“Pleasant that,” resumed Charley, as Laura, having finished reading the
note, returned it with looks of alarm. “Evans declares it’s more than
two hours since Governor Grant started, and there are no signs of him
yet. Why people can’t stay quietly at home when they’ve got a good house
over their heads, instead of rushing out to seek dangerous adventures, I
can’t think. I should have supposed the General had arrived at a time of
life when he would have sense enough not to be gulled by messages
from girls, either living or dying. Perhaps the summons was meant for
Bellefield after all, and the bearer delivered it to the wrong man; what
a joke that would be, eh?”
“Really, Charles, I don’t think it is anything to laugh at,” returned
Laura anxiously; “is your brother at home?”
“No, Belle’s out too; my family is becoming shockingly dissipated.”
“Had you not better apply to the police, as the note proposes?” urged
Laura.
“Police, indeed!” muttered Charley: “the General can’t remember that he
is out of London. I wonder he did not direct me to send a cab for him.
These confounded sulky Austrian officials are rather different customers
to deal with from our blue-bottles--Messrs. Al & Co. The only thing is
to go down to the consul’s office, and that must be done, I suppose, but
it’s an awful bore.”
So saying, Charley yawned, stretched himself, made Laura ring for his
boots, and had just accomplished the labour of pulling them on, when
rapid footsteps were heard--doors opened and shut, and the object of
their anxiety stood before them, his face flushed with exercise, and
his whole manner bearing traces of excitement and agitation. “Well,
General,” began Charley, “we were just going to commence fishing for you
in all the canals----” when his auditor interrupted him by inquiring in
a quick, eager voice--
“Your brother is not in the house, is he?”
“No; he has been out all the evening, and is not yet returned,” was the
reply.
“Leave us, Laura, there’s a good girl,” exclaimed the General; “stay,”
he continued, as Laura was quitting the room, “do not say anything which
can alarm Annie.”
Laura nodded her acquiescence and departed.
“I am very anxious about your brother,” resumed the General. “As I was
returning from this most strange and painful interview, the young man
who had summoned me still acting as my guide, some person followed us,
and as we were crossing the Rialto approached, and tapping my companion
on the shoulder, detained him. They conversed in Italian, but I made
out enough of what they said to catch the following words spoken by the
new-comer--
“‘I have watched him the evening through. He went from----’ (the names
of the places I could not hear) ‘to----, which he has this moment
quitted. Jacopo and the others are prepared; we only await your
directions. Why have you not joined us sooner?’
“‘It was impossible,’ was the reply; ‘but all will yet go as it should.’
“Then, turning to me, my guide continued, ‘You have now only to walk
straight on to reach the Square of St. Mark; no one will interrupt you.
Farewell, sir; and remember _her_ wishes.’
“This referred to his poor sister, about whom I will tell you another
time. He and his companion then quitted me. Mechanically I walked
forward, reflecting on the interview, which had harassed and distressed
me greatly, till, recalling the words I had just overheard, a new idea
struck me, and I turned and looked back; as I did so I perceived, at
some distance off, a man carelessly advancing towards me--at the moment
several others rushed out upon him; there was a short struggle, then,
as it seemed to me, he was overpowered, a cloak was flung over his head,
and he was hurried away. Instantly I ran to the spot, but it was some
considerable distance from the place where I had been standing, and when
I arrived there, no traces of them were visible. The whole affair from
beginning to end was over in less than a minute, but from the glimpse I
had, I feel convinced the man I saw carried off was your brother.”
“Nonsense,” exclaimed Charles, starting, “kidnap Bellefield! why, what
possible motive could anybody have for doing that?”
“One only too powerful--revenge!” was the alarming reply. “My guide was
young Hardy, whose sister Bellefield has cruelly betrayed and forsaken.
Come, Charles, let us obtain aid to seek and save him: God grant we may
not arrive too late.”
We must now return to Lord Bellefield. After the disturbance at
the Casino, his lordship, accompanied by Rastelli, repaired to a
shooting-gallery, where he practised with pistols for an hour. Having by
repeated successes assured himself that his late fall had not shaken his
nerves to a degree which could interfere with his skill as a duellist,
he turned to his companion, observing, “Now, Rastelli, devise some
method of killing time for the next hour or so; I am anxious not to
return to the Palazzo Grassini till the family have retired for the
night. I had rather avoid meeting any of them till this little affair is
over. What can we contrive to do with ourselves?”
“Come home with me, and let us have a quiet game at _écarté_,” was the
reply; “that will amuse without exciting you. I wish you to keep cool,
in order that you may punish for his temerity the insolent Luigi.” As he
spoke the dark eyes of the Italian flashed with the fire of revenge.
Lord Bellefield remarked his eagerness, and smiled contemptuously. “Calm
yourself, my good Rastelli,” he said, quietly lighting a cigar; “justice
shall be done, depend on it.”
“How cold and phlegmatic you English are!” exclaimed Rastelli, irritated
at his companion’s apparent apathy; “had the brigand insulted me as he
has insulted you, if I had not stabbed him on the spot, I should have
known no peace till he lay bleeding at my feet.”
Lord Bellefield placed his hand on his friend’s shoulder, and
approaching his lips to his ear, said in a low, impressive voice,
“Listen! we Englishmen do not talk about these things, we _do_ them.”
There was a cold, grating bitterness in his tone, which told of such
fiendish malice working at his heart that the Italian’s display of
boyish passion shrank into insignificance beside it.
Together they repaired to Rastelli’s dwelling; cards were produced,
and their game began. With the calculating prudence of an accomplished
gamester, Lord Bellefield played cautiously and for moderate sums till
he had tested his adversary’s calibre; then, confident in his own skill,
he artfully led on the young Italian to propose higher stakes, until,
at the expiration of an hour and a half, he had won above a couple of
hundred pounds.
“You are becoming excited and beginning to play wildly, _amico mio_,” he
said, pushing back his chair; “we will pause for tonight.”
“And when will you give me my revenge?” inquired the Italian with
flushed cheeks and trembling lips.
“When you like--to-morrow evening, if it so please you--always
supposing our peep-of-day amusement goes as it should do,” answered Lord
Bellefield carelessly.
“And what if you should be hit?” questioned Rastelli with a grim smile,
which involuntarily suggested to his auditor the idea that such a
catastrophe would not deeply distress him.
“To provide against such a contingency I shall make my will tonight,
and appoint you executor and residuary legatee; so that when you have
satisfied the few claims against me, the remainder of my property will
be yours, to compensate for this evening’s run of ill-luck,” was the
jesting reply.
Rastelli, having by this time in a degree recovered his good humour,
answered in the same light tone; then having made their final
arrangements for the morrow’s meeting, they shook hands and parted.
As Lord Bellefield gained the street, the conventional smile faded from
his lips, and a dark, sullen expression imparted a gloomy ferocity to
his countenance. His look did not belie the nature of his thoughts,
which ran somewhat after the following fashion:--
“A pretty thing I’m in for--to think of that accursed Arundel turning
up in such an out-of-the-way place as this! my ill-luck follows me
everywhere. That scoundrel is my evil genius. I shall be rid of him
to-morrow though, for I’ll shoot him like a dog; that’s some comfort.”
He paused, then a new idea seemed to strike him, and he muttered, “Curse
him, he means to murder me; I read it in his fiendish eyes. I wonder
whether he is anything of a shot? A nice way to lose one’s life, in
a quarrel with a tutor! it’s next door to going out with one’s valet.
Well, I’m in for it, and must chance it; a quick aim and a hair trigger
may pick him off, as it has done many a better fellow, before he has
time to be mischievous. I wonder whether Charles or old Grant know of
his being here? If not, the thing can be easily hushed up.” A sound as
of a man’s footstep caused him to start and look round, but seeing no
one he resumed, “Assassination is said to be one of the fashions of this
place; I wish I was a little more _au fait_ as to the customs of the
natives, or had longer time to act in. I might get my friend quietly
disposed of without risk or trouble.” He reflected a moment on the
feasibility of such a scheme; but the spirit of revenge and hate
was strong within him, and muttering a fearful curse, he added,
“No!------------him, I’d rather shoot him with my own hand; that blow
sticks by me.”
At this moment a man started out from a dark archway so suddenly
as nearly to run against Lord Bellefield, who, drawing himself up
indignantly, was about to commence an angry remonstrance, when his
elbows were pinioned from behind, some person tripped up his heels, a
cloak was flung over his head, and despite his attempts to free himself,
he was overpowered and hurried away by a party of several men. After
proceeding some short distance they reached the bank of a canal; here
they paused, and still holding the cloak over the captive’s head to
prevent him from giving an alarm, they bound his hands. One who seemed
to possess authority over the others superintended this operation in
person.
“Not so tight,” he said to an over-zealous individual who was tying the
cord as though it were never to be unfastened, “not so tight, it
will numb his arms. Now,” he continued, “raise him carefully;” and in
obedience to his command Lord Bellefield felt himself lifted from his
feet and placed in a lying posture at the bottom of what he rightly
imagined to be a gondola.
Having ascertained by listening that a portion of his captors were
engaged in rowing the boat, Lord Bellefield made an effort to remove
the cloak from his face, at the same time slightly raising himself;
immediately a heavy hand pressed him down, and a deep, low voice uttered
the following caution, “There is the point of a knife within an inch of
your heart; if you again attempt to move or speak I plunge it in!”
Thus warned, nothing remained but to lie still and await his captor’s
pleasure, which alternative, distracted by mingled rage and fear, Lord
Bellefield was forced to adopt. From the time occupied by their transit
it appeared that they must have proceeded some considerable distance ere
the gondola again stopped. Carefully guarded as before, the prisoner
was taken on shore, and half-led, half-carried over some uneven, stony
ground, in traversing which his conductors were more than once forced to
turn aside as if to avoid some obstacle that lay in their path; he was
then told to ascend steps; doors were unbarred to afford them
ingress, and the air struck cold and damp, as from a vault. At length,
apparently, they reached their destination, and the prisoner was made to
sit down on a stone bench; a light was procured, and then the order was
given, “Untie his hands, remove the cloak, and leave us.”
The persons spoken to obeyed, and in another moment Lord Bellefield was
able to look round him. The chamber in which he found himself was small,
the roof was high and vaulted, and the walls appeared of an immense
thickness; the door was of oak, thickly studded with iron nail-heads;
there was no fireplace; a ship’s lantern, hanging by a cord from the
roof, dimly lighted the apartment, and a grated window, sunk in the
thickness of the wall, seemed to afford the only means of communication
with the outward air. As Lord Bellefield became aware of these
particulars the men who had released his hands and removed the cloak
quitted the room, locking and barring the door on the outside; in
another moment the sound of their retreating footsteps echoed along the
stone passage and died away in the distance. A shudder passed over Lord
Bellefield’s frame as he found himself thus strangely left alone with
one whose purpose he could scarcely imagine other than hostile. As
his companion--who wore one of those half-masks termed a domino, which
effectually concealed his features--did not seem inclined to address
him, Lord Bellefield had time to examine, with a beating heart, the
preparations made for his reception. The only article of furniture the
apartment contained, with the exception of the stone bench on which he
was seated, was a heavy oak table. At the end nearest him lay a cutlass,
the blade crossed by that of a stiletto, in front of which was placed a
loaded pistol. A similar arrangement of weapons garnished the other end
of the table, at which stood the motionless figure of the stranger. The
whole thing was so strange, and so like some fancy of a horrible dream,
that it was with difficulty Lord Bellefield could believe the evidence
of his senses. At length the silence became unendurable to such a degree
that, even at the risk of hurrying on his fate, he resolved to break it.
Addressing his captor, he asked, in a voice which trembled in spite of
his efforts to appear cool and indifferent, “What place is this to which
you have brought me?”
The person addressed paused a moment, and then, without removing his
mask, replied, “A vault in the ruins of a convent on an island in the
lagunes, a mile from Venice.”
Up to this moment Lord Bellefield had been possessed with a secret
belief that his captor was none other than Lewis Arundel; and having
already had a convincing proof both of his enemy’s bodily strength and
of the implacable nature of his feelings towards him, the idea that he
had kidnapped him and carried him off to this desolate place in order to
force upon him a combat _à l’outrance_, with weapons in the use of which
his skill as a duellist would avail him little, was by no means an
agreeable one. This fear his companion’s speech had dispelled, for the
voice, though deep and stern, was not the voice of Lewis. Ignorant of
the existence of any other person likely to nourish deep feelings of
revenge against him, Lord Bellefield immediately conceived that he had
fallen into the hands of some English ruffian connected with banditti,
in which case their object would probably be plunder; and the solitary
chamber, the naked weapons, etc., mere scenic arrangements got up for
the sake of intimidating him, and so making a better bargain. Much
relieved by this view of the affair, he began--
“Your object in bringing me here is of course plunder, all this absurd
mummery is therefore utterly needless; you have only to name some
reasonable sum for my ransom, and as I cannot get out of the scrape
otherwise, I must pay it.”
“You will find it no mummery, and are wrong in supposing money will be
of the slightest avail to you,” was the reply.
Lord Bellefield, however, still considering his idea a right one, and
accounting for this speech as he had already accounted for the presence
of the weapons--viz., as a means of intimidating him, in order to extort
from his fears a higher ransom, continued--
“My good fellow, you have completely mistaken your man; all your tragedy
nonsense is quite thrown away upon me. The affair is simply a matter of
business: you require money, and knowing my rank, imagine me a Croesus.
I am nothing of the kind, but I can make it well worth your while to set
me free; conduct me safely to the Square of St. Mark, and I will give
you a hundred Napoleons.”
“A million curses on your money!” exclaimed the other furiously; “may
the bitter malediction of a desperate man cleave to the rank and riches
which have served to add a false splendour to as mean and pitiful a
scoundrel as ever disgraced God’s earth. Fool! let me undeceive you--I
am Miles Hardy” (as he spoke he flung down his mask), “the brother of
Jane--your victim--I have brought you here _to die_. Now do you think
your money, that money which you refused to give to save her from a
life of infamy, or a beggar’s death, is likely to bribe me to change my
purpose?”
For a moment Lord Bellefield was utterly confounded by this declaration;
he had never been aware that Jane possessed a brother, and the surprise
added to his discomfiture; besides, hardened as he was, he knew that he
had deeply wronged the girl, and a superstitious instinct of the justice
of the retribution which had overtaken him helped still more effectually
to terrify and crush him: for once both his haughty spirit and his
presence of mind failed him, and mistaking the character of the man with
whom he had to deal, he resolved first if possible to deceive, then to
cajole and bribe him.
“Refuse money to Jane Hardy!” he began in a tone of feigned surprise;
“you must have strangely deceived yourself: while she remained with me
I lavished hundreds upon her, and when, with the caprice of her sex, she
chose to leave me for some more favoured swain, as I imagine, ignorance
of her abode alone prevented my settling a liberal allowance upon her.
Even now I am ready to do so if she wishes it--where is she?”
A look of contemptuous anger, which had overspread Miles Hardy’s face as
Lord Bellefield uttered these falsehoods, gave place to an expression of
deep solemnity as he replied, “She is where you will be ere another
hour has passed, wretched liar that you are--gone to answer for her sins
before her God!”
“Dead!” exclaimed Lord Bellefield, involuntarily shocked into an
expression of feeling. Miles regarded him attentively; had he discerned
in him any symptoms of real grief for her loss, any signs of true
penitence for the destruction he had wrought, there was that working in
the brother’s heart which might even yet have saved him. But a doom
was upon the seducer, and a fresh display of his evil, sordid nature
hastened it. “Poor girl!” he said; “ ’pon my word, Hardy, I’m quite
shocked at this sudden intelligence; I really was excessively fond of
her at one time--a--I mean to say, before she chose to run away from me.
However, you must not take the affair so deeply to heart: I can assure
you these things are happening every day, and I always meant to make her
a liberal settlement; but as that is now unfortunately impossible, we
must see what can be done for you.” Having delivered himself of this
heartless speech, which he considered a model of diplomacy, Lord
Bellefield paused to observe its effects upon his auditor. Miles stood
for a moment as if absorbed in grief, murmuring to himself, “My poor
Jane, and was it for such a thing as this you sacrificed your young
life? My poor, poor sister!” Then suddenly raising his head, he said,
with a glance of the most withering scorn--
“Your mean lies will prove of as little use to you as your money; I
loathe it, them, and you alike. I have told you I brought you here to
die, and I have told you true; but I am no assassin, and if you have the
courage of a man, you have one chance yet remaining. On that table lie
six weapons, three for you and three for me; choose which you will, and
come on; only if the first fails we must try the second, and if that
does not end the matter there still remains the third. Come, make your
choice.”
“Well, but hear me----” began Lord Bellefield, turning very pale.
“Not a word,” was the angry answer, “instantly defend yourself. If you
refuse, I will shoot you where you stand;” so saying he advanced a step
towards the table.
Lord Bellefield, who had risen during the last speech, slowly followed
his example, casting, as he did so, a scrutinising look round the
apartment, and especially towards the window; the action did not escape
Hardy’s quick sight.
“Your search is useless,” he said, smiling contemptuously. “Were you
here alone, with proper tools at hand, and knowing how to use them to
the best advantage, it would take you two hours to break out of this
place. If you call ever so loudly, there is no one to hear you--my
companions are half-way back to Venice by this time. You have nothing
left but to overcome me, or to die the dog’s death you deserve.”
“’Tis false!” exclaimed Lord Bellefield eagerly; “my friends have
succeeded in tracing me, and even now I hear the tread of soldiers in
the passage--hark!”
With a gesture of surprise Hardy turned towards the door. This was
all Lord Bellefield required. Springing forward, he seized the pistol
nearest to him, levelled it, and with the speed of thought, fired.
Looking round, Hardy perceived too late the snare that had been laid for
him. As he did so, a sharp, stinging pain, followed by a sensation like
the burn of a red-hot iron, passed round his left side. The ball, aimed
at his heart, had struck against the handle of a clasp-knife which,
sailor-fashion, he wore slung round his neck by a string, and glancing
off, entered the side and passed round one of the ribs under the skin,
lodging among the muscular fibres of the shoulder-blade. Furious at
the cowardly stratagem to which he had so nearly fallen a victim, and
half-maddened with the pain of his wound, Hardy seized the other pistol,
and shouting, “Die, you infernal, treacherous scoundrel!” snapped it at
his adversary; but owing to the priming being damp, the pistol rusty, or
from some other unexplained cause, the cap exploded without discharging
the weapon. Flinging it down with an oath, he snatched up the sword that
lay nearest to him, and exclaiming, “Come on, and be -------- to you!”
scarcely gave his antagonist time to follow his example, ere he attacked
him furiously.
For a minute or two cut and thrust followed each other so rapidly that
all seemed confusion. Then as their first fury became expended, and
they fought more cautiously, Lord Bellefield perceived, to his extreme
satisfaction, that he was the better swordsman of the two, Hardy having
merely picked up the use of the cutlass on board a man-o’-war, while his
antagonist had learned fencing amongst the other military exercises of
a cavalry regiment in which, till within the last two or three years,
he had held a commission. If, therefore, he could contrive to defend
himself till Hardy’s fury should have in some degree worn out
his strength, he trusted either to disarm his adversary, or by a
well-directed thrust to rid himself of him for ever. Nor was he
disappointed in this expectation; for having with some difficulty
parried a furious thrust, he caught Hardy’s sword with the blade of his
own weapon, and by a sudden turn of the wrist sent it flying out of his
hand, leaving his enemy defenceless and at his mercy. But mercy being a
quality for which his lordship was never famous, more especially when,
as in the present instance, its exercise might compromise his own
safety, he drew back a step to get room for his thrust, with the
intention of running his opponent through the body. With the speed
of lightning, Hardy perceived the only chance remaining for him, and
unhesitatingly adopted it. Snatching up one of the stilettos, he rushed
upon Lord Bellefield, and receiving his thrust through the fleshy part
of his left arm, closed with him and buried the dagger in his heart.
Uttering a sound between a gasping sob and a groan, the young nobleman
staggered, raised his arm as if in the act to strike, and fell back a
corpse.
[Illustration: 0508]
Thus did the vengeance of the great God whom he had insulted by a life
of selfish crime overtake this wicked man in the pride of his youth and
strength, and thus in the same night were the libertine and his victim
called to appear before the Judge of all the earth to answer for their
deeds, whether they had done good, or whether they had done evil. For
the humble penitent we may indeed sorrow, yet not as without hope; but
for the impenitent sinner, cut off in the midst of crime, dying with his
selfish heart untouched, his evil nature unregenerated, “there remaineth
no longer any hope, but a fearful looking-for of judgment to come.”