the cruel injuries to which an unnatural warfare has led; but, for your own sake, be merciful;—the heart knows no peace like forgiveness."
"What know you of forgiveness?" interrupted the other. "What injuries have you had to pardon? Have you stood amid the dead and the dying, those for whom you would have poured forth your heart's best blood?"
"There are other sorrows than those which are the heritage of the sword—other injuries than those wrought by the red right hand; and life is more easily parted with than happiness."
"And of that," exclaimed the other, drawing the inference more rapidly than Francesco had anticipated, "yonder truant malignant has deprived you?"
"Nay!" replied she, for her pride revolted at the conclusion to which her own inadvertent words had led. "Mr. Evelyn has over me no influence now," added she, in a faltering voice; for however painful or humiliating, Francesca was too little accustomed to falsehood to take refuge in its meanness. But their conversation was interrupted by a sudden noise in the gallery. The door was thrown hurriedly open, and Evelyn was again brought in a prisoner.