The startled girl looked up and down the street, and then at the
balcony which stood out against the opalescent sky, the tracery of
ironwork showing like delicate etching on the luminous background.
She flushed and dropped her eyes, making no reply.
"Signorina," repeated the Prince, "I, too, am an exile. Pardon me. It
is in remembrance of our lovely city;" and with that he lightly flung
the bouquet, which fell at her feet on the floor of the balcony.
For a few moments the girl did not move nor raise her eyes; then she
cast a quick glance through the open window into her room. After some
slight hesitation she stooped gracefully and picked up the bouquet.
"Ah, beautiful Venice!" she murmured with a sigh, still not looking
upwards.
The Prince was delighted with the success of his first advance, which
is always the difficult step.
Evening after evening they sat there later and later. The acquaintance
ripened to its inevitable conclusion--the conclusion the Prince had
counted on from the first.
One evening she stood in the darkness with her cheek pressed against
the wall at the corner of her balcony nearest to him; he looked over
and downward at her.
"It cannot be. It cannot be," she said, with a frightened quaver in her
voice, but a quaver which the Prince recognised, with his large
experience, as the tone of yielding.
"It must be," he whispered down to her. "It was ordained from the
first. It has to be."
The girl was weeping silently.
"It is impossible," she said at last. "My servant sleeps outside my
door. Even if she did not know, your servant would, and there would be
gossip--and scandal. It is impossible."
"Nothing is impossible," cried the Prince eagerly, "where true love
exists. I shall lock my door, and Pietro shall know nothing about it.
He never comes unless I call him. I will get a rope and throw it to
your balcony. Lock you your door as I do mine. In the darkness nothing
is seen."
"No, no," she murmured. "That would not do. You could not climb back
again, and all would be lost."
"Oh, nonsense!" cried the young man eagerly. "It is nothing to climb
back." He was about to add that he had done it frequently before, but
he checked himself in time.
For a moment she was silent. Then she said: "I cannot risk your not
getting back. It must be certain. If you get a rope--a strong rope--and
put a loop in it for your foot, and pass the other end of the rope to
me around the staunchest railing of your balcony, I will let you down
to the level of my own. Then you can easily swing yourself within
reach. If you find you cannot climb back, I can help you, by pulling on
the rope and you will ascend as you came down."
The Prince laughed lightly.
"Do you think," he said, "that your frail hands are stronger than
mine?"
"Four hands," she replied, "are stronger than two. Besides, I am not so
weak as, perhaps, you think."
"Very well," he replied, not in a mood to cavil about trivialities.
"When shall it be--to-night?"
"No; to-morrow night. You must get your rope to-morrow."
Again the Prince laughed quietly.
"I have the rope in my room now," he answered.
"You were very sure," she said softly.
"No, not sure. I was strong in hope. Is your door locked?"
"Yes," she replied in an agitated whisper. "But it is still early. Wait
an hour or two."
"Ah!" cried the Prince, "it will never be darker than at this moment,
and think, my darling, how long I have waited!"
There was no reply.
"Stand inside the window," whispered the Prince. As she did so a coil
of rope fell on the balcony.
"Have you got it?" he asked.
"Yes," was the scarcely audible reply.
"Then don't trust to your own strength. Give it a turn around the
balcony rail."
"I have done so," she whispered.
Although he could not see her because of the darkness, she saw him
silhouetted against the night sky.
He tested the loop, putting his foot in it and pulling at the rope with
both hands. Then he put the rope round the corner support of the
balcony.
"Are you sure the rope is strong enough?" she asked. "Who bought it?"
"Pietro got it for me. It is strong enough to hold ten men."
His foot was in the loop, and he slung himself from his balcony,
holding the rope with both hands.
"Let it go very gently," he said. "I will tell you when you have
lowered enough."
Holding the end of the rope firmly, the girl let it out inch by inch.
"That is enough," the Prince said at last; and she held him where he
was, leaning over the balcony towards him.
"Prince Padema," she said to him.
"Ah!" cried the man with a start. "How did you learn my name?"
"I have long known it. It is a name of sorrow to our family.
"Prince," she continued, "have you never seen anything in my face that
brought recollection to you? Or is your memory so short that the grief
you bring to others leaves no trace on your own mind?"
"God!" cried the Prince in alarm, seizing the rope above him as if to
climb back. "What do you mean?"
The girl loosened the rope for an inch or two, and the Prince was
lowered with a sickening feeling in his heart as he realised his
position a hundred feet above the stone street.
"I can see you plainly," said the girl in hard and husky tones. "If you
make an attempt to climb to your balcony, I will at once loosen the
rope. Is it possible you have not suspected who I am, and why I am
here?"
The Prince was dizzy. He had whirled gently around in one direction for
some time, but now the motion ceased, and he began to revolve with
equal gentleness in the other direction, like the body of a man who is
hanged.
A sharp memory pierced his brain.
"Meela is dead," he cried, with a gasp in his breath. "She was drowned.
You are flesh and blood. Tell me you are not her spirit?"
"I cannot tell you that," answered the girl. "My own spirit seemed to
leave me when the body of my sister was brought from the canal at the
foot of our garden. You know the place well; you know the gate and the
steps. I think her spirit then took the place of my own. Ever since
that day I have lived only for revenge, and now, Prince Padema, the
hour I have waited for is come."
An agonising cry for help rang through the silent street, but there was
no answer to the call.
"It is useless," said the girl calmly. "It will be accounted an
accident. Your servant bought the rope that will be found with you. Any
one who knows you will have an explanation ready for what has happened.
No one will suspect me, and I want you to know that your death will be
unavenged, prince though you are."
"You are a demon," he cried.
She watched him silently as he stealthily climbed up the rope. He did
not appear sufficiently to realise how visible his body was against the
still luminous sky. When he was within a foot of his balcony she
loosened the rope, and again he sunk to where he had been before, and
hung there exhausted by his futile effort.
"I will marry you," he said, "if you will let me reach my balcony
again. I will, upon my honour. You shall be a princess."
She laughed lightly.
"We Venetians never forget nor forgive. Prince Padema, good-bye!"
She sunk fainting in her chair as she let go the rope, and clapped her
hands to her ears, so that no sound came up from the stone street
below. When she staggered into her room, all was silence.