I AM SUMMONED TO THE COUNTESS' CHAMBER, AND MAKE A CONFESSION.
Sperver's pale face and rapid glance intimated that something unusual
was happening; nevertheless, he was calm and did not appear surprised at
my presence in Knapwurst's room.
"Gaston," he said briefly, "I have come to get you!"
I rose without replying and followed him. No sooner had we left the
lodge than he seized me by the arm and drew me hastily towards the
Castle.
"The Countess Odile wants to speak to you," he whispered.
"The Countess! Is she ill?"
"No, she is quite recovered, but something unusual is going on. This
morning at about one o'clock, thinking that the Count was about to
breathe his last, I went to wake the Countess, but as I was on the point
of ringing, my heart failed me. 'Why should I fill her with despair?' I
asked myself. 'She will learn of her misfortune soon enough; and then to
wake her up in the middle of the night, when she is so frail and broken
by so much sorrow, might prove her own death-blow.' I stood some minutes
reflecting what course to pursue, and at last I decided to take the
responsibility upon myself, and I returned to the Count's room. I looked
about; no one was there. Impossible! the man was in his last agonies! I
ran along the corridor like a madman; no one was to be seen! I entered
the gallery; no one there! Then I lost my head and rushed again to the
Countess Odile's chamber. This time I rang. She appeared in tears.
"'My father is dead?'
"'No, madame!'
"'He has disappeared?'
"'Yes; I left the room for a moment, and when I returned--'
"'And Monsieur de la Roche; where is he?'
"'In Hugh's Tower.'
"'In the Tower!'
"She threw on a dressing-gown, seized a lamp and hurried out. I remained
behind. A quarter of an hour afterwards she returned, her feet covered
with snow, and very pale; it was pitiful to see. She set the lamp on
the mantelpiece, and looking steadily at me, she said:
"'Was it you who put the doctor in the Tower?'
"'Yes, madame.'
"'Unhappy man! you will never know the harm that you have done!'
"I wanted to reply, but she stopped me.
"'That is enough! Go and fasten all the doors and lie down. I will sit
up myself. To-morrow morning you will go and find the doctor in
Knapwurst's lodge, and you will bring him to me. Breathe no word of this
to anybody! Remember you have seen nothing and know nothing!'"
"Is that all, Sperver?"
He nodded gravely.
"And the Count?"
"He has come back again; he seems better."
We had reached the antechamber. Gideon knocked gently on the door, then
opened it, announcing, "Monsieur the doctor."
[Illustration: "I STEPPED FORWARD AND FOUND MYSELF IN THE PRESENCE OF
ODILE."]
I stepped forward and found myself in the presence of Odile. Sperver
withdrew, closing the door behind him.
A strange impression was produced upon my mind by the appearance of the
young Countess, robed in a long gown of black velvet, and standing pale
and firm with her hand resting on the back of an armchair, her eyes
glistening with a feverish light.
"Monsieur," she said, pointing to a chair; "pray be seated. I wish to
speak with you upon a very grave subject."
I obeyed silently. She seated herself in turn, and seemed trying to
arrange her thoughts.
"Chance, monsieur," she continued after a moment, fixing her large blue
eyes upon me--"chance or Providence, I know not which to call it--has
made you the witness of a mystery in which is involved the honor of our
family."
She knew everything, then. I was astonished.
"Let us call it Providence!" I cried. "Who knows but that through me the
spell that has so long overhung the Castle is destined to be broken?"
"All this is frightful!" she continued; then in a despairing tone, "My
father is not guilty of this crime!"
I sprang up, and stretching out my hands deprecatingly, I exclaimed:
"I know it, mademoiselle; I know of the Count's past life, and it is one
of the purest that it would be possible to conceive!"
Odile half rose from her chair as if to protest against any harsh
judgment of her father, but seeing me myself undertake his defence, she
sank back, and covering her face with her hands, burst into tears.
"God bless you, monsieur," she murmured; "had you entertained a
suspicion of my father, it would have killed me!"
"Why, mademoiselle! Who could mistake for realities the unreasoning
actions of the somnambulist?"
"That is true, monsieur. I had reflected upon this myself--but
appearances--I feared--pardon me--but I should have remembered that you
are a man of honor."
"Pray, dear Countess, calm yourself!" I exclaimed, feeling myself on the
verge of losing my composure, so deeply was I moved by the grief of my
beloved mistress.
"No," she cried; "let me weep. These tears are a relief. I have suffered
so for the past ten years! This secret, so long locked in my breast, was
killing me, and I should have died at last like my dear mother! God has
taken pity on me, and he has sent you to share the burden with me. Let
me tell you all, monsieur, let me--" She could not continue; her voice
was stifled in sobs. Her proud and high-strung nature, after having
conquered grief so long, had succumbed to the fateful happening of the
night before; the seal once broken and her secret betrayed, her
vanquished nature, still struggling to shield its sacred trust, sought a
grateful relief in unrestrained tears.
My one sentiment of love and sympathy, repressed until that moment, now
demanded expression with a power which I was unable to gainsay. I cast
all prudence to the winds, and dropping on one knee beside Odile, I
seized the delicate hands that covered her face and drew them gently
away until her sorrowing glance rested on my face.
"Odile!" I said, as her name rose naturally to my lips, in a voice so
choked with emotion as to be hardly more than a whisper, "forgive my
rashness, but it no longer rests with me to speak or not as I choose! I
might never have said anything of this, at least not now, but your
suffering affects me so powerfully that to be silent longer is not
within my power. It must have been evident to you, had you cared to read
it, that I love you and have loved you, far, far dearer than life
itself, ever since my eyes first rested upon you in the Count's chamber,
that first night when I came to the Castle. I cannot ask pardon for it!
No! For I am convinced that no man could be near you for even this brief
time and experience the wonderful charm of your being, to say nothing of
witnessing your present sorrow, without feeling himself moved to the
depths of his own nature. Odile, I love you! I see no goal in life but
you, no future but one passed in your divine companionship; and though
you might well reproach me for choosing such a moment to tell you so,
believe me, it is through no wish to take advantage of your confidence.
Did I feel myself guilty of such baseness, I should despise myself more
than you could possibly do. Odile, my darling, I could not choose but
speak. I must tell you this, even though it should be at the cost of
your further favor!"
As I spoke, Odile's eyes were fastened on my face with an expression of
surprise, indeed, but in it there was no trace of disfavor, and her
hands were not withdrawn from mine. A bright flush that, for the first
time since I knew her, had succeeded to her usual pallor, mounted to her
cheeks and served to increase her matchless beauty.
She remained silent for some moments still, and I could perceive the
agitation which my words had caused her, by the slight tremor of her
frame and her quickened breathing.
At length she began, with her clear, frank gaze fastened on my face:
"I am deeply sensible of the honor you do me in expressing yourself as
you have done, and I am convinced that no woman can do otherwise than
feel a sense of the greatest satisfaction in knowing that she is so
regarded by an honorable man. I must confess," she continued after a
moment of hesitation, "that your words are far from being indifferent or
unwelcome to me! Oh, how strange are the circumstances of my life! I
know not how to reply to you! I know not--"
And she paused, at a loss how to continue.
I was happy. Odile had confessed enough to make me feel that I could
bide my time for the present without endangering my future hopes;
indeed, I felt that it might be wisdom to grant her time more fully to
determine her sentiments, before pursuing the victory already won. I was
now about to share in the secret of her life at her own request; and I
resolved, if the reason of her vow should be explained, as I felt it
must, to controvert it by any honorable means.
"You have said enough to make me supremely happy!" I exclaimed. "You
have not denied me the happiness of hope, and I shall not despair!
Meanwhile, whatever I may win is fairly mine, is it not?"
"Yes," murmured Odile, with just the slightest smile, in which I fancied
there was less sorrow than before.
"And now, dear one, I fear I have been selfish in intruding my own
feelings where so much grief is present! Pray forgive me, and continue
your story."
I pressed her hands once more, and as she gently disengaged them I
resumed my chair.
Odile dried her tear-stained cheeks, and resting her face on her fair
hand she began:
"When I go back into the past, and return to my earliest dreams, I see
again my mother. She was a stately woman, pale and silent, and still
young at the time of which I am now speaking. She was scarcely thirty
years, and you would have thought her at least fifty. White locks
veiled her thoughtful forehead; her thin cheeks and severe profile, and
her lips ever firmly closed with an expression of pain, gave to her
features a strange character, in which grief and pride were blended.
There was nothing that suggested youth in this old woman of thirty;
nothing but her upright, haughty bearing, her brilliant eyes, and her
voice, pure and sweet as the dreams of childhood. She often walked up
and down for hours together in this very chamber, with her head bowed
down, and I ran happily along by her side, little knowing that my mother
was deep in sorrow, too young to comprehend the grief that was preying
upon her heart. I knew nothing of the past; the present alone possessed
any reality for me; this was happiness, and the future was but
to-morrow's play." Odile smiled sadly, and resumed:
"Sometimes it happened that in the midst of my dancing about her, I
would interrupt my mother's walk, and she would stop, and seeing me at
her feet, bend down and kiss me on the forehead with a far-off smile;
then she would resume her interrupted walk. Since then, when I have
wished to search my memory for remembrances of those early days, this
tall, pale woman has appeared before me like the image of melancholy
itself. There she is," she exclaimed, pointing to a picture on the wall;
"not such as illness made her, as my father believed, but that terrible
and fatal secret. Look!"
I turned, and my glance falling suddenly upon the portrait which the
young girl indicated, I shuddered. It was a long, thin, pale face,
stamped with the cold rigidity of death, and with dark hollows under the
eyes, which looked at you with a fixed, burning gaze of terrible
intensity. There was a moment's silence.
"How she must have suffered!" I exclaimed, with a sinking of the heart.
"I know not how my mother made this frightful discovery," continued
Odile; "but she knew of the mysterious attraction of the Black Plague,
and of their meetings in Hugh's Tower,--all, in short,--but she never
suspected my father. No! only she slowly pined away, as I am doing now."
I hid my face in my hands, and the tears started involuntarily.
"One winter night," she went on, "when I was only ten years old, my
mother, whose energy alone sustained her,--for she was in the last
stages of a decline,--came to my room. I was sleeping, when suddenly a
cold, nervous hand seized my wrist. I opened my eyes, and opposite me
stood a woman; with one hand she held a torch, and with the other she
held my arm, which felt as if clasped in a chill vise. Her dress was
covered with snow, a convulsive trembling agitated her limbs, and her
eyes burned with a dark fire through the white, disordered locks that
hung about her face. It was my mother.
"'Odile, my child, rise and come with me! You must know everything!' she
said.
"I dressed myself tremblingly, and leading me along the lonely
corridors to Hugh's Tower, she showed me the staircase that led down to
the chasm.
"'Your father will come out this way,' she said, pointing to the tower;
'he will come out with the she-wolf. Fear nothing! He cannot see you.'
"Hardly had she finished speaking, when my father appeared with the old
woman, carrying his funereal burden. Taking me in her arms, my mother
followed them, and I witnessed the scene on the Altenberg.
"'Look, child!' she cried; 'you must, for I am going to die, and you
shall keep the secret! You shall watch over your father alone--all
alone! The honor of our family depends upon it!'
"We returned. A fortnight later my mother died, leaving to me the
accomplishment of her vow and the lesson of her example. I have
faithfully discharged my trust, but oh, at what a cost! You have seen
it! I have been obliged to disobey my father and make him wretched. My
marriage could have accomplished nothing, though he does not know it,
and to marry would have been to bring a stranger into our midst and
betray the family secret. I resisted. No one in the Castle knows the
nature of my father's malady, and had it not been for yesterday's
crisis, which broke down my strength and prevented me from watching by
my father, I should still have been the sole depositary of the secret.
God has willed otherwise; he has placed in your keeping the honor of our
family.
"Such is my story, and in view of what you told me a few moments ago
(and she colored charmingly), I feel that I need hardly ask you if you
will share with me my burden, for my strength is unequal to it--I am
bending beneath its weight."
She had risen as she finished speaking. For all answer, I sprang
forward, and throwing my arms about her I drew her close to me and
covered her upturned face and forehead with passionate kisses, and she
rested, a delicious burden in my arms.
"Odile," I cried, "I will be all this and a thousand times more, if you
will only consent to let me. I am the petitioner, not you; and in
allowing me to share with you even the least of your trials, you make me
forever your debtor. You have told me the reason of your vow, and in
doing so you have removed the necessity for its further existence. Oh,
Odile, may I hope--may I hope, I say, that if I can raise the spell
which overhangs the Castle, and restore your father's health,--as the
price of it, I may have your love?"
After a moment, she replied softly, as she gently disengaged herself
from my arms:
"You may;" and she added, "until then my first duty is ever to my
father."
I pressed the hand which she yielded to me to my lips, exclaiming with a
smile, "This seals the promise!"
Then I continued:
"And one thing more. We must seize this creature known as the Black
Plague, and find out what she is, whence she comes, and what she wants
here."
"Oh," she exclaimed, with a motion of her beautiful head, "I fear that
is impossible!"
"Who can say that?" I replied. "I want only your permission, and I will
undertake to seize the Plague at once."
"Do as your judgment dictates. I consent to everything beforehand."
I took a long and reluctant leave of Odile, and hurried jubilantly to
Sperver's room.