NISIDA--THE MYSTERIOUS CLOSET.
The room to which Nisida withdrew, between four and five o'clock on that
mournful winter's morning, was one of a suit entirely appropriated to
her own use.
This suit consisted of three apartments, communicating with each other,
and all furnished in the elegant and tasteful manner of that age.
The innermost of the three rooms was used as her bed-chamber, and when
she now entered it, a young girl of seventeen, beautiful as an angel,
but dressed in the attire of a dependent, instantly arose from a seat
near the fire that blazed on the hearth, and cast a respectful but
inquiring glance toward her mistress.
Nisida gave her to understand, by a sign, that all was over.
The girl started, as if surprised that her lady indicated so little
grief; but the latter motioned her, with an impatient gesture, to leave
the room.
When Flora--such was the name of the dependent--had retired Nisida threw
herself into a large arm-chair near the fire, and immediately became
buried in a deep reverie. With her splendid hair flowing upon her white
shoulders--her proud forehead supported on her delicate hand--her lips
apart, and revealing the pearly teeth--her lids with their long black
fringes half-closed over the brilliant eyes--and her fine form cast in
voluptuous abandonment upon the soft cushions of the chair--she indeed
seemed a magnificent creature!
But when, suddenly awaking from that profound meditation, she started
from her seat with flashing eyes--heaving bosom--and an expression of
countenance denoting a fixed determination to accomplish some deed from
which her better feelings vainly bade her to abstain:--when she drew her
tall--her even majestic form up to its full height, the drapery
shadowing forth every contour of undulating bust and exquisitely modeled
limb--while her haughty lip curled in contempt of any consideration save
her own indomitable will--she appeared rather a heroine capable of
leading an Amazonian army, than a woman to whom the sighing swain might
venture to offer up the incense of love.
There was something awful in the aspect of this mysterious
being--something ineffably grand and imposing in her demeanor--as she
thus suddenly rose from her almost recumbent posture, and burst into the
attitude of a resolute and energetic woman.
Drawing the wrapper around her form, she lighted a lamp, and was about
to quit the chamber, when her eyes suddenly encountered the mild and
benignant glance which the portrait of a lady appeared to cast upon her.
This portrait, which hung against the wall precisely opposite to the
bed, represented a woman of about thirty years of age--a woman of a
beauty much in the same style as that of Nisida, but not marred by
anything approaching to a sternness of expression. On the contrary, if
an angel had looked through those mild black eyes, their glances could
not have been endowed with a holier kindness; the smiles of good spirits
could not be more plaintively sweet than those which the artist had made
to play upon the lips of that portrait.
Yet, in spite of this discrepancy between the expression of Nisida's
countenance and that of the lady who had formed the subject of the
picture, it was not difficult to perceive a certain physical likeness
between the two; nor will the reader be surprised when we state that
Nisida was gazing on the portrait of her deceased mother.
And that gaze--oh! how intent, how earnest, how enthusiastic it was! It
manifested something more than love--something more impassioned and
ardent than the affection which a daughter might exhibit toward even a
living mother; it showed a complete devotion--an adoration--a worship!
Long and fixedly did Nisida gaze upon that portrait; till suddenly from
her eyes, which shot forth such burning glances, gushed a torrent of
tears.
Then--probably fearful lest this weakness on her part might impair the
resolution necessary to execute the purpose which she had in
view--Nisida dashed away the tears from her long lashes, hastily quitted
the room.
Having traversed the other two apartments of her own suit, she cast a
searching glance along the passage which she now entered; and, satisfied
that none of the domestics were about, for it was not yet six o'clock on
that winter's morning, she hastened to the end of the corridor.
The lamp flared with the speed at which she walked; and its uncertain
light enhanced the pallor that now covered her countenance.
At the bottom of the passage she cautiously opened the door, and entered
the room with which it communicated.
This was the sleeping apartment of her brother.
A single glance convinced her that he was wrapt in the arms of slumber.
He slept soundly too--for he was wearied with the vigil which he had
passed by the death-bed of his father--worn out also by the thousand
conflicting and unsatisfactory conjectures that the last instructions of
his parent had naturally excited in his mind.
He had not, however, been asleep a quarter of an hour when Nisida stole,
in the manner described, into his chamber.
A smile of mingled joy and triumph animated her countenance, and a
carnation tinge flushed her cheeks when she found he was fast locked in
the embrace of slumber.
Without a moment's hesitation, she examined his doublet, and clutched
the key that his father had given to him scarcely six hours before.
Then, light as the fawn, she left the room.
Having retraced her steps half-way up the passage, she paused at the
door of the chamber in which the corpse of her father lay.
For an instant--a single instant--she seemed to revolt from the
prosecution of her design, then, with a stern contraction of the brows,
and an imperious curl of the lip--as if she said within herself, "_Fool
that I am to hesitate!_"--she entered the room.
Without fear--without compunction, she approached the bed. The body was
laid out: stretched in its winding sheet, stiff and stark did it seem to
repose on the mattress--the countenance rendered more ghastly than even
death could make it, by the white band which tied up the under jaw.
The nurse who had thus disposed the corpse, had retired to snatch a few
hours of rest; and there was consequently no spy upon Nisida's actions.
With a fearless step she advanced toward the closet--the mysterious
closet relative to which such strange injunctions had been given.