“WE WILL DIE TOGETHER!”
Vivienne went from room to room, calling loudly for Manassa, but there
was no answer. Espying Terence at work in the garden, she asked him if
he had seen Manassa. He answered her politely in the negative, but said,
in an undertone:
“No, the old omadhaun; an’ may the divil fly away wid him before I do.”
At last Vivienne reached the foot of the long flight of stone steps that
led to the Hall of Mirrors. She sank down exhausted; she was unused to
such great physical exertion, besides being almost mentally distracted
when she thought how powerless she was to save Vandemar without the help
of one who, she knew, hated him as intensely as did her own brother.
At length, she arose and, going to an open window, again called loudly
for Manassa; but there was no response. Sick at heart, she turned away
from the window and went slowly up the steps.
At sight of the closed door of the dungeon chamber, her forced composure
gave way. She ran to it and beat wildly against it until the blood oozed
through the tender skin; then she sank upon her knees. She raised her
clasped hands to Heaven and cried:
“Oh, _mon Dieu_! Give me back my memory but for one moment. Pardon me,
_mon Dieu_, not for what I say, but for the way I say it. I learned the
instructions in the paper by heart, but they called me mad, and I have
forgotten them. Then I fell sick, and all is a blank. Oh, _mon Dieu_,
give me back my memory, that I may save a precious life. Oh, my dear
father in heaven, entreat the good God, who is God of Love and Mercy, to
help me!”
Full of her simple faith, she arose and stood before the door, as though
expecting to see it open of its own accord; but there it stood,
immovable, relentless, merciless. She regarded it for a time with a
helpless, dazed look. Then there came a revulsion, and the weak woman,
with a feeble voice, was transformed into a new creature; for the time
being she was mad, and, with that madness came the fictitious physical
and mental strength, the showing of which deceives all but those who are
acquainted with such manifestations of mania.
“I must open it,” she cried; “I will! I will!! Oh, father! father!!
Clarine! Clarine!! Where are you? Where is Manassa? He is lost--lost!
Come listen, Clarine--come! Five days, Clarine, five long days and
nights! Dear God, one long night--one hundred and twenty hours of
darkness; no food, no drink, and naught but the cold stones to lie upon.
“I see him now, with his eyes turned towards that merciless door;
watching, praying for the ray of light that never comes; waiting for the
sound of the voice that promised to save him; listening for the step he
can never hear.
“Oh, I shall go mad! Mad!! Vandemar! Vandemar!! It is I, Vivienne. I
have come to save you, but the cruel walls will not let me in. Speak to
me, Vandemar. Tell me that you live. I am coming--coming!”
Again she struck the wall, frantically, with her bleeding hands:
“He is dead! I see him--I see the black, crawling things--they are
fighting over him--they are feeding upon his forehead--back, back, back!
Back, I say! They are tearing his flesh--hark! They are feasting
royally. No, no, no! Spare him--spare him! He is mine, mine!”
She stamped her feet upon the stone floor: “I will crush you, you
ravenous reptiles, despoilers of the dead; cold, venomous worms! Brush
them away, Vandemar! Keep them back, beloved, for I am coming--coming to
save you.”
Again, as though under the influence of an ungovernable passion, she
struck the wall until the sense of intense pain obliged her to desist.
Then came another revulsion. From a state of exaltation, she fell into
one approaching stupor, and for some time seemed unconscious of her
surroundings, of time, and of the terrible errand which had brought her
there. Was this condition of quietude to be followed by another outburst
of passion, or was she so exhausted that further effort would be
impossible?
Suddenly, she awoke from her lethargy and listened intently. No, yes it
was--she could not be mistaken--the sound of footsteps upon the stone
stairway. Hope revived. Clarine had found Manassa and had sent him to
open the door for her. But would he? He hated Vandemar. Perhaps he was
coming only for the purpose of finding out if his enemy were dead.
Madness always engenders suspicion. She would be cautious. If he opened
the door, she would force him to let her in. She would fly to
Vandemar--nothing should prevent her.
Behind one of the mirrors which, when thrown back, exposed the door of
the dungeon chamber, Vivienne hid herself.
* * * * *
Pascal Batistelli was a brave man. He preferred to carry out his
purposes by diplomacy rather than warfare, but it was only natural,
after the tragic events which had deprived him of both a friend and a
brother, that his heart should be filled with thoughts of
vengeance--and, to a Corsican, vengeance and death are closely related
terms. Vandemar was in the dungeon chamber and his death from starvation
was certain. Vivienne was securely locked up in a madhouse and could not
interfere with his plans. But there was one man, still living, who must
die before his vengeance would be complete, so he gathered a large body
of his adherents and started out in quest of Cromillian.
Old Manassa was a curious individual. At times, he seemed to be in his
dotage, his memory gone, while his words were often childish and, more
often, foolish. At other times, he seemed to have recovered all his
youthful shrewdness and sagacity. He constantly bewailed the passing of
the “good old times,” and often declared himself more worthy to be the
head of the Batistelli family than Pascal, whom he looked upon as the
degenerate son of a noble sire.
Now that Pascal was away, Manassa assumed all the airs, and, also, the
powers of the lord of the manor. He considered that the honour of the
Batistelli family was in his keeping and gloried in the fact that his
enemy was in the dungeon chamber, condemned to a slow and horrible death
from starvation.
Manassa was not only revengeful, but vindictive. He was not satisfied to
allow his enemy to die in peace, even by slow torture. No, he would
tempt him, taunt him, and then revile him. These acts would make his
vengeance more satisfactory. So, he filled a basket with the most
enticing food that he could find, put in a bottle of choice wine, and
then made his way to the Hall of Mirrors.
* * * * *
Vivienne could hardly refrain from uttering an exclamation of delight
when she saw him bearing the basket of food. Manassa was a good man, he
was merciful, he had relented, and Vandemar was saved! She would have
sprung forward and embraced him, so great was her joy, but there was a
look on his face which chilled her blood, and she stood as if frozen to
the spot. His expression was demoniac--but for what purpose had he
brought the food? With every sense alert, Vivienne watched and listened.
Manassa placed the basket upon the floor, then took a piece of paper
from his pocket--the instructions for opening the door of the dungeon
chamber! Should she rush from her hiding-place, tear it from him, and
open the door herself? No, she would let him do that. She would save
what strength she had for what might come afterward.
With much difficulty, Manassa succeeded in opening the door:
“Vandemar! Vandemar Della Coscia! I have brought you some food and a
nice bottle of wine. You must be hungry. Come and eat.” The words were
spoken in a taunting tone, which belied their meaning. There was no
response, and the old man laughed, mockingly.
“If I were not so old,” said he, “I would bring it to you; but, if you
cannot come for it, you will have to go without it. I am so sorry, my
good Vandemar, for I am sure you must be very hungry.”
After hearing these sarcastic words and, again, that horrible, mocking
laugh, Vivienne could restrain herself no longer. With a cry like that
of a tigress, she leaped upon old Manassa and hurled him to the floor.
He was stunned by the fall and lay motionless. Vivienne took up the
basket of food and tried to carry it, but her strength failed her and
she was obliged to put it down upon the floor again. Then she grasped
one side of it and was pulling it towards the dungeon door, when Manassa
revived and saw who his assailant had been. He quickly divined her
evident purpose to take the food to Vandemar. He did not try to regain
his feet, but crawled upon his hands and knees until he was able to
grasp the other side of the basket.
It was literally a contest for life or death--to Vandemar. Manassa was
the stronger, and Vivienne felt herself being drawn slowly away from the
dungeon door. In her fury, she drew from her bosom the stiletto which
she had taken from Madeline Villefort and, making a desperate lunge,
stabbed Manassa in the arm. With a cry of pain, he released his hold
upon the basket. Vivienne, full of exultation, dragged it along the
stone floor and pulled it into the dungeon chamber.
Manassa scrambled to his feet and stood, for a moment, uncertain what
course to pursue. Then that look of demoniac wickedness, which had so
startled Vivienne, came into his face again. He chuckled--a savage,
unearthly sound:
“She loves her enemy. She is no longer a Batistelli, but a Della
Coscia--and she shall die with him!”
Summoning all his strength, he closed the great door, and then, with the
blood streaming from his wound, shambled from the room. Again that
mocking laugh and those revengeful words:
“She is no longer a Batistelli--she is a Della Coscia. She shall die
with him!”
* * * * *
When Vivienne entered the dungeon chamber, her thoughts were of
Vandemar, and of him alone. Was he alive or dead? The darkness was so
intense that she could discern nothing. Where was he? She listened for
some sound which might indicate in what part of the room he was. When
the great door was closed behind her by Manassa, she had not heard. She
stood irresolute, not knowing in which direction to proceed. Her eyes
becoming accustomed to the darkness, she perceived a faint ray of light
piercing the gloom.
“Vandemar,” she cried, “are you there, near the light?”
Although there was no response to her question, she made her way towards
the beam of light, the only sign of hope in what she feared--and that
fear made her hold her breath--was the chamber of death.
Suddenly, her foot struck against something. She reached down and placed
her hand upon it. It was the body of a man--it must be that of Vandemar.
She longed to give relief to her pent-up feelings--she could have
screamed with delight at finding him--but no, that would do no good. If
he were alive, he must have wine and food.
She placed her hand upon his heart; it was beating, though but faintly.
She knelt--she could feel his breath upon her cheek--he was alive! With
a loud cry of joy which she could not repress, she leaped to her feet.
Wandering aimlessly for a while, she sought ineffectually for the basket
of food. Again guided by the ray of light, she made her way back to
where Vandemar lay. Following along by the wall, which she touched
lightly with her hands, she came to the corner opposite the small
window. Still keeping close to the wall, she reached the dungeon door.
There she stopped to collect her thoughts; but, even then, it did not
occur to her that the door was closed; and, if it had, her memory would
not have told her that there was no way of opening it from the inside.
In her mind there was but one thought, one desire--to find the food and
wine. Although Manassa had brought it only to tantalise the helpless
prisoner, in her heart she almost forgave him, for it meant life--and
with life would come safety--for Vandemar, her beloved.
Feeling that every moment was precious, she resumed her search and soon
stumbled over the basket, which she had left not ten feet from the door.
Keeping her eyes upon the ray of light, which was her guiding star, she
pulled the basket across the stone floor until she once more came in
contact with the almost lifeless form.
She remembered that she had read somewhere that but little food, at
first, should be given to starving persons, but the wine--there was life
in that! The bottle was tightly corked and she could not open it. She
struck it against the stone wall and the neck fell to the floor. She
dipped her fingers in the wine and wet Vandemar’s lips with it. There
was bread in the basket. She moistened it with the wine and, raising his
head from the floor, fed him as she would have a child.
Vivienne could not see his face, for the ray of light did not reach the
dark corner beneath the window, but the bread and wine did their good
work, and Vandemar, reviving, heard the soft tones of a woman’s voice--a
voice which kept repeating:
“Vandemar, come back to me. Vandemar, you are saved. It is I, Vivienne.”
There was more inspiration, more strength, in that voice than bread or
wine could give.
“Vivienne? Is it really you, Vivienne? Have the guests all left the
castle? May I go now? The Admiral and his daughter and I are going back
to the ship to-night. What time is it? I must have fallen asleep. I
tried to keep awake because you said you would come for me.”
“I have come, as I promised I would,” she said. “I have brought you wine
and food. You must drink some of the wine and, when you feel stronger,
you may have something to eat; but not very much, for your fast has been
a long one and it would not be safe to eat too heartily.”
The stimulant warmed him and sent the life-blood coursing through his
veins. He sat upright, without support, and when he spoke, his voice was
stronger and fuller. Then he seemed to remember what he had at first
forgotten--that many days, and not one night, had elapsed since he had
entered the dungeon.
“Oh,” he said, “I have had both food and drink. I have not suffered for
want of either. My wound gave me a fever. That is what has made me so
weak, but I shall soon be well, and we will leave this place.”
“Yes, Vandemar, we will go. But tell me, for I cannot understand, how
did you get both food and drink?”
“I have not been alone,” said Vandemar. “I have had some good friends.
They came at night--it has been all night here--and fetched me kernels
of corn--and once they brought an egg. That saved my life. They were so
tame, too. It was so dark they could not see me. Perhaps they thought I
was one of them--so old and feeble that I could not go with them to the
kitchen to get my own food.”
“But the drink?” cried Vivienne. “How did you get anything to drink? The
rats could not bring water to you.”
“No,” said Vandemar, “I had to get that myself, and that was much
harder. It rained one night and some drops were blown in at the window
and fell upon me. I was feverish and knew that I must have water. I tore
my sword scarf into strips and knotted them together. Then I tied one
end to the sleeve of my coat and finally succeeded in throwing it so
that it lodged between the window-bars. When it was saturated, I pulled
it down, wrung it and drank my fill.”
“Do you feel stronger?” asked Vivienne.
“Why, yes. I am almost as good as ever. I must have been asleep when you
came in. I had a bad dream. I thought your brother sent you away from
the Castle so that you could not come and let me out.”
“He did,” cried Vivienne, “and for that I shall never forgive him. He
told Doctor Procida that I was mad, and they took me to the lunatic
asylum at Salvanetra, but I escaped the next day. Then I fell ill and,
for three days, I knew nothing. To-day is the fifth day and I thought
you must be dead, for I had not faith enough in God to believe that He
would send His dumb creatures to feed you and rain from Heaven for you
to drink. I have been so wicked--but now that God in His mercy has
brought us together again, we will be good--will we not, Vandemar?”
“Give me more of that wine, Vivienne. It is very good, and you are the
best woman I ever knew. With good wine and a good woman, no man should
be bad.”
“Hush, Vandemar,” said Vivienne; “do not speak so. We should be good
because we ought to be and not because we get what we wish for. Come,
come, let us be going. My brother is away and you must get to a place of
safety before he returns. Give me your hand. I will lead you, for I know
how to find the door.”
When they reached it, the terrible truth dawned upon her. She stood
rooted to the spot--she could not speak.
“Open the door quickly, Vivienne,” he said, and he had never spoken so
gently before. “This has been a long night, Vivienne, and my couch was
not a soft one. Open the door, for I yearn to see the blue sky, the
trees, and the flowers, and hear the songs of birds. Then, too, I would
look out upon the water and see my good ship riding at anchor. How glad
the Admiral will be to see me, and how interested Helen will be to hear
of my adventures--and how Heaven sent my good angel to rescue me and
make me happy for life. I will take you to England, Vivienne, where
there is no cruel vendetta--but why do you not open the door?”
“My God!” she cried, and her voice was tense with pain, “I cannot.”
“Let me try,” he said, “I am stronger than you are. Tell me how to open
it.”
“We are lost!” she moaned. “I had forgotten--the door cannot be opened
from the inside.”
“What? You forgot? We are lost?” There was passion, suspicion, despair,
in the words.
“I left it open when I came in. Some one must have closed it.”
“Some one must have closed it?” His voice was harsh, and there was
unbelief in the question. “Speak, Vivienne, who could have closed it?
Who was with you? You said your brother had gone away, and even he would
not close a dungeon door upon his only sister.”
“I will tell you all,” she said, piteously.
“I think the time has come,” was the stern reply.
“Pascal took the paper from me, which told how to open the door, and
tore it in pieces. I had learned the instructions by heart before they
took me to the asylum, but when I came back my memory was gone. I should
have died outside the door, and you would have perished in here, had not
Old Manassa brought a basket of food. He did not mean to give it to you,
for he hates you because you are a Della Coscia. He came to taunt you,
but I sprang upon him and stabbed him with my stiletto. I wrenched the
basket from him. After I came in, he must have closed the door. Oh,
Vandemar! After all our pain and suffering, to have it end thus!”
There was silence for a time, then Vandemar spoke, but there were no
love tones in his voice:
“Does no one know that you are here? Did you not tell some one that you
were coming to release me?”
“As I came through the garden, some one called my name, but I do not
know who it was. I did not look. I thought only of you, I wished only to
see you, for I would give my life to save you, Vandemar--but you do not
believe me, you do not trust me, you do not love me----”
Vandemar put his arms about the weeping girl and drew her close to him.
“Forgive me, Vivienne; I am racked in mind and body, and am not myself.
What I said just now was unjust and unkind to you. Believe me, dear one,
the Vandemar that was, would never have harboured a thought or spoken a
word to bring tears to those sweet eyes. I cannot see them, but I know
they are filled with the love-light which neither time nor death can
dim. Do you not believe, Vivienne, that, if God wishes us to live and be
happy together in this world, He will send us help?”
“I do,” said Vivienne. “We will hope on, will we not, Vandemar? We have
food and wine, your little friends will bring us corn and eggs, and the
good God will send us rain that we may drink. I am with you, and you
with me. We can love each other as well in this dark dungeon as we could
if we sat beneath the trees, with the birds singing above us. That love
will bless us, and if no one comes to save us, you will kiss me for the
last time, tell me that you love me, and, clasped in each other’s arms,
we will die together!”