THE WIDOW.
We must now return to that beautiful little villa, in the environs of
Upper Clapton, to which we introduced our readers in the early portion
of this history, and where we first found Eliza Sydney disguised in the
garb of a man.
Nothing was altered in the appearance of that charming suburban retreat,
either externally or internally,—unless it were that there were no dogs
in the kennels nor horses in the stables, and that the elegant boudoir
no longer displayed articles of male attire.
But the trees around were green with the verdure of Spring; the fields,
stretching behind far as the eye could reach, were smiling and
cultivated; and umbrageous was the circular grove that bounded the
garden.
In the parlour on the ground-floor still hung the miniatures of Eliza
and her dead brother—that brother whom she had personated with such
fatal consequences to herself!
And now on the sofa in that parlour sate Eliza Sydney herself,—dressed
in deep mourning.
She was pale—but beautiful as ever!
The snow-white widow's cap concealed her bright chesnut hair, save where
the shining masses were parted, glossy and smooth, over her lofty and
polished forehead.
The high black dress and plain collar covered the snowy whiteness of her
neck, but still displayed the admirable _contours_ of her bust.
Her countenance bore a somewhat melancholy but resigned expression; and
the amiability of her soul shone in her large, soft, melting hazel eyes.
It was noon—about a week after the date of the incidents related in the
preceding chapter.
Scarcely had the time-piece upon the mantel proclaimed the mid-day hour,
when a carriage drove up to the front door of the villa.
A few moments elapsed; and three visitors were ushered into the parlour
where Eliza awaited them.
These were the Prince and Princess of Montoni and Katherine Markham.
Eliza extended her hand with ingenuous courtesy towards Richard, saying,
"Prince, no selfish feelings can prevent me from congratulating you on
that proud position which your prowess and your virtues have achieved
for yourself." Then, offering her hand to Isabella, she added, "Nor need
I wait for a formal introduction to one whom I now see for the first
time, but of whom I have heard so much that I am well prepared to become
her friend—if her Highness will permit me."
There was something so sweet and touching—something so frank and
sincere—in the manner of the exiled Grand-Duchess of Castelcicala, that
Isabella's heart was instantaneously warmed towards her. Moreover, the
young Princess felt all the noble generosity of that conduct on the part
of one who had lost a throne by the events which had led to the
happiness of herself and her husband, and which had achieved the
exaltation of her parents.
Thus were those two beauteous creatures attracted to each other the
instant they met; and Isabella, instead of receiving the out-stretched
hand that was offered as the pledge of friendship, threw herself into
Eliza's arms.
It was a touching picture,—the embrace of that charming bride and that
scarcely less charming widow!
In due course Markham presented his sister to the exiled Grand-Duchess,
who received her in the most affable and cordial manner.
When the first excitement of this meeting was over, and they were all
seated, Eliza broke a temporary silence which ensued.
"The last time we met, Prince," she said, addressing herself to our
hero, "no human foresight could have divined the great events that were
so shortly to ensue—the brilliant destinies that were in waiting for
yourself."
"And if there be one regret which I have experienced," observed Richard,
"arising from those events, it is that they deprived an amiable lady of
that throne which her virtues embellished. But the cause of
Castelcicalan freedom outweighed all other considerations; and the duty
imposed upon me by those adherents who made me their Chief, was stern,
solemn, and imperative."
"You need not reproach yourself," exclaimed Eliza: "you need not
entertain a moment's regret on my account! All that occurred was
inevitable—and it was for the best. Castelcicala panted for freedom—and
she had a right to claim it. This I may assert without injustice—without
insult to the memory of my husband. And had no such reclamation been
made by the people of Castelcicala—had no revolution occurred—had Angelo
been more prudent, and less severe—Alberto would still at this moment be
the sovereign of that country. For my husband had long been afflicted
with a disease of the heart that was incurable, and that must inevitably
have terminated in a sudden death. As I informed you in my letter of
yesterday, he had scarcely reached the city of Vienna, where he was
received as became his rank, and lodged in one of the imperial palaces,
when he was taken ill, and in a few hours breathed his last. His
misfortunes could not have accelerated an event which his physicians had
previously seen to be near at hand—although this prescience was all
along religiously concealed from me. You have therefore, Prince, naught
wherewith to reproach yourself on that head."
"Your kind assurances are conveyed in a spirit worthy of your generous
heart," said Richard;—and Isabella, who was greatly affected by the
noble behaviour of Eliza, enthusiastically echoed her husband's
sentiments.
"It was but a week ago," continued Eliza, "that I received the tidings
of the late Grand-Duke's death. He had misunderstood me—he had suspected
me—and we had parted in anger: nay—I had fled to save myself from his
fury!"
"May I hope—and yet I dare not—that the generous behaviour of your
Serene Highness towards me," observed Richard, "proved not the cause of
that lamentable misunderstanding?"
"Oh! I should be grieved—deeply grieved, were such indeed the case!"
exclaimed Isabella; "for Richard has made me acquainted with all the
details of your Serene Highness's noble conduct towards him after he was
taken prisoner at Ossore."
"I will explain all," said Eliza. "But, in the first place," she added,
with a sweet smile, "let me entreat a favour of you all. You style me by
that title which became mine when I was honoured with the hand of the
late Grand-Duke Angelo, and which still is mine, did I choose to adopt
it;—for the new Government has passed no decree to deprive me of it."
"Nor ever will!" exclaimed Richard, warmly.
"And yet I now value it not," continued the royal widow. "Thanks for
that assurance, Prince;—but it is unnecessary. I was ever happier as
Eliza Sydney, than as the Marchioness of Ziani, or as the Grand-Duchess
of Castelcicala. As Eliza Sydney I left England: as Eliza Sydney I
returned to England;—and by that name do I wish to be known. Nay—I
implore you not to interrupt me: if you would please me—if you would do
aught to contribute to my happiness—if you value my poor
friendship,—that friendship, which, poor as it is, I so cordially offer
to you all,—let me henceforth be Eliza Sydney, as I once was. When I
came back three months ago to my native land, I re-entered this
house—which is my own—with feelings of a far more peaceful happiness
than those which I experienced when I first set foot as its mistress in
the palace of Montoni. Here do I hope to pass the remainder of my days;
and if you will sometimes come to cheer my solitude, I shall require no
other source of felicity—no other society."
"We will visit you often, dearest Eliza—for so you will permit me to
call you," said Isabella; "and you must come to our dwelling
frequently—very frequently! It shall be the care of my husband, his dear
sister Katherine, and myself, and also of the friends who dwell with us,
to contribute to your happiness to the utmost of our power!"
Eliza pressed Isabella's hand, and smiled sweetly upon her and Katherine
through the tears that stood upon her lashes.
"But I promised you an explanation of those events which led to my
precipitate departure from Castelcicala," continued Eliza, after a short
pause. "You must know that the loss which the ducal troops experienced
at Ossore—chiefly through your prowess, Prince—overwhelmed my late
husband with a fury which rendered him terrible to all around. He
threatened the most deadly vengeance against the Constitutional
prisoners, and was only persuaded by my entreaties and prayers to
relinquish the extreme measures which he at first conceived against
them. It was, I think, on the fourth day after you, Prince, left
Montoni, disguised as an artist, and with a passport made out in a
fictitious name, that the usher who had admitted you into the palace,
and who, it appeared, had listened at the door of the room where our
interview took place, betrayed the whole circumstances to the
Grand-Duke. The Grand-Duke came immediately to my apartment, overwhelmed
me with reproaches, and levelled the most unjust accusations against me.
But I will not insult you nor your amiable bride by repeating all that
the Duke said on that occasion. Never were suspicions more cruel: never
was woman's conduct so thoroughly misunderstood—so unjustly interpreted!
His Serene Highness commanded me to keep my own chamber—to consider
myself a prisoner! An hour afterwards, Signor Bazzano contrived to
obtain access to me, unperceived by the spies set to watch me. His uncle
was, as I think I informed you when we met at Montoni, Prince, the
Under-Secretary of State for the Home Department; and from that relative
Bazzano had learnt the fearful tidings which he came to impart to me. It
appeared that the Grand-Duke intended to appoint a Commission of Judges
and Councillors of State to try me—_me_, his wife! All his former
affection for me had suddenly changed, beneath the weight of his
injurious suspicions, into the most unbounded hatred. I knew that he
would form the Commission of men rather inclined to do the royal bidding
than to investigate the entire matter with justice and impartiality. He
was a prince who knew no other law than his own sovereign will! Alas!
that was his failing; and it triumphed over all the better feelings of a
mind naturally generous! Signor Bazzano also informed me that spies had
been sent out all over the country to track you, Prince; and that your
death, should you be captured, was determined upon. Fortunately,
however, you escaped the pursuit of your foes!"
"And yet what danger must you have incurred!" exclaimed Isabella, gazing
with tearful affection at her husband.
"Providence shielded you, dearest brother," murmured Katherine.
"Yes—Providence shielded him for its own wise and good purposes," added
Eliza Sydney. "To continue the thread of my narrative, I must observe
that the information brought me by the faithful Bazzano filled me with
alarm. I already saw myself disgraced by an unjust verdict:—my life was
even in danger. I was not compelled to implore Signor Bazzano to assist
me to escape: he proposed the step as the only means of safety alike to
myself and to him—for he was already endangered by the revelations of
the usher, although the influence of his uncle had served to shield him
from the immediate vengeance of the Grand-Duke. A post-chaise was
procured by Bazzano that same afternoon; and I managed to escape from
the palace, accompanied by Louisa—a faithful Englishwoman who has been
in my service for some years. At Friuli Signor Bazzano met you, Prince,
and gave you a timely warning, the nature of which you can now
understand. For it was known that you had quitted Montoni, attended by a
servant of dark complexion; and the spies sent after you were therefore
led to inquire for _two persons_ answering a certain description, and
journeying together. Thence the recommendation to separate company,
which Bazzano so wisely gave you; and perhaps to that circumstance of
thus parting from your servant you each owed your safety. In reference
to my own flight it only remains for me to say that we proceeded to
Montecuculi, having left behind us at Friuli an impression that we were
going in quite another direction. Arrived in safety at Montecuculi, we
sent back the chaise to Montoni, and secured places in a public vehicle
for the nearest town in the Roman States. Our perils were soon over:—we
travelled day and night until we reached Leghorn, in Tuscany, whence we
embarked on board a vessel bound for England. Shortly after my arrival
here, the news of the Castelcicalan insurrection reached this country;
and then I heard, Prince, that you were at the head of the
Constitutionalists."
"But I did not violate my promise to you," observed Richard. "I pledged
myself, on the occasion of our interview at Montoni, never to draw the
hostile weapon in Castelcicala, save at the command of Alberto and in a
just cause, or to relieve the Grand-Duchy from a foreign invader."
"Yes, Prince," returned Eliza; "you kept your word—for the Austrians
were in the land when you became the champion of the Constitutionalists.
I have now but a few words more to say in reference to myself. When the
news of the battle of Montoni reached England, accompanied with the
statement that the Grand-Duke Angelo had fled into the Roman States, I
felt persuaded that he would repair to Vienna, the Austrian Emperor
being his near relative. I accordingly wrote to my husband, addressing
my letters to him in that city. I explained all that had occurred
between yourself, Prince, and me at our interview immediately after the
defeat of the Constitutionalists at Ossore: I told him how deeply he had
wronged me with the most injurious suspicions; and I implored him to
allow me to join him, and comfort him in his exile—in his misfortunes!
The answer I received was satisfactory—was in itself all I could
wish;—but it was accompanied by the tidings of his death! On the bed
from which he never rose again, he recognised my innocence—he
acknowledged his injustice—he besought me to forgive him!"
"Heaven be thanked that, through your goodness towards me, you were not
doomed to undergo the additional torment of his dying enmity!"
ejaculated the Prince, fervently.
"Rest tranquil on that head," returned Eliza. "I have now told you all
that concerns myself. I may, however, observe that I should have sought
an interview with you sooner, only I was unwilling to disturb the first
few days of your happiness with your charming bride."
"Would that you had written to me the moment I arrived in England!"
cried Richard. "The parents of Isabella would have been rejoiced to
obtain your friendship! But you have not yet told us what has become of
the faithful Mario Bazzano. I owe him a debt of deep gratitude; and if
he be in this country still——"
"He _is_ in England," interrupted Eliza; "and as I felt persuaded that
you would comply with the request contained in my letter of yesterday,
and come hither to-day, I wrote to Signor Bazzano to request his
presence in the afternoon. We may, therefore, expect him shortly. He has
grown very melancholy of late—I know not why: some secret care appears
to oppress him! On our arrival in England, he hired apartments at the
West-End; but shortly afterwards he encountered an English officer with
whom he had formed an acquaintance some years ago in Montoni. It appears
that this officer was travelling at that time in Italy: and during his
temporary stay in the Castelcicalan capital, he and Signor Bazzano grew
intimate. When they met at the West-End two or three months ago, this
officer pressed Signor Bazzano to stay with him at some town near
London, where his regiment is stationed. Signor Bazzano accepted the
invitation; and for some weeks I saw nothing of him. Since his return to
London he has not appeared to be the same being. It is true that I see
him but seldom: still that change has not escaped my notice. He is fond
of solitude and long lonely walks, in which he employs the greater
portion of his time—save those hours which he devotes to the study of
English by the aid of a master; and I can assure you that his progress
in acquiring our language has been truly remarkable."
"Perhaps his melancholy is produced by absence from his native land,"
said Richard. "There can be no possible reason for him to remain in
exile against his inclination; and should he wish to return to Italy, I
will provide him with strong recommendations to the Grand-Duke."
"No—he does not desire to leave England," answered Eliza; "for I myself
have questioned him upon that subject. I am rather inclined to believe
that some motive of a more tender nature—some hopeless attachment,
perhaps—has produced in him the alteration which I have seen and
deplored. But he will be here shortly; and——"
Eliza was interrupted by a loud knock at the front door.
Katherine sighed: for the words of the royal widow had aroused within
her gentle breast painful remembrances of her own romantic and
apparently hopeless attachment!
The door opened; and Signor Bazzano was introduced.
Richard immediately hastened forward to greet him.
But—how strange!—a cry of wild delight burst from the lips of the
handsome Castelcicalan, as his eyes encountered _one_ particular
countenance in that room;—and at the same moment Katherine clung
convulsively to Isabella's arm, as if to save herself from falling from
the sofa.
For Mario Bazzano was the hero of the young maiden's romantic adventures
at Hounslow!
Katherine, with the ingenuous confidence of a sister, had revealed to
her brother, and also to Isabella, the particulars of those strange
meetings with the "handsome unknown," and had not attempted to disguise
the impression made upon her heart by that individual,—an impression
against which she had vainly endeavoured to struggle.
Thus, when those tokens of recognition were manifested alike by Mario
Bazzano and Katherine Markham, both Richard and Isabella instantly
divined the cause.
"Pardon me, your Highness," exclaimed the Castelcicalan officer,
endeavouring to throw off the trammels of embarrassment, and speaking in
excellent English; "but—that young lady—I think I have seen
her——before——I——"
"Perhaps," interrupted the Prince, laughing. "At all events I will
introduce her to you now—for she is my sister."
"Your sister, my lord!" cried Mario, in a tone which expressed some
degree of vexation at this announcement—as if he dared not aspire to so
near a relative of a personage of our hero's rank.
"Throw aside all ceremony with me, Bazzano," said Richard, shaking him
warmly by the hand. "I am your debtor—deeply your debtor. You saved my
life after the defeat of Ossore: your conduct was too generous—too noble
ever to be lightly valued. But, say—was it near Hounslow that you have
met my sister?"
And as he spoke, he glanced slily towards the blushing Katherine, who
was half hiding her countenance behind Isabella.
"It was—it was!" exclaimed Mario. "And will your Highness be offended if
I confess that your charming sister made a profound impression upon my
mind? Although believing her to be only the daughter of the tenants of
that farm-house near which I encountered her in her walks, I felt myself
irresistibly attracted towards her! And,—but your Highness will laugh at
my romantic dreams,—I determined to acquire the English language for her
sake—that I might speak to her—that I might render myself intelligible
to her!"
"We will give you an opportunity of convincing her of your proficiency
in our native tongue, Mario," said the Prince, again smiling—but with
kindness, and in a manner well calculated to reassure the young Italian
officer, whom he led towards Katherine.
And, oh! how the bashful maiden's heart beat, and how crimson became her
sweet countenance, as she felt her hand pressed in that of him who had
now for some months occupied so large a portion of her thoughts!
[Illustration]
"You guessed rightly as to the cause of Signor Bazzano's melancholy and
altered appearance," whispered Isabella to Eliza, as they walked towards
the window from which Richard was now gazing upon the prospect spread
before the villa.
Then Mario and Katherine began to converse,—timidly and with frequent
intervals of silence at first: but by degrees those intervals became
shorter and shorter;—and at length the young officer found himself
describing how he had felt deeply grieved at being unable to utter a
word to her in her own tongue when they had met in the fields near the
farm,—how he had torn himself away from the spot and returned to London
to study English,—how he had gone back to Hounslow a few days
afterwards, and vainly wandered about in those fields with the hope of
seeing her,—how he conceived at length that she must purposely remain
within the house to avoid him, the idea that she had left the
neighbourhood never entering his mind,—how he had returned again to
London and pursued his English studies under the romantic impression
that they would some day serve him in respect to the attachment he had
formed for her,—and how he paid frequent visits to the vicinity of the
farm, and was at length almost compelled to abandon the hope of ever
seeing her again.
All this he suddenly found himself telling her; and she as suddenly
found herself listening to him with attention,—neither quite
recollecting how the subject had first been touched upon.
Their pleasant _tête-a-tête_ was at length interrupted by Eliza Sydney,
who tapped them each on the shoulder, with the laughing assurance that
the servant had already announced luncheon three times; and then Kate's
countenance was again suffused with blushes, as she took the proffered
arm of her lover to repair to the apartment where an elegant collation
was served up.
The afternoon passed speedily away; and all were so happy that they were
in no haste to break up such a pleasant party. Eliza accordingly
insisted that her guests should remain to dinner—an invitation which was
accepted.
Indeed, it was eleven that night ere the Prince's carriage and Mario's
horse were ordered round to the door.
And when the young officer separated from Katharine, it was not without
an assurance from her brother that he would always be a welcome guest at
Markham Place.
Great was the surprise, but not less the joy, of Ellen Monroe, when
Katherine, on her return home and ere the two young ladies sought their
couch, made her friend acquainted with the elucidation of the mystery of
"the handsome stranger."