The chain of circumstance had lengthened by several links round the
radiant life of Sylvie Hermenstem since that bright winter morning when
she had been startled out of her reverie, in the gardens of the Villa
Borghese, by the unexpected appearance of Monsignor Gherardi. The
untimely deaths of the Marquis Fontenelle and the actor Miraudin in the
duel over her name, had caused so much malicious and cruel gossip, that
she had withdrawn herself almost entirely from Roman society, which
had, with one venomous consent, declared that she was only marrying
Aubrey Leigh to shield herself from her esclandre with the late
Marquis. And then the murderous attack on her friend Angela Sovrani,
which occurred almost immediately after her engagement to Aubrey was
announced, had occupied all her thoughts--so that she had almost
forgotten the promise she had made to grant a private interview to
Gherardi whenever he should seek it. And she was not a little vexed one
morning when she was talking to her betrothed concerning the plans
which were now in progress for their going to England as soon as
possible, to receive a note reminding her of that promise, and
requesting permission to call upon her that very afternoon.
"How very unfortunate and tiresome!" said Sylvie, with a charming pout
and upward look at her lover, who promptly kissed the lips that made
such a pretty curve of disdain--"I suppose he wants to give me a
serious lecture on the responsibilities of marriage! Shall I receive
him, Aubrey? I remember when I met him last that he had something
important to say about Cardinal Bonpre."
"Then you must certainly give him an audience," answered Aubrey--"You
may perhaps find out what has happened to bring the good Cardinal into
disfavour at the Vatican, for there is no doubt that he is extremely
worried and anxious. He is strongly desirous of leaving Rome at once
with that gentle lad Manuel, who, from all I can gather, has said
something to displease the Pope. Angela is out of danger now--and I am
trying to persuade the Cardinal to accompany us to England, and be
present at our marriage."
"That would be delightful!" said Sylvie with a smile,--"But my Aubrey,
where are we going to be married?"
"In England, as I said--not here!" said Aubrey firmly--"Not here, where
evil tongues have spoken lies against my darling!" He drew her into his
arms and looked at her fondly. "I want you to start for England soon,
Sylvie--and if possible, I should like you to go, not only with the
faithful Bozier, but also in the care of the Cardinal. I will precede
you by some days, and arrange everything for your reception. And then
we will be married--in MY way!"
Sylvie said nothing--she merely nestled like a dove in the arms of her
betrothed, and seemed quite content to accept whatever ordinance he
laid down for the ruling of her fate.
"I think you must see Gherardi," he resumed--"Write a line and say you
will be happy to receive him at the hour he appoints."
Sylvie obeyed--and despatched the note at once to the Vatican by her
man-servant.
Aubrey looked at her intently.
"I wonder--Sylvie, I wonder--" he began, and then stopped.
She met his earnest eyes with a smile in her own.
"You wonder what, caro mio?" she enquired.
"I wonder whether you could endure a very great trial--or make a very
great sacrifice for my sake!" he said,--then as he saw her expression,
he took her little hand and kissed it.
"There! Forgive me! Of course you would!--only you look such a slight
thing--such a soft flower of a woman--like a rose-bud to be worn next
the heart always--that it seems difficult to picture you as an
inflexible heroine under trying circumstances. Yet of course you would
be."
"I make no boast, my Aubrey!" she said gently.
He kissed her tenderly,--reverently,--studying her sweet eyes and
delicate colouring with all the fond scrutiny of a love which cannot
tire of the thing it loves.
"Are you going round to see Angela this morning?" he asked.
"Yes, I always go. She is much better--she sits up a little every day
now."
"She says nothing of her assassin?"
"Nothing. But I know him!"
"We all know him!" said Aubrey sternly--"But she will never speak--she
will never let the world know!"
"Ah, but the world will soon guess!" said Sylvie--"For everyone is
beginning to ask where her fiance is--why he has shown no anxiety--why
he has not been to see her--and a thousand other questions."
"That does not matter! While she is silent, no one dare accuse him.
What a marvellous spirit of patience and forgiveness she has!"
"Angela is like her name--an angel!" declared Sylvie impulsively, the
tears springing to her eyes--"I could almost worship her, when I see
her there in her sickroom, looking so white and frail and sad,--quiet
and patient--thanking us all for every little service done--and never
once mentioning the name of Florian--the man she loved so passionately.
Sometimes the dear old Cardinal sits beside her and talks--sometimes
her father,--Manuel is nearly always with her, and she is quite easy
and content, one would almost say happy when he is there, he is so very
gentle with her. But you can see through it all the awful sorrow that
weighs upon her heart,--you can see she has lost something she can
never find again,--her eyes look so wistful--her smile is so sad--poor
Angela!"