Meanwhile Cardinal Bonpre had once more reached his own apartments,
thankful enough to be there after his difficult experience at the
Vatican. But he was neither fatigued nor depressed by what had
occurred,--on the contrary he was conscious of an extraordinary vigour
and lightness of heart, as though he had suddenly grown young again.
Changing his scarlet robes of office for his every-day cassock, he
seated himself restfully, and with a deep sigh of relief, in his easy
chair near the writing-table, and first of all closing his eyes for a
moment, while he silently prayed for guidance to the Supreme Judge of
all secret intentions, he called Manuel to his side.
"My child," he said gently, "I want you to listen to me very
attentively. I do not think you quite understand what you have done
to-day, do you?"
Manuel raised his eyes with a clear look of confidence.
"Yes. I have spoken to the Head of the Church of Rome," he
answered,--"That is all. I have said to him, as Christ once said to the
very Peter whom he represents, 'Thou savourest not the things that be
of God, but those that be of men.'"
The Cardinal regarded him straightly.
"True! But for you, a mere child, to say to the Head of the Church what
Christ said to St. Peter, will be judged as blasphemy. I have never
urged you, as you know, to tell me who you are, or where you came from.
I do not urge you now. For I feel that you have been sent to me for
some special purpose--that young as you are, you have been entrusted by
a Higher Power with some mission to me--for you possess the spirit of
inspiration, prophecy and truth. I dare not question that spirit!
Wherever I find it, in the young, in the old, in the wise or the
ignorant I give it welcome. For you have uttered not only what I have
myself thought, but what half the world is thinking, though you are
only one of those 'babes and sucklings out of whose mouth the Lord hath
ordained wisdom.' But what you have said at the Vatican will be judged
as heresy--and I shall be counted heretic for having permitted you to
speak thus boldly."
"Your permission was not asked," said Manuel simply, "I was summoned to
the Vatican, but I was not told what to say to the Pope. I spoke as I
felt. No one interrupted me. The Pope listened to all my words. And I
said no more than is true."
"Truth is judged as libel nowadays in the world," answered the
Cardinal, "And we have to confront the fact that we have incurred the
displeasure, and have also invited the vengeance of the Sovereign
Pontiff. Thus we must expect to suffer."
"Then he who is called the visible Head of Christianity objects to the
truth, and is capable of vengeance!" said Manuel, "That is a strange
contradiction! But I will suffer whatever he pleases to inflict upon
me. You shall suffer nothing!"
The Cardinal smiled gravely.
"My child, I am old, and whatever trouble is in store for me cannot
last long. But I must guard you from harm with all the remaining powers
of my life. Having constituted myself your protector and defender, I
must continue to protect and defend. And so, Manuel, tomorrow or the
next day I shall take you away to England. So far, at least, I will
defy the powers of Rome!"
His eyes flashed, and his whole person seemed to be invested with
sudden strength, dignity and command. He pointed to the crucifix on the
table before him.
"He, the Holy One of the Heavens, was crucified for speaking the
truth,--I can do no better than follow His divine example! If my soul
is stretched on the crossbeams of injustice--if every tender emotion of
my heart is tortured and slain--if I am stripped of honour and exposed
to contempt, what matter! My glorious Master suffered likewise."
Manuel was silent. He stood near the great chimney where the wood fire
burned and crackled, casting a ruddy glow through the room. After a few
minutes he turned his fair head towards the Cardinal with an earnest,
scrutinising gaze in his expressive eyes.
"Then, dear friend, you are not angry? You do not reproach me for what
I have done?"
"Reproach you? I reproach no one!" said Bonpre,--"Least of all, a
child! For you speak unconsciously--as genius speaks;--you cannot weigh
the meaning of your words, or the effect of what you say on the worldly
or callous minds which have learned to balance motives and meanings
before coining them into more or less ambiguous language. No!--I have
nothing to reproach you with, Manuel,--I am thankful to have you by my
side!"
His eyes rested again upon the crucifix for a moment, and he went on,
more to himself than to the boy,--
"In the early days of our Lord, He spoke to the wise men in the Temple,
and they were 'astonished at his understanding and answers.' But they
did not reprove Him,--not then,--on the contrary, they listened. How
often in our own days do young children ask us questions to which we
cannot reply, and which they themselves perchance could easily answer
if they but knew how to clothe their thoughts with speech! For the
Spirit of God is made manifest in many ways, and through many
methods;--sometimes it whispers a hint or a warning to us in the petals
of the rose, sometimes in the radiance of the sunset on the sea,
sometimes in the simple talk of a child younger even than you
are,--'Except ye become as little children--!"
He paused in his dreamy utterance, and turned in his chair listening.
"What is that?" There was a noise of hurrying footsteps and murmuring
voices,--that sort of half-muffled confusion in a household which bodes
something wrong,--and all at once Prince Sovrani threw open the door of
the Cardinal's apartments without ceremony, crying out as he entered,--
"Where is Angela?"
The Cardinal rose out of his chair, startled and alarmed.
"Angela?" he echoed, "She is not here!"
"Not here!" Prince Sovrani drew a sharp breath, and his face visibly
paled,--"It is very strange! Her studio is locked at both
entrances--yet the servants swear she has not passed out of the house!
Besides she never goes out without leaving word as to where she has
gone and when she is coming back!"
"Her studio is locked on both sides!" repeated the Cardinal, "But that
is quite easy to understand--her picture is unveiled, and no one is to
be permitted to see it until to-morrow."
"Yes--yes--" said the Prince Pietro impatiently, "I know all that,--but
where is Angela herself? There is no sign of her anywhere! She cannot
have gone out. Her maid tells me she was not dressed to go out. She was
in her white working gown when last seen. Santissima Madonna!"--and old
Sovrani gave a wild gesture of despair--"If any harm has happened to
the child . . ."
"Harm? Why what harm could happen? What harm could happen?" said the
Cardinal soothingly,--"My dear brother, do not alarm yourself
needlessly--"
"Let us go to the studio," interposed Manuel suddenly--"She may not
have heard you call her."
He moved in his gentle light way out of the room, and without another
word they followed. Outside the studio door they paused, and Prince
Sovrani tried again and again to open it, calling "Angela!" now loudly,
now softly, now entreatingly, now commandingly, all to no purpose. The
servants had gathered on the landing, afraid of they knew not what, and
one old man, the Prince's valet, shook his head dolefully at the
continued silence.
"Why not break open the door, Eccellenza?" he asked anxiously, "I know
the trick of those old locks--if the Eccellenza will permit I can push
back the catch with a strong chisel."
"Do so then," replied his master, "I cannot wait--there is something
horrible in the atmosphere!--something that chokes me! Quick! This
suspense will kill me!"
The old valet hurried away, and in two or three minutes, during which
time both Prince Sovrani and the Cardinal knocked and called again
outside the door quite uselessly, he returned with a strong iron chisel
which he forced against the lock. For some time it resisted all
efforts--then with appalling suddenness gave way and flew back, the
door bursting wide open with the shock. For one instant the falling
shadows of evening made the interior of the room too dim to see
distinctly--there was a confused blur of objects,--the carved summit of
a great easel,--a gold picture-frame shining round a wonderful mass of
colouring on canvas--then gradually they discerned the outline of a
small figure lying prone at the foot of the easel, stiff and
motionless. With a dreadful cry of despair Sovrani dashed into the room.
"Angela! Angela!"
Falling on his knees he raised the delicate figure in his arms,--the
little head drooped inanimate on his shoulder, and with the movement a
coil of golden hair became unbound, and fell in soft waves over his
trembling hands--the fair face was calm and tranquil--the eyes were
closed,--but as the distracted man clasped that inert, beloved form
closer, he saw what caused him to spring erect with a terrible oath,
and cry for vengeance.
"Murdered!" he exclaimed hoarsely--"Murdered! Brother, come close!--see
here! Will you talk to me of God NOW! My last comfort in life--the last
gift of my Gita, murdered!"
The affrighted Cardinal tottered forward, and looking, saw that a deep
stain of blood oozed over the soft white garments of the lifeless girl,
and he wrung his hands in despair.
"My God! My God!" he moaned, "In what have we offended Thee that Thou
shouldst visit us with such heavy affliction? Angela, my child!--my
little girl!--Angela!"
The servants had by this time clustered round, a pale and terrified
group, sobbing and crying loudly,--only the old valet retained
sufficient presence of mind to light two or three of the lamps in the
studio. As this was done, and the sudden luminance dispersed some of
the darker shadows in the room, the grand picture on the easel was
thrown into full prominence,--and the magnificent Christ, descending in
clouds of glory, seemed to start from the painted canvas and move
towards them all. And even while he wrung his hands and wept, the
Cardinal's glance was suddenly caught and transfixed by this
splendour,--he staggered back amazed, and murmured feebly--"Angela!
THIS is her work!--this her great picture, and she--she is dead!"
Sovrani suddenly clutched him by the arm, and drew him close to the
couch where he had just laid the body of his daughter down.
"Now, where was this God you serve, think you, when this happened?" he
demanded, in a hoarse whisper, while his aged eyes glittered
feverishly, and his stern dark face under the tossed white hair was as
a frowning mask of vengeance,--"Is the world so rich in sweet women
that SHE should be slain?"
Half paralysed with grief, the unhappy Cardinal sank on his knees
beside the murdered girl,--taking the passive hand he kissed it, the
tears flowing down his furrowed cheeks. Her magnificent picture shone
forth, a living presence in the room, but the thoughts of all were for
the dead only, and the distracted Sovrani saw nothing but his child's
pale, set face, closed eyes, and delicate figure, lying still with the
red stain of blood spreading through the whiteness of her garments.
None of them thought of Manuel--and it was with a shock of surprise
that the Cardinal became aware of him, and saw him approaching the
couch, raising his hand as he came, warningly.
"Hush, hush!" he said, very gently, "It may be that she is not dead!
She will be frightened when she wakes if she sees you weeping!"
Prince Sovrani caught the words.
"When she wakes!" he cried, "Poor boy, you do not know what you say!
She will never wake! She is dead!"
But Manuel was bending closely over the couch, and looking earnestly
into Angela's quiet face. Cardinal Bonpre watched him wonderingly. And
the old Prince stood, arrested as it were in the very midst of his
wrath and sorrow by some force more potent than even the spirit of
vengeance. The sobbing servants held their breath--and all stared as if
fascinated at the young boy, as after a pause, he took Angela's hand
that hung so inertly down, in one of his own, and with the other felt
her heart. Then he spoke.
"She is not dead!" he said simply,--"She has only swooned. Let someone
fetch a physician to attend her--see!--she breathes!"
With a wild, half-smothered cry Prince Sovrani sprang forward to see
for himself if this blessed news was true. He and the Cardinal both,
seized with a passionate anxiety, gazed and gazed at the fair beloved
face in hope, in fear and longing,--and still Manuel stood beside the
couch, stroking the small hand he held with thoughtful care and
tenderness. All at once a faint sigh parted the sweet lips,--the bosom
heaved with a struggle for breath. Her father fell on his knees,
overcome, and hiding his face in his hands sobbed aloud in the
intensity of his relief and joy, while the Cardinal murmured a devout
'Thank God!' A few minutes passed, and still the fluttering uncertain
breathings came and went, and still Manuel stood by the couch, quietly
watchful. Presently the closed eyelids quivered and lifted,--and the
beautiful true eyes shone star-like out upon the world again! She
stirred, and tried to raise herself, but sank back exhausted in the
effort. Then seeing the Cardinal, she smiled,--and her gaze wandered
slowly to the bent, white-haired figure crouching beside her, whose
whole frame was shaken by sobs.
"Father!" she murmured--"Dearest father! What is it?"
He lifted his tear-stained, agonised face, and seeing that the tender
eyes regarding him were full of fear and wonder as well as love, he
instantly controlled himself, and rising from his knees, kissed her
gently.
"I thought you were dead, my darling!" he said softly--"Hush now--do
not speak! Lie quite still! You are hurt a little,--you must rest!--you
will be better,--much better presently!"
But Angela's looks had again wandered, and now they were fixed on
Manuel. Over her whole face there came a sudden life and radiance.
"Manuel!" she said eagerly--"Manuel, stay with me! Do not leave me!"
Manuel smiled in answer to her appealing eyes, and came nearer.
"Do not fear!" he said--"I will stay!"
She closed her eyes again restfully, and her breathing grew lighter and
easier. Just then one of the servants entered with the physician who
was accustomed to attend the Sovrani household. His arrival roused
Angela completely,--she became quite conscious, and evidently began to
remember something of what had happened. The doctor raised her to see
where she was injured, and quickly cutting away her blood-stained
vesture, tenderly and carefully examined the wound.
"I cannot understand how it is that she is not dead!" he said at
last--"It is a miracle! This is a stab inflicted with some sharply
pointed instrument,--probably a dagger--and was no doubt intended to be
mortal. As it is, it is dangerous--but there is a chance of life." Then
he addressed himself to Angela, who was looking at him with wide-open
eyes and a most piteous expression. "Do you know me, my child?"
"Oh, yes, doctor!" she murmured faintly.
"Do you suffer much pain?"
"No."
"Then can you tell me how this happened? Who stabbed you?"
She shuddered and sighed.
"No one!--that I can remember!"
Her eyes closed--she moved her hands about restlessly as though seeking
for something she had lost.
"Manuel!"
"I am here!" answered the boy gently.
"Stay with me! I am so tired!"
Again a convulsive trembling shook her fragile body from head to foot,
and again she sighed as though her heart were breaking,--then she lay
passively still, though one or two tears crept down her cheeks as they
carried her tenderly up to her own room and laid her down on her simple
little white bed, softly curtained, and guarded by a statue of the
Virgin bending over it. There, when her cruel wound was dressed and
bandaged, and the physician had given her a composing draught, she fell
into a deep, refreshing slumber, and only Manuel stayed beside her as
she slept.
Meanwhile, down in the studio, Prince Sovrani and the Cardinal stayed
together, talking softly, and gazing in fascinated wonder,
bewilderment, admiration and awe at Angela's work unveiled. All the
lamps in the room were now lit, and the great picture--a sublime Dream
resolved into sublime Reality--shone out as much as the artificial
light would permit,--a jewel of art that seemed to contain within
itself all the colour and radiance of a heaven unknown, unseen yet
surely near at hand. The figure and face of the approaching Saviour,
instinct with life, expressed almost in positive speech the words,
"Then shall ye see the Son of Man coming in the clouds with great power
and glory"!--and if Cardinal Bonpre had given way to the innermost
emotions of his soul, he could have knelt before the exalted purity of
such a conception of the Christ,--a god-like ideal, brought into
realization by the exalted imagination, the holy thoughts, and the
faithful patient work of a mere woman!
"This--" he said, in hushed accents--"This must be the cause of the
dastardly attempt made to murder the child! Some one who knew her
secret,--some one who was aware of the wonderful power and magnificence
of her work,--perhaps the very man who made the frame for it,--who can
tell?"
Prince Pietro meditated deeply, a frown puckering his brows,--his
countenance was still pale and drawn with the stress of the mingled
agony and relief he had just passed through, and the anxiety he felt
concerning Angela's immediate critical condition.
"I cannot hold the position yet!--" he said, at last--"That is to say,
I am too numb and stricken with fear to realize what has happened! See
you! That picture is marvellous!--a wonder of the world!--it will crown
my girl with all the laurels of a lasting fame,--but what matter is it
to me,--this shouting of the public,--if she dies? Will it console me
for her loss, to call her a Raffaelle?"
"Nay, but we must not give up hope!"--said the Cardinal
soothingly--"Please God, you will not lose her! Be glad that she is not
dead,--and remember that it is almost by a miracle that she lives!"
"That is true--that is true!" murmured old Sovrani, ruffling his white
hair with one hand, while he still stared abstractedly at his
daughter's picture--"You are very patient with me, brother!--you have
all the kindness as well as all the faithfulness of your sister,--the
sweetest woman the sun was ever privileged to shine on! Well, well!
What did you say to me? That this picture must have been the cause of
the attempted murder? Maybe,--but the poor hard-working fellow who made
the frame for it, could not have done such a deed,--he has been a
pensioner of Angela's for many a long day, and she has given him
employment when he could not obtain it from others. Besides, he never
saw the picture. Angela gave him her measurements, and when the frame
was finished he brought it to her here. But he had nothing whatever to
do with setting the canvas in it,--that I know, for Angela herself told
me. No, no!--let us not blame the innocent; rather let us try to find
the guilty."
At that moment a servant entered with a large and exquisitely arranged
basket of lilies-of-the-valley, and a letter.
"For Donna Sovrani," he said, as he handed both to his master.
The Prince took the basket of lilies, and moved by a sudden fancy, set
it gently in front of Angela's great work. Glancing at the
superscription of the letter, he said,--
"From Varillo. I had better open it and see what he says."
He broke the seal and read the following:
"SWEETEST ANGELA,--I am summoned to Naples on business, and therefore,
to my infinite regret, shall not be able to see the great picture
to-morrow. You know,--you can feel how sorry I am to disappoint both
you and myself in a pleasure which we have so long lovingly
anticipated, but as the Queen has promised to make her visit of
inspection, I dare not ask you to put off the exhibition of your work
till my return. But I know I shall come back to find my Angela crowned
with glory, and it will be reserved for me to add the last laurel leaf
to the immortal wreath! I am grieved that I have no time to come and
press my 'addio' on your sweet lips,--but in two or three days at most,
I shall be again at your feet. Un bacio di