LUCIA GUISCARDINI’S DIAMOND RING.
Paul Desfrayne’s eyes had not deceived him. He had really and truly
seen Lucia Guiscardini hurrying away from the scene of her murderous
treachery.
A woman of insatiable ambition, she had resolved to let nothing stand
in the way of her advancement to the highest dignities she could hope
to reach.
Ignorant, ungovernable in her temper, resentful when any one crossed
her path, or tried to hinder her from following her own fancies, she
was at once resolute in planning schemes, and unscrupulous in carrying
them out.
During her brief flight to Paris, on escaping what she felt would be a
useless interview with Captain Desfrayne, she had reflected with all
the force of her cunning brain as to the course she should take.
It was true that a Russian prince, reputed to be of fabulous wealth,
was devoted to her, and had offered his heart, hand, royal coronet, and
vast possessions. His diamonds alone would have been a lure to her; and
neither by day nor by night could she resist the glittering, delicious
dreams conjured up by his offers.
She had not destroyed the marriage-register stolen from the charge
of her brother--not because she was withheld from the deed by any
conscientious scruple, but she did not know what the punishment for so
black a crime might be were she ever discovered.
Until she accidentally saw Leonardo Gilardoni speaking to Captain
Desfrayne, she had not for some time been aware whether he was living
or dead.
A sudden terror seized her when she found that these two men had come
together. It would have been a welcome relief if she could have been
sure they would release her from her bondage; but she knew that both
had every reason to hate her with the bitterness of men who had been
utterly ruined by her cruel hand, and she felt persuaded that they
were bent on dragging her to justice.
She kept the book she so keenly abhorred hidden in a cabinet with a
peculiar lock and several secret drawers, and, in fear lest Leonardo
should be the means of a search being made among the papers, she
thought and thought until her head ached from sheer pain and weariness
of the desirability of burning the telltale pages. But the vague dread
of the unknown penalty withheld her, even when she once took out the
parchment-covered volume, and stood contemplating it. She had but to
ignite a taper close at hand, and the deed would be accomplished in a
few minutes.
“But I dare not,” she shudderingly decided. “No; I must pursue another
plan.”
With infinite caution and craftiness, she ascertained whither Paul
Desfrayne had gone, and found for certain that he had taken Gilardoni
with him. Determined to see her husband, but afraid to send for him, or
to leave any trace that they had met, she had dressed herself in plain
dark clothes, of a very different description from those she usually
wore, and had gone down to Holston.
As the express arrived in London, the train in which she was to start
was slowly filling with passengers. From the window of the second-class
carriage, in which she had purposely seated herself, she had seen Paul
Desfrayne alight, and then linger to speak with the young lady, whose
appearance was completely unfamiliar to the Italian singer. She felt
thankful that there would be no risk of meeting him at Holston.
A porter happened to be near the door of the compartment, and she asked
him when the next train would leave London for Holston. The man went to
look at the time-table, and returned with the information that there
would not be one until 6:15. She thanked the porter with a smile.
“Good,” she thought to herself. “I shall have time enough for my little
talk.”
Arrived at Holston, she walked toward the barracks, which, unless she
could not help herself, she did not intend to enter. There was a dingy,
uninviting public house in the vicinity, and a few cottages sprinkled
about.
After a brief consideration, she went up to one of the most
decent-looking of the latter, where an old woman sat knitting by the
door.
The old dame readily allowed her to sit down, and, after a short,
desultory talk, the signora, who affected to be a very plain person
indeed, asked the woman if there was any boy about who would run on a
message to the barracks.
“I want to see my husband,” she said very simply. “You see, he and I
had a quarrel before he left London, and I am so unhappy. I believe I
was to blame; but I don’t want to go there, and be looked at by the men
there. My husband might be displeased by my coming.”
The old dame sympathized with the young wife’s feelings, and readily
found a lout of a boy, who stared with all his eyes at the beautiful
stranger in the somber garments.
Madam Guiscardini gave him a tiny note in a sealed envelope, directed
to Mr. Gilardoni, and slipped a shilling into his hand. She could not
venture to give him more, lest he should talk. The boy went, and the
signora waited, listening to the old woman’s talk, and comprehending no
more of her babble than she did of the buzzing of the bees and flies in
the neat little garden.
Within half an hour she saw, as she looked eagerly from the window, the
well-known form of Leonardo Gilardoni rapidly approaching the cottage,
accompanied by her messenger. Her note had contained only a line or
two, in Italian:
“Leonardo, I would see you. I have something of importance to say to
you. The bearer of this will tell you where to find me. LUCIA.”
She was still standing by the window when he entered the diminutive
room. They had not met since that day he had surprised her in the
garden at Florence. The recollection of that day came back on both with
a rush.
Leonardo paused on the threshold. Lucia did not move.
“You have sent for me?” he said.
The signora shrugged her shoulders and smiled mockingly, it seemed to
her husband.
“Why have you sent for me?” he demanded.
She left her place by the window, and came near to him.
“What I have to say,” she answered, “I would not that other ears than
yours should hear. Will you walk a little way with me toward the
corn-fields I see yonder?” pointing from the window at the back of the
room.
“It is indifferent to me where I listen to you. It is impossible you
can have aught to say that will be pleasant for me to hear,” replied
Gilardoni bitterly.
“That remains to be seen,” she lightly replied. “Perhaps I may have
something to say that will please you very much indeed.”
For a moment he thought that perhaps she knew her brother was coming
back, and that she desired to offer some kind of compromise, or to
throw herself on his mercy. But he followed very quietly as she led
the way down the narrow path of the garden at the rear of the cottage,
brushing past the common yet sweet-smelling humble country flowers,
until they were at the bottom, and could step unimpeded into a piece of
ground that ran between the garden and the corn-field, where the golden
grain lay like a yellow sea.
Here no one could possibly overhear what passed, and presently they
would be out of sight of even the cottages that lay sprinkled about.
Then Lucia spoke. Her voice was firm and calm, her manner composed.
“Leonardo Gilardoni, I acknowledge no claim you may choose to make upon
me, but I wish to be free from any annoyance you may possibly, from
spite, think fit to bring upon me. I have received offers of marriage
from a nobleman of the highest rank, and of immense wealth. It is my
purpose to accept these offers.”
“While you are the wife of another?” exclaimed Gilardoni.
“Prove your words,” she disdainfully replied. “But that you cannot do,
be they true or false. I have not come here to bandy words with you as
to my real position. I am well aware that, although your accusations
would be totally without foundation, yet, if breathed to his highness,
they would prejudice him against me. Therefore, I wish to silence you.
If you refuse to accede to my proposition, it does not signify your
using it as an additional proof of your base calumnies, for you will
not be able to show that I ever made it.”
“Go on. Your proposition?”
“If you will agree to sign a paper, acknowledging that there is not
the slightest foundation for your assertion that I have been married
before--to you--and will further agree that on signing this paper you
will depart for America, and promise never to return, I will settle ten
thousand pounds on you. Nay, do not speak. I trust to your promise, for
I know you would not break your word, nor would you promise lightly.”
Leonardo Gilardoni broke into a bitter laugh as he folded his arms and
looked his wife steadily in the face.
She raised her hands almost in a supplicating manner, and for a moment
he idly noticed the flash and sparkle of a wonderfully brilliant ring
upon her finger.
“You mean this proposition seriously?” he asked.
A malevolent light gleamed in the lustrous eyes of Madam Guiscardini,
and a spiteful smile curled round the ruby-red lips.
“You think I love you so well that I have taken the trouble and run the
risk of secretly traveling all the way hither from London for the sake
of lightly enjoying a passing jest with you?” she sibilated.
“Accept my offer, and see if it be really meant or not. I know you to
be of a dogged, stubborn nature. I know, to my cost, that once you take
a crotchet into your head, nothing can displace it. I once appealed to
your love--a passion I neither believe in nor comprehend--I wept at
your feet, and you turned a deaf ear to my entreaties. Silence! Hear me!
“I never cared for you, and now I hate you! I appealed to your
_love_--now I appeal to your interest. Surely--surely--surely you
will not refuse a fortune. Surely your hate of me cannot lead you to
vindictively mar my brilliant prospects. Perhaps it is folly to admit
that a few injurious words from you could turn his highness against me;
but I am frank with you.
“Of course, I might laugh your accusations to scorn, but the prince
might--well, your words might hurt me, for that man is as proud as
Lucifer, although his absurd infatuation, which he calls love, induces
him to lay all his earthly possessions, all his ancient prejudices,
at the feet of a ‘singing-woman.’ With ten thousand pounds you will
be rich; you will begin a new life, be happy with some meek-spirited,
pretty Griselda, who may fly to fulfil your slightest wish or command.”
She had spoken so rapidly that, as she paused, her breath came in quick
gasps. For the first time since she had entered on this conversation,
her heart beat violently.
“You think I would sell my soul for ten thousand pounds,” Leonardo
Gilardoni slowly said--“my soul and yours, my wife? I decline.”
“You do not mean it! You say so that I may double the price!” exclaimed
the signora. “No. Speak. What sum do you ask to fall in with my wishes?”
Gilardoni looked fixedly into the luminous eyes so eagerly fastened
upon him, as if he would read the innermost thoughts they so partially
revealed.
“You know me well enough, you say, to be aware that once I have made
up my mind to what is right, nothing will turn me from it,” he coldly
replied. “I say distinctly that you are my wife, by all the laws of
Heaven and man, and while I live you cannot marry any other. I refuse
to comply with your infamous desire. I have said it. Had I the means,
I would go to South America, to seek your brother, who could prove our
marriage. What have you done with the book you stole?”
A sudden thought seized Lucia Guiscardini. Paul Desfrayne had surely
discovered her previous marriage, and was about to send Gilardoni in
search of the Padre Josef. If so, she was probably ruined. Her plan
had been to rid herself by bribery of Gilardoni, and then to make a
proposition to Paul Desfrayne, making it a matter of mutual interest to
keep the second marriage a dead secret.
Only too well she knew that once Gilardoni had said no, it would be
impossible to persuade him to say yes. If these two men--he and his
master--combined against her, adieu to her dazzling hopes. She had
trusted that Gilardoni’s evident poverty would render him a willing
accomplice to her nefarious scheme, and now she was furious at her
failure.
In the event of finding her husband utterly intractable, she had
designed another and infinitely darker course, which she resolved to
carry into execution. For a few moments she remained silent, ignoring
Gilardoni’s direct question, and then she merely said:
“Good-by, then! We shall probably never meet again. I defy you! I hope
your spite may not be able to hurt me; but I do not fear you. My offer
was made to save myself annoyance. Say what you can, the worst your
vindictive fancy may invent, your words will be but empty air. Proof
you have none. Go on your preposterous chase if you will. I care not.”
She held out her hand mockingly. As she expected, Gilardoni refused
to clasp it, and, in affected anger at his repulse, she struck him
lightly, her closed fingers passing across his wrist. Then she turned,
and, before Gilardoni had time either to speak or detain her, she had
gained the road.
The terrible deed she had contemplated being accomplished beyond
human recall, the miserable woman was seized with a kind of terror
and exhaustion. Having placed herself out of sight, she sat down by a
great tree, creeping under its shelter so as to remain unseen by any
one who might be passing. Daring to the last degree of recklessness in
plotting, she yet lacked the iron nerves that were needed to support
her in her criminal schemes. Faint and exhausted, she stayed here until
some time after nightfall, and then fled toward the station.
As Captain Desfrayne passed, she was unable to recognize him, his face
and form being shrouded in darkness within the vehicle, and when he had
alighted and pursued her, she had not dared to look back.
Gilardoni had remained motionless when she left him, immersed in
painful thoughts.
“Good Heaven!” he said aloud; “and I once loved this woman! It would
not be spite nor hate; but were she to trap any innocent man to his
ruin, it would be my duty to speak.”
He clasped his hands above his head in a transport of grief, and then,
for the first time, felt a slight pain. He glanced at his left wrist,
and found it smirched with crimson blood. The wound, he supposed, had
been inflicted by the large diamond ring he had noticed on his wife’s
finger.
Binding his handkerchief about the wrist, he turned to retrace his
steps. He would have regarded that faint scratch very differently had
he known that his life-blood was already imbued with a subtle narcotic
poison emanating from one of the stones in that ring.
As he entered his master’s rooms he was conscious of a strange
faintness and an unpleasant burning of the tongue. He had found some
difficulty in ascending the staircase, and had scarcely lighted the
lamp, when he crept into the second apartment, and threw himself on a
couch, feeling as if utterly exhausted.
“I don’t know what is the matter with me,” he muttered, passing his
hand over his forehead. “I have taken nothing that could hurt me.
I suppose it’s a reaction. That was a painful meeting with--with
my wife. May Heaven forgive her all her wickedness toward me,
though--though----Strange, this weakness seems to increase, and my
thoughts are wandering.”
The faintness grew worse, so did the burning in his mouth and throat.
The unhappy man rose, and endeavored to drink some water, but the
effort to swallow was too painful.
“May Heaven forgive _me_ all my sins!” he murmured. “I believe I am
dying. Dying!” he wildly repeated, raising himself suddenly, and
looking about distractedly, then glancing down at his hand. “Dying! She
has destroyed me. Oh, Lucia--Lucia--Lucia!”
Burning tears forced their way as he sank back. By degrees he floated
into a kind of sleep, and then he forgot everything.
And as he lay dead in the silence of that lonely room, the woman who
had so remorselessly slain him was hastening back to the great city,
there to still further shape out the path that was to conduct her----
Whither--whither?
To the almost regal chambers of her princely lover, or to the condemned
cell of the manslayer?