THE MASQUERADE.
Obed Chute came home one day full of news, and particularly dilated
upon the grandeur of a masquerade ball which was to take place at the
Villa Rinalci. He wished to go, and to take Zillah. The idea filled
all his mind, and his excitement was speedily communicated to Zillah,
and to Lord Chetwynde, who happened to be there at the time. Obed had
learned that it was to be conducted with the highest degree of
magnificence. He had talked about it with some Americans with whom he
had met in the cafe, and, as he had never seen one, he was eager to
go. Lord Chetwynde expressed the same desire, and Zillah at once
showed a girlish enthusiasm that was most gratifying to Obed. It was
soon decided that they all should go. A long conversation followed
about the dresses, and each one selected what commended itself as the
most agreeable or becoming. Obed intended to dress as a Western
trapper, Zillah as an Athenian maid of the classic days, while Lord
Chetwynde decided upon the costume of the Cavaliers. A merry evening
was spent in settling upon these details, for the costume of each one
was subjected to the criticism of the others, and much laughter arose
over the various suggestions that were made from time to time about
the best costume.
For some days Lord Chetwynde busied himself about his costume. He had
to have it made especially for the occasion, and tailors had to be
seen, and measurements had to be taken. Of course this did not
interfere in the smallest degree with his constant attendance upon
Zillah, for every day he was punctual at the trysting-place or in the
villa.
Meanwhile Hilda's intolerable anxiety had taken another and a very
natural turn. She began to feel intensely curious about the object of
Lord Chetwynde's daily occupations. Having once come to the
conclusion that there was a woman in the case, every hour only
strengthened this conviction, until at length it was as firmly fixed
in her mind as the belief in her own existence. The pangs of jealousy
which she suffered from this cause were as extreme as those which she
had suffered before from fear, or anxiety, or suspense, both when
hurrying on to save Lord Chetwynde, and when watching at his bedside.
In her wild, ungovernable passion and her uncontrollable love she
felt the same vehement jealousy which a betrothed mistress might
feel, and the same unreasoning indignation which a true and lawful
wife might have when suspecting a husband's perfidy. Such feelings
filled her with an insatiable desire to learn what might be his
secret, and to find out at all costs who this one might be of whose
existence she now felt confident. Behind this desire there lay an
implacable resolve to take vengeance in some way upon her, and the
discovery of her in Hilda's mind was only synonymous with the deadly
vengeance which she would wreak upon this destroyer of her peace.
It was difficult, however, to accomplish such a desire. Little or
nothing could be found out from the servants, nor was there any one
whom she could employ to observe her "husband's" actions. Now she
began to feel the need of that deep devotion and matchless fidelity
which she had once received from Gualtier. But he was far away. Could
she not send for him? She thought of this often, but still delayed to
do so. She felt sure that the moment she gave the command he would
leave every thing and come to do her bidding. But she hesitated. Even
in her unscrupulous mind there was a perception of the fitness of
things, and she was slow to call to her assistance the aid of the man
who so deeply loved her, when her purpose was to remove or to punish
her rival in the affections of another man, or rather an obstacle in
the way of securing his affections. Deprived thus of all aid, it was
difficult for her to find out arty thing.
At length Lord Chetwynde became interested in the affair of the
masquerade. The state of mind into which he had fallen ever since the
discovery of Zillah had deprived him of that constant reticence which
used to be his characteristic. He was now pleasant and genial and
talkative. This change had inspired alarm in Hilda rather than joy,
and she had considered this the chief reason for believing that love
was the animating motive with him now. After the masquerade had been
mentioned he himself spoke about it. In the fullness of his joy it
slipped from him incidentally in the course of conversation, and
Hilda, after wondering why he should mention such a thing, began to
wonder what interest the thing might have to him. No doubt he was
going. Of that she felt assured. If so, the mysterious being to whom
she believed he was devoted would necessarily be there too. She
believed that the expectation of being there with her had so
intoxicated him that this masquerade was the chief thing in his
thoughts, and therefore he had made mention of it. So she watched to
find out the meaning of this.
One day a parcel came for Lord Chetwynde. The servants were out of
sight, and she opened it. It was a suit of clothes in the Cavalier
fashion, with every accessory necessary to make up the costume. The
meaning of this was at once evident to her. He was going to this
masquerade as a Cavalier. What then? This discovery at once made
plain before her all that she might do. Under these circumstances it
would be possible for her to follow and to track him. Perhaps her own
good fortune and cleverness might enable her to discover the one to
whom he was devoted. But a complete disguise was necessary for
herself. She was not long in choosing such a disguise. She decided
upon the costume of the _Compagnia della Misericordia_--one which was
eminently Florentine, and, at the same time, better adapted for
purposes of concealment than any other could possibly be. It consists
of a black robe with a girdle, and a hood thrown over the head in
such a way as to show only the eyes. It would be as suitable a
disguise for a woman as for a man, and would give no possible chance
of recognition. At the same time, belonging as it did to that famous
Florentine society, it would be recognized by all, and while insuring
a complete disguise, would excite no comment.
Lord Chetwynde left early on the morning of the fête, taking his
costume with him, showing Hilda that he was evidently going in
company with others. It was with great impatience that she waited the
progress of the hours; and when, at length, the time came, and she
was deposited at the gate of the Villa Rinalci, her agitation was
excessive. Entering here, she found the grounds illuminated.
They were extensive, and filled with groves and spacious avenues and
dashing fountains and beautiful sculptures. Already a large crowd had
assembled, and Hilda walked among them, watching on every side for
the man whom she sought. In so large a place as this, where the
grounds were so extensive, it was difficult indeed to find any
particular person, and two hours passed away in a vain search. But
she was patient and determined, and there was but one idea in her
mind. The music and the gayety of the assembled throng did not for
one moment divert her, though this was the first scene of the kind
that she had ever beheld, and its novelty might well have attracted
her attention. The lights which flashed out so brightly through the
gloom of night--the noisy crowds which thronged every where--the
foaming spray that danced upward from the fountains, gleaming in the
light of the lamps--the thousand scenes of mirth and revelry that
arose on every side--all these had no attraction for this woman, who
had come here for one purpose only, and who carried this purpose deep
in her heart. The company wore every imaginable attire. Most of them
were in masks, but some of them had none; while Hilda, in her
mournful robe, that spoke to all of death and funereal rites, was
alone in the singularity of her costume.
She wandered throughout all the grounds, and through the villa
itself, in search of one thing, but that one thing she could not
find. At length her weary feet refused to support her any longer in
what seemed a hopeless search, and she sat down near one of the
fountains in the central avenue, and gave herself up to despondent
thoughts.
About half an hour passed, when suddenly two figures approached that
riveted her attention. They were a man and a woman. Her heart beat
fast. There was no mistake about the man. His dress was the dress
which she herself had seen and examined. He wore a domino, but
beneath it could be seen his whiskers, cut after the English fashion,
and long and pendent. But Hilda knew that face so familiarly that
there was no doubt in her mind, although she only saw the lower
portion. And a woman was with him, resting on his arm. They passed by
her in silence. Hilda waited till they had gone by, and then arose
and followed stealthily. Now had come the time for discovery, perhaps
for vengeance. In her wild impulse she had brought a dagger with her,
which she had secreted in her breast. As she followed her hand played
mechanically with the hilt of this dagger. It was on this that she
had instinctively placed her ultimate resolve. They walked on
swiftly, but neither of them turned to see whether they were followed
or not. The idea of such a thing never seemed to have entered into
the mind of either of them. After a time they left the avenue, and
turned into a side-path; and, following its course, they went onward
to the more remote parts of the grounds. Here there were but few
people, and these grew fewer as they went on. At length they came to
the end of this path, and turned to the right. Hilda hurried onward
stealthily, and, turning, saw an arbor embowered among the trees.
Near by was a light, which hung from the branch of a tree on one
side. She heard low voices, and knew that they had gone into the
arbor. She crept up behind it, and got close to it--so close, indeed,
that they, while sitting at the back, had but a few inches between
themselves and this listener. The rays of the lantern shone in, so
that Hilda could see, as they sat between her and the light, the
outlines of their forms. But that light was obstructed by the leaves
that clung to the arbor, and in the shadow their features were
invisible. Two dark figures were before her, and that was all.
"We can stay here alone for some time," said Lord Chetwynde, after a
long silence. He spoke in a whisper, which, however, was perfectly
audible to Hilda.
"Yes," said the other, speaking in the same whisper. "He is amusing
himself in the Grand Avenue."
"And we have an hour, at least, to ourselves. We are to meet him at
the Grand Fountain; He will wait for us."
There was another silence.
Hilda heard this with strange feelings. Who was this _he_ of whom
they spoke? Was he the husband of this woman? Of course. There was no
other explanation. They could not be so cautious and so regardful
about any other. Nor, indeed, did the thought of any other come
into her mind in that hour of excitement. She thought that she could
understand it all. Could she but find out this woman's name, then it
would be possible to take vengeance in a better and less dangerous
way than by using the dagger. She could find out this injured
husband, and use him as an instrument for vengeance. And, as this
thought came to her, she sheathed her dagger.
The conversation began again. As before, it was in a whisper.
"We are secluded here. No one can see us. It is as quiet as our kiosk
at the villa."
"Heavens!" thought Hilda. "A trysting-place!"
A sigh escaped the other.
"You are sighing," said Lord Chetwynde. "Are you unhappy?"
"I'm only too happy; but I--I--I'm thinking of the future."
"Don't think of the future. The present is our only concern. When I
think of the future, I feel as though I should go mad. The future! My
God! Let me banish it from my thoughts. Help me to forget it. You
alone can!"
And even in that whisper, which reached Hilda's ears, there was an
impassioned and infinite tenderness which pierced her heart.
"Oh God!" she thought, "how he loves her! And I--what hope have I?"
"What blessed fortune was it," resumed Lord Chetwynde, "that led me
to you here in Florence--that brought us both here to this one place,
and threw us again into one another's society? When I left you at
Marseilles I thought that I had lost you forever!"
The lady said nothing.
But Hilda had already learned this much--first, that both were
English. The lady, even in her whisper, showed this. Again, she
learned that they had met before, and had enjoyed one another's
society in this way. Where? At Marseilles. Her vivid imagination at
once brought before her a way in which this might have been done. She
was traveling with her husband, and Lord Chetwynde had met her.
Probably they had sailed in the same steamer. Possibly they had come
all the way from India together. This now became her conviction.
"Have you forgotten Marseilles?" continued Lord Chetwynde. "Do you
remember our last sail? do you remember our last ride?"
"Yes," sighed the lady.
"And do you remember what I said?"
"I have not forgotten."
There was a long silence.
"This can not last much longer," said Lord Chetwynde. "I must go to
India."
He stopped.
The lady's head sank forward. Hilda could see this through the
shadows of the foliage.
"It can not last much longer," said Lord Chetwynde, in a louder
voice, and a groan escaped him as he spoke. "I must leave you; I must
leave you forever!"
He paused, and folding his arms, leaned back, while Hilda saw that
his frame was shaken with extraordinary excitement. At length he
leaned forward again. He caught her hand and held it. The lady sat
motionless, nor did she attempt to withdraw her hand. They sat in
perfect silence for a long time, but the deep breathing of each,
which seemed like long-drawn sighs, was audible to Hilda, as she
listened there; and it told how strong was the emotion within them.
But the one who listened was the prey of an emotion as mighty as
theirs.
Neither of these three was conscious of time. Wrapped up in their own
feelings, they were overwhelmed by a tide of passion that made them
oblivious of all things else. There were the lovers, and there was
the vigilant watcher; but which of these three was a prey to the
strongest emotion it would be difficult to tell. On the one side was
the mighty power of love; on the other the dread force of hate.
Tenderness dwelt here; vengeance waited there. Close together were
these three, but while Hilda heard even the very breathing of the
lovers, they were unconscious of her presence, and heard not the
beating of that baleful heart, which now, filled with quenchless
hate, throbbed vehemently and rapidly in the fury of the hour.
Unconscious of all else, and oblivious of the outer world--and why?
They loved. Enough. Each knew the love of the other, though no words
had spoken it.
"Oh, my friend!" suddenly exclaimed Lord Chetwynde, in a voice which
was low and deep and full of passion--a voice which was his own, and
no longer a whisper--"Oh, my friend! my beloved! forgive my words;
forgive my wildness, my passion; forgive my love. It is agony to me
when I know that I must lose you. Soon we must part; I must go, my
beloved! my own! I must go to the other end of the earth, and never,
never, never more can we hope to meet again. How can I give you up?
There is a gulf between us that divides you from me. How can I live
without you?"
These words poured forth from him in passionate impetuosity--burning
words they were, and the lady whose hand he clasped seemed to quiver
and tremble in sympathy with their meaning. He clung to her hand.
Every moment deprived him more and more of that self-restraint and
that profound consideration for her which he had so long maintained.
Never before had he so forgotten himself as to speak words like
these. But now separation was near, and she was alone with him, and
the hour and the opportunity were his.
"I can not give you up. My life without you is intolerable," he
groaned. "God knows how I have struggled against this. You know how
faithfully I have kept a guard over my words and acts. But now my
longing overmasters me. My future is like hell without you. Oh, love!
oh, Ella! listen to me! Can you give me up? Will you be willing to
do wrong for my sake? _Will you come with me_?"
A deep silence followed, broken by a sob from the lady.
"You are mine! you are mine!" he cried. "Do not let me go away into
desolation and despair. Come with me. We will fly to India. We will
be happy there through life. We will forget all the miseries that we
have known in the great joy that we will have in one another's
presence. Say that you will. See! I give up every thing; I throw all
considerations to the winds. I trample even on _honor_ and _duty_ for
your sake. Come with me!"
He paused, breathless from the terrible emotion that had now
overpowered him. The lady trembled. She tried to withdraw her hand,
but he clung to it. She staggered to her feet, and stood trembling.
"Oh!" she faltered, "do not tempt me! I am weak. I am nothing. Do
not; do not!"
"Tempt you? No, no!" cried Lord Chetwynde, feverishly. "Do not say
so. I ask you only to save me from despair."
He rose to his feet as he said this, and stood by her, still holding
that hand which he would not relinquish. And the one who watched them
in her agony saw an anguish as intense as hers in that quivering
frame which half shrank away from Lord Chetwynde, and half advanced
toward him; in those hands, one of which was held in his, while the
other was clasped to her heart; and in Lord Chetwynde himself, who,
though he stood there before her, yet stood trembling from head to
foot in the frightful agitation of the hour. All this Hilda saw, and
as she saw it she learned this--that all the hopes which she had ever
formed of winning this man to herself were futile and baseless and
impossible. In that moment they faded away; and what was left? What?
Vengeance!
Suddenly Lord Chetwynde roused himself from the struggle that raged
within him. It was as though he had resolved to put an end to all
these conflicts with himself. He dragged Zillah toward him. Wildly
and madly he seized her. He flung his arms about her, and pressed her
to his heart.
"My love! my darling!" he exclaimed, in low tones that were broken,
and scarce audible in the intensity of his emotion, "you can not--you
will not--you dare not refuse me!"
Zillah at first was overwhelmed by this sudden outburst. But soon, by
a mighty effort, she seemed to gain control over herself. She tore
herself away, and staggered back a few paces.
"Spare me!" she gasped. "Have pity! have mercy! If you love me, I
implore you by your love to be merciful! I am so weak. As you hope
for heaven, spare me!"
She was trembling violently, and her words were scarcely coherent. At
the deep and piteous entreaty of her voice Lord Chetwynde's heart
was touched. With a violent effort he seemed to regain his
self-control. A moment before he had been possessed of a wild,
ungovernable passion, which swept all things away. But now this was
succeeded by a calm, and he stood for a time silent.
"You will forgive me," he said at last, sadly. "You are more noble
than I am. You do right to refuse me. My request seems to you like
madness. Yes, you are right to refuse, even though I go into despair.
But listen, and you will see how it is. I love you, but can never win
you, for there is a gulf between us. You may have suspected--I am
married already! Between us there stands one who keeps us forever
asunder; _and--that--one--I--hate--worse--than--death_!"
He spoke these last words slowly, and with a savage emphasis, into
which all the intensity of his love had sent an indescribable
bitterness.
And there was one who heard those words, in whose ears they rang like
a death-knell; one crouched behind among the shrubbery, whose hands
clung to the lattice of the arbor; who, though secure in her
concealment, could scarcely hide the anguish which raged within her.
At these words the anguish burst forth. A groan escaped her, and all
her senses seemed to fail in that moment of agony.
Zillah gave a cry.
"What was that? Did you hear it?" she exclaimed, catching Lord
Chetwynde's arm.
Lord Chetwynde had heard it also. "It's nothing," said he, after
listening for a moment. "Perhaps it's one of the deer."
"I'm afraid," said Zillah.
"Afraid! Am not _I_ with you?"
"Let us go," murmured Zillah. "The place is dreadful; I can scarcely
breathe."
"Take off your mask," said Lord Chetwynde; and with trembling hands
he assisted her to remove it. His tone and manner reassured her. She
began to think that the sound was nothing after all. Lord Chetwynde
himself thought but little of it. His own excitement had been so
intense that every thing else was disregarded. He saw that she was
alarmed, but attributed this to the excitement which she had
undergone. He now did his best to soothe her, and in his newfound
calm he threw away that impetuosity which had so overpowered her. At
last she regained something like her former self-possession.
"We must go back," said he at length. "Wait here a few moments, and I
will go up the path a short distance to see if the way is clear."
He went out, and went, as he said, a little distance up the path.
Scarcely had his footsteps died out in the distance when Zillah heard
a noise directly behind her. She started. In her agitated state she
was a prey to any feeling, and a terror crept over her. She hastened
out with the intention of following Lord Chetwynde.
The figure, crouching low behind the arbor, had seen Lord Chetwynde's
departure. Now her time had come--the time for vengeance! His bitter
words had destroyed all hope, and all of that patient cunning which
she might otherwise have observed. Blind with rage and passion, there
was only one thought in her mind, and that was instant and immediate
vengeance. She caught her dagger in her hand, and strode out upon her
victim.
The light which hung from the branch of the tree shone upon the
arbor. The back-ground was gloomy in the dense shadow, while the
intervening space was illumined. Hilda took a few quick paces,
clutching her dagger, and in a moment she reached the place. But in
that instant she beheld a sight which sent through her a pang of
sudden horror--so sharp, so intense, and accompanied by so dread a
fear, that she seemed to turn to stone as she gazed.
It was a slender figure, clothed in white, with a white mantle
gathered close about the throat, and flowing down. The face was
white, and in this dim light, defined against the dark back-ground of
trees, it seemed like the face of the dead. The eyes--large,
lustrous, burning--were fixed on her, and seemed filled with
consuming fire as they fastened themselves on her. The dark hair hung
down in vast voluminous folds, and by its contrast added to the
marble whiteness of that face. And that face! It was a face which was
never absent from her thoughts, a face which haunted her dreams--the
face of her victim--the face of Zillah!
[Illustration: "She Beheld A Sight Which Sent Through Her A Pang Of
Horror."]
Hilda had only one thought, and that was this, that the sea had given
up its dead, and that her victim had come to confront her now; in the
hour of vengeance to stand between her and another victim. It was but
for an instant that she stood, yet in that instant a thousand
thoughts swept through her mind. But for an instant; and then, with a
loud, piercing shriek, she leaped back, and with a thrill of mortal
terror plunged into the thick wood and fled afar--fled with the
feeling that the avenger was following fast after her.
The shriek roused Lord Chetwynde. He rushed back. Zillah had fainted,
and was lying senseless on the grass. He raised her in his arms, and
held her pressed convulsively to his heart, looking with unutterable
longing upon her pale face, and pressing his burning lips to her cold
brow. There was a great terror in his heart, for he could not think
what it might be that had happened, and he feared that some sudden
alarm had done this. Bitterly he reproached himself for so agitating
her. He had excited her with his despair; and she, in her agitation,
had become an easy prey to any sudden fear. Something had happened,
he could not tell what, but he feared that he had been to some extent
the cause, by the agitation which he had excited within her. All
these thoughts and fears were in his mind as he held her upraised in
his arms, and looked wildly around for some means of restoring her. A
fountain was playing not far away, under the trees, and the babble of
running water came to his ears amidst the deep stillness. There he
carried his precious burden, and dashed water in her face, and chafed
her hands, and murmured all the time a thousand words of love and
tenderness. To him, in his intense anxiety, the moments seemed hours,
and the passage of every moment threw him into despair. But at last
she revived, and finally opened her eyes to see the face of Lord
Chetwynde bending over her.
"Thank God!" he murmured, as her opening eyes met his.
"Do not leave me!" moaned Zillah. "It may come again, and if it does
I shall die!"
"Leave you!" said Lord Chetwynde; and then he said nothing more, but
pressed her hand in silence.
After a few moments she arose, and leaning heavily on his arm she
walked with him up the path toward the fountain. On the way, with
many starts and shudders of sudden fear, she told him what had
happened. She had heard a noise among the trees, and had hurried out,
when suddenly a figure rushed up to her--an awful figure! It wore a
black robe, and over its head was a cowl with two holes for the eyes.
This figure waved its arms wildly, and finally gave a long, wild
yell, which pierced to her heart. She fell senseless. Never while
life lasts, she said, would she be able to forget that abhorrent cry.
Lord Chetwynde listened eagerly. "That dress," he said, "is the
costume of a Florentine society that devotes itself to the burial of
the dead. Some one has worn it here. I'm afraid we have been watched.
It looks like it."
"Watched! who could think of such a thing?"
"I don't know," said Lord Chetwynde, thoughtfully. "It may have been
accidental. Some masker has watched us, and has tried to frighten
you. That is all. If I thought that we could have any enemy, I would
say that it was his work. But that is impossible. We are unknown
here. At any rate, you must not think that there has been any thing
supernatural about it. It seems to me," he concluded, "that we have
been mistaken for some others."
This way of accounting for it served to quiet Zillah's fears, and by
the time that they reached the fountain she was more calm. Obed Chute
was waiting there, and as she pleaded fatigue, he at once had the
carriage ordered.