A SHOCK.
Gualtier made still further explanations on this point, and mentioned
several special cases of apparitions and phantom illusions of which
he had read. He showed how in the lives of many great men such things
had taken place. The case of Brutus was one, that of Constantine
another. Mohammed, he maintained, saw real apparitions of this sort,
and was thus prepared, as he thought, for the prophetic office. The
anchorites and saints of the Middle Ages had the same experience.
Jeanne d'Arc was a most conspicuous instance. Above all these stood
forth two men of a later day, the representatives of two opposite
principles, of two systems which were in eternal antagonism, yet
these two were alike in their intense natures, their vivid
imaginations, and the force of their phantom illusions. Luther threw
his ink-bottle at the head of the devil, and Loyola had many a
midnight struggle with the same grim personage.
To all this Hilda listened attentively, understanding fully his
theory, and fully appreciating the examples which he cited in order
to illustrate that theory, whether the examples were those well-known
ones which belong to general history, or special instances which had
come under his own personal observation. Yet all his arguments and
examples failed to have any effect upon her whatever. After all there
remained fixed in her mind, and immovable, the idea that she had seen
the dead, and in very deed; and that Zillah herself had risen up
before her eyes to confound her at the moment of the execution of her
vengeance. Such a conviction was too strong to be removed by any
arguments or illustrations. That conviction, moreover, had been
deepened and intensified by the horror which had followed when she
had fled in mad fear, feeling herself pursued by that abhorrent
shape, till she had fallen senseless. Nothing of this could be argued
away. Nor did she choose to argue about it. While she listened
carefully and attentively to Gualtier's words, she scarcely attempted
any rejoinder, but contented herself with a quiet reiteration of her
former belief.
So this was dismissed. One thing remained, however, and that was the
conclusion that Lord Chetwynde was carrying on a desperate intrigue
with some English married lady, though whether the husband of this
lady was himself English or Italian could not be told. It was evident
that Lord Chetwynde's case was not that of the conventional cicisbeo.
There was too much desperation in his love. This explained the course
which would be easiest to them. To track Lord Chetwynde, and find out
who this woman was, should be the first thing. On learning this he
was to leave the rest to Hilda. Hilda's work of vengeance would begin
with a revelation of the whole case to the supposed husband, and
after this they could be guided by circumstances.
With such an understanding as this Gualtier withdrew to begin his
work at once. Lord Chetwynde's visits to the villa continued as
before, and under the same highly romantic circumstances. Going to
India seemed removed from his thoughts further and further every day.
He did not feel capable of rousing himself to such an effort. As long
as he had the presence and the society of "Miss Lorton," so long he
would stay, and as there was no immediate prospect of Obed Chute's
leaving Florence, he had dismissed all ideas of any very immediate
departure on his part. As for Zillah she soon recovered her health
and spirits, and ceased to think about the fearful figure in the
summer-house of the fête champêtre. Lord Chetwynde also resumed that
strong control over himself which he had formerly maintained, and
guarded very carefully against any new outbreak like that of the
Villa Rinalci. Yet though he could control his acts, he could not
control his looks; and there were times in these sweet, stolen
interviews of theirs when his eyes would rest on her with an
expression which told more plainly than words the story of his
all-absorbing love and tenderness.
But while Lord Chetwynde was thus continuing his secret visits, there
was one on his track whom he little suspected. Looking upon his late
valet as a vulgar villain, whom his own carelessness had allowed to
get into his employ, he had let him go, and had never made any effort
to follow him or punish him. As for Hilda, if he ever gave her a
thought, it was one of vexation at finding her so fond of him that
she would still stay with him rather than leave. "Why can't she go
quietly back to Chetwynde?" he thought; and then his more generous
nature interposed to quell the thought. He could not forget her
devotion in saving his life; though there were times when he felt
that the prolongation of that life was not a thing to be thankful
for.
As for the family, every thing went on pleasantly and smoothly. Obed
was always delighted to see Windham, and would have felt disappointed
if he had missed coming every alternate day. Miss Chute shared her
brother's appreciation of the visitor. Zillah herself showed no signs
which they were able to perceive of the depth of her feelings.
Filled, as she was, with one strong passion, it did not interfere
with the performance of her duties; nor, if it had done so, would her
friends have noticed it. She had the morning hours for the children,
and the afternoon for Lord Chetwynde.
In setting about this new task Gualtier felt the need of caution. It
was far more perilous than any which he had yet undertaken. Once he
relied upon Lord Chetwynde's ignorance of his face, or his
contemptuous indifference to his existence. On the strength of this
he had been able to come to him undiscovered and to obtain
employment. But now all was changed. Lord Chetwynde was keen and
observant. When he had once chosen to take notice of a face he would
not readily forget it; and to venture into his presence now would be
to insure discovery. To guard against that was his first aim, and so
he determined to adopt some sort of a disguise. Even with a disguise
he saw that it would be perilous to let Lord Chetwynde see him. Hilda
had told him enough to make known to him that his late master was
fully conscious now of the cause of his disease, and suspected his
valet only, so that the watch of the pursuer must now be maintained
without his ever exposing himself to the view of this man.
After a long and careful deliberation he chose for a disguise the
costume of a Tuscan peasant. Although he had once told Hilda that he
never adopted any disguises but such as were suited to his character,
yet on this occasion his judgment was certainly at fault, since such
a disguise was not the one most appropriate to a man of his
appearance and nature. His figure had none of the litheness and grace
of movement which is so common among that class, and his sallow skin
had nothing in common with the rich olive complexion of the Tuscan
face. But it is just possible that Gualtier may have had some little
personal vanity which blinded him to his shortcomings in this
respect. The pallor of his face was, however, to some extent
corrected by a red kerchief which he bound around his head, and the
effect of this was increased by a dark wig and mustache. Trusting to
this disguise, he prepared for his undertaking.
[Illustration: "He Followed Watchfully And Stealthily."]
The next day after his interview with Hilda he obtained a horse, and
waited at a spot near Lord Chetwynde's lodgings, wearing a voluminous
cloak, one corner of which was flung over his left shoulder in the
Italian fashion. A horse was brought up to the door of the hotel;
Lord Chetwynde came out, mounted him, and rode off. Gualtier followed
at a respectful distance, and kept up his watch for about ten miles.
He was not noticed at all. At length he saw Lord Chetwynde ride into
the gateway of a villa and disappear. He did not care about following
any further, and was very well satisfied with having found out this
much so easily.
Leaving his horse in a safe place, Gualtier then posted himself
amidst a clump of trees, and kept up his watch for hours. He had to
wait almost until midnight; then, at last, his patience was rewarded.
It was about half past eleven when he saw Lord Chetwynde come out and
pass down the road. He himself followed, but did not go back to town.
He found an inn on the road, and put up here for the night.
On the following day he passed the morning in strolling along the
road, and had sufficient acquaintance with Italian to inquire from
the people about the villa where Lord Chetwynde had gone. He learned
that it belonged to a rich Milor Inglese, whose name no one knew, but
who was quite popular with the neighboring peasantry. They spoke of
ladies in the villa; one old one, and another who was young and very
beautiful. There were also children. All this was very gratifying to
Gualtier, who, in his own mind, at once settled the relationship of
all these. The old woman was the mother, he thought, or perhaps the
sister of the Milor Inglese; the young lady was his wife, and they
had children. He learned that the Milor Inglese was over fifty years
old, and the children were ten and twelve; a circumstance which
seemed to show that the younger lady must at least be thirty. He
would have liked to ask more, but was afraid to be too inquisitive,
for fear of exciting suspicion. On the whole, he was very well
satisfied with the information which he had gained; yet there still
remained far more to be done, and there was the necessity of
continued watching in person. To this necessity he devoted himself
with untiring and zealous patience.
For several days longer he watched thus, and learned that on
alternate days Lord Chetwynde was accustomed to ride in at the chief
gate, while on the other days he would leave his horse behind and
walk in at a little private gate at the nearer end of the park, and
some considerable distance from the main entrance. This at once
excited his strongest suspicions, and his imagination suggested many
different motives for so very clandestine yet so very methodical a
system of visiting. Of course he thought that it had reference to a
lady, and to nothing else. Then the question arose once more--what to
do. It was difficult to tell; but at length his decision was made. He
saw that the only way to get at the bottom of this mystery would be
to enter the grounds and follow Lord Chetwynde. Such an enterprise
was manifestly full of danger, but there was positively no help for
it. He could not think of going back to Hilda until he had gained
some definite and important information; and; all that he had thus
far discovered, though very useful as far as it went, was still
nothing more than preliminary. The mystery had not yet been solved.
He had only arrived at the beginning of it. The thought of this
necessity, which was laid upon him, determined him to make the bold
resolution of running all risks, and of tracking Lord Chetwynde
through the smaller gate.
So on one of those days when he supposed that Lord Chetwynde would be
coming there he entered the little gate and concealed himself in the
woods, in a place from which he could see any one who might enter
while he himself would be free from observation.
He was right in his conjectures. In about half an hour the man whom
he was expecting came along, and entering the gate, passed close
beside him. Gualtier waited for a time, so as to put a respectful
distance between himself and the other. Then he followed watchfully
and stealthily, keeping always at the same distance behind. For a
hundred yards or so the path wound on so that it was quite easy to
follow without being perceived. The path was broad, smooth,
well-kept, with dark trees overhanging, and thus shrouding it in
gloom. At last Lord Chetwynde suddenly turned to the left into a
narrow, rough pathway that scarce deserved the name, for it was
little better than a track. Gualtier followed. This path wound so
much, and put so many intervening obstacles between him and the
other, that he was forced to hurry up so as to keep nearer. In doing
so he stepped suddenly on a twig which lay across the track. It broke
with a loud snap. At that moment Lord Chetwynde was but a few yards
away. He turned, and just as Gualtier had poised himself so as to
dart back, he caught the eyes of his enemy fixed upon him. There was
no time to wait. The danger of discovery was too great. In an instant
he plunged into the thick, dense underbrush, and ran for a long
distance in a winding direction. At first he heard Lord Chetwynde's
voice shouting to him to stop, then steps ceased, and Gualtier,
discovering this, stopped to rest. The fact of the case was, that
Lord Chetwynde's engagement was of too great importance to allow him
to be diverted from it--to run the risk of being late at the tryst
for the sake of any vagabond who might be strolling about. He had
made but a short chase, and then turned back for a better purpose.
Gualtier, while he rested, soon discovered that he had not the
remotest idea of his position. He was in the middle of a dense
forest. The underbrush was thick. He could see nothing which might
give him any clew to his whereabouts. After again assuring himself
that all was quiet, he began to move, trying to do so in as straight
a line as possible, and thinking that he must certainly come out
somewhere.
He was quite right; for after about half an hour's rough and
difficult journeying he came to a path. Whether to turn up or down,
to the right or the left, was a question which required some time to
decide; but at length he turned to the right, and walked onward.
Along this he went for nearly a mile. It then grew wider, and finally
became a broad way with thick, well-cut hedges on either side. It
seemed to him that he was approaching the central part of these
extensive grounds, and perhaps the house itself. This belief was
confirmed soon by the appearance of a number of statues and vases
which ornamented the pathway. The fear of approaching the house and
of being seen made him hesitate for some time; yet his curiosity was
strong, and his eagerness to investigate irrepressible. He felt that
this opportunity was too good a one to lose, and so he walked on
rapidly yet watchfully. At length the path made a sudden sweep, and
he saw a sight before him which arrested his steps. He saw a broad
avenue, into which his path led not many paces before him. And at no
great distance off, toward the right, appeared the top of the villa
emerging from among trees. Yet these things did not attract his
attention, which centered itself wholly on a man whom he saw in the
avenue.
This man was tall, broad-shouldered, with rugged features and wide,
square brow. He wore a dress-coat and a broad-brimmed hat of Tuscan
straw. In an instant, and with a surprise that was only equaled by
his fear, Gualtier recognized the form and features of Obed Chute,
which had, in one interview in New York, been very vividly impressed
on his memory. Almost at the same time Obed happened to see him, so
that retreat was impossible. He looked at him carelessly and then
turned away; but a sudden thought seemed to strike him; he turned
once more, regarded the intruder intently, and then walked straight
up to him.