Zicci was left alone with the young Italian. She had thrown aside her
cloak and head-gear; her hair, somewhat dishevelled, fell down her ivory
neck, which the dress partially displayed; she seemed, as she sat in
that low and humble chamber, a very vision of light and glory.
Zicci gazed at her with an admiration mingled with compassion; he
muttered a few words to himself, and then addressed her aloud:--
“Isabel di Pisani, I have saved you from a great peril,--not from
dishonor only, but perhaps from death. The Prince di--, under the weak
government of a royal child and a venal administration, is a man above
the law. He is capable of every crime; but amongst his passions he
has such prudence as belongs to ambition: if you were not to reconcile
yourself to your shame, you would never enter the world again to tell
your tale. The ravisher has no heart for repentance, but he has a hand
that can murder. I have saved thee, Isabel di Pisani. Perhaps you would
ask me wherefore?” Zicci paused, and smiled mournfully as he added:
“My life is not that of others, but I am still human,--I know pity; and
more, Isabel, I can feel gratitude for affection. You love me; it was
my fate to fascinate your eye, to arouse your vanity, to inflame your
imagination. It was to warn you from this folly that I consented for a
few minutes to become your guest. The Englishman, Glyndon, loves thee
well,--better than I can ever love; he may wed thee, he may bear thee to
his own free and happy land,--the land of thy mother’s kin. Forget me,
teach thyself to return and to deserve his love; and I tell thee that
thou wilt be honored and be happy.”
Isabel listened with silent wonder and deep blushes to this strange
address; and when the voice ceased, she covered her face with her hands
and wept.
Zicci rose. “I have fulfilled my duty to you, and I depart. Remember
that you are still in danger from the prince; be wary, and be cautious.
Your best precaution is in flight; farewell.”
“Oh, do not leave me yet! You have read a secret of which I myself
was scarcely conscious: you despise me,--you, my preserver! Ah! do not
misjudge me; I am better, higher than I seem. Since I saw thee I have
been a new being.” The poor girl clasped her hands passionately as she
spoke, and her tears streamed down her cheeks.
“What would you that I should answer?” said Zicci, pausing, but with a
cold severity in his eye.
“Say that you do not despise,--say that you do not think me light and
shameless.”
“Willingly, Isabel. I know your heart and your history you are capable
of great virtues; you have the seeds of a rare and powerful genius. You
may pass through the brief period of your human life with a proud
step and a cheerful heart, if you listen to my advice. You have been
neglected from your childhood; you have been thrown among nations
at once frivolous and coarse; your nobler dispositions, your higher
qualities, are not developed. You were pleased with the admiration of
Glyndon; you thought that the passionate stranger might marry you, while
others had only uttered the vows that dishonor. Poor child, it was the
instinctive desire of right within thee that made thee listen to him;
and if my fatal shadow had not crossed thy path, thou wouldst have loved
him well enough, at least, for content. Return to that hope, and nurse
again that innocent affection: this is my answer to thee. Art thou
contented?”
“No! ah, no! Severe as thou art, I love better to hear thee than,
than--What am I saying? And now you have saved me, I shall pray for
you, bless you, think of you; and am I never to see you more? Alas! the
moment you leave me, danger and dread will darken round me. Let me be
your servant, your slave; with you I should have no fear.”
A dark shade fell over Zicci’s brow; he looked from the ground, on which
his eyes had rested while she spoke, upon the earnest and imploring
face of the beautiful creature that now knelt before him, with all the
passions of an ardent and pure, but wholly untutored and half-savage,
nature speaking from the tearful eyes and trembling lips. He looked at
her with an aspect she could not interpret; in his eyes were kindness,
sorrow, and even something, she thought, of love: yet the brow frowned,
and the lip was stern.
“It is in vain that we struggle with our doom,” said he, calmly; “listen
to me yet. I am a man, Isabel, in whom there are some good impulses
yet left, but whose life is, on the whole, devoted to a systematic and
selfish desire to enjoy whatever life can afford. To me it is given to
warn: the warning neglected, I interfere no more; I leave her victories
to that Fate that I cannot baffle of her prey. You do not understand me;
no matter: what I am now about to say will be more easy to comprehend.
I tell thee to tear from thy heart all thought of me: thou hast yet the
power. If thou wilt not obey me, thou must reap the seeds that thou wilt
sow. Glyndon, if thou acceptest his homage, will love thee throughout
life; I, too, can love thee.”
“You, you--”
“But with a lukewarm and selfish love, and one that cannot last. Thou
wilt be a flower in my path; I inhale thy sweetness and pass on, caring
not what wind shall sup thee, or what step shall tread thee to the dust.
Which is the love thou wouldst prefer?”
“But do you, can you love me,--you, you, Zicci,--even for an hour? Say
it again.”
“Yes, Isabel; I am not dead to beauty, and yours is that rarely given to
the daughters of men. Yes, Isabel, I could love thee!”
Isabel uttered a cry of joy, seized his hand, and kissed it through
burning and impassioned tears. Zicci raised her in his arms and
imprinted one kiss upon her forehead.
“Do not deceive thyself,” he said; “consider well. I tell thee again
that my love is subjected to the certain curse of change. For my part, I
shall seek thee no more. Thy fate shall be thine own, and not mine. For
the rest, fear not the Prince di--. At present, I can save thee from
every harm.” With these words he withdrew himself from her embrace, and
had gained the outer door just as Gionetta came from the kitchen with
her hands full of such cheer as she had managed to collect together.
Zicci laid his hand on the old woman’s arm.
“Signor Glyndon,” said he, “loves Isabel; he may wed her. You love your
mistress: plead for him. Disabuse her, if you can, of any caprice for
me. I am a bird ever on the wing.” He dropped a purse, heavy with gold,
into Gionetta’s bosom, and was gone.