----But their way
Lies through the perplexed paths of this drear wood,
The nodding horror of whose shady brows
Threats the forlorn and wandering passenger.
MILTON.
Ellena, when Schedoni had left her, recollected all the particulars,
which he had thought proper to reveal concerning her family, and,
comparing them with such circumstances as the late Bianchi had related
on the same subject, she perceived nothing that was contradictory
between the two accounts. But she knew not even yet enough of her
own story, to understand why Bianchi had been silent as to some
particulars, which had just been disclosed. From Bianchi she had
always understood, that her mother had married a nobleman of the
duchy of Milan, and of the house of Marinella; that the marriage had
been unfortunate; and that she herself, even before the death of the
Countess, had been committed to the care of Bianchi, the only sister of
that lady. Of this event, or of her mother, Ellena had no remembrance;
for the kindness of Bianchi had obliterated from her mind the loss and
the griefs of her early infancy; and she recollected only the accident
which had discovered to her, in Bianchi's cabinet, after the death of
the latter, the miniature and the name of her father. When she had
enquired the reason of this injunction, Bianchi replied, that the
degraded fortune of her house rendered privacy desirable; and answered
her further questions concerning her father, by relating, that he had
died while she was an infant. The picture, which Ellena had discovered,
Bianchi had found among the trinkets of the departed Countess, and
designed to present it at some future period to Ellena, when her
discretion might be trusted with a knowledge of her family. This was
the whole of what Signora Bianchi had judged it necessary to explain,
though in her last hours it appeared that she wished to reveal more;
but it was then too late.
Though Ellena perceived that many circumstances of the relations given
by Schedoni, and by Signora Bianchi, coincided, and that none were
contradictory, except that of his death, she could not yet subdue her
amazement at this discovery, or even the doubts which occasionally
recurred to her as to it's truth. Schedoni, on the contrary, had
not even appeared surprised, when she assured him, that she always
understood her father had been dead many years; though when she asked
if her mother too was living, both his distress and his assurances
confirmed the relation made by Bianchi.
When Ellena's mind became more tranquil, she noticed again the
singularity of Schedoni's visit to her apartment at so sacred an
hour; and her thoughts glanced back involuntarily to the scene of
the preceding evening on the sea-shore, and the image of her father
appeared in each, in the terrific character of an agent of the
Marchesa di Vivaldi. The suspicions, however, which she had formerly
admitted, respecting his designs, were now impatiently rejected, for
she was less anxious to discover truth, than to release herself from
horrible suppositions; and she willingly believed that Schedoni, having
misunderstood her character, had only designed to assist in removing
her beyond the reach of Vivaldi. The ingenuity of hope suggested
also, that, having just heard from her conductors or from Spalatro,
some circumstances of her story, he had been led to a suspicion of
the relationship between them, and that in the first impatience of
parental anxiety, he had disregarded the hour, and come, though at
midnight, to her apartment to ascertain the truth.
While she soothed herself with this explanation of a circumstance,
which had occasioned her considerable surprise, she perceived on
the floor the point of a dagger peeping from beneath the curtains!
Emotions almost too horrible to be sustained, followed this discovery;
she took the instrument, and gazed upon it aghast and trembling,
for a suspicion of the real motive of Schedoni's visit glanced upon
her mind. But it was only for a moment; such a supposition was too
terrible to be willingly endured; she again believed that Spalatro
alone had meditated her destruction, and she thanked the Confessor as
her deliverer, instead of shrinking from him as an assassin. She now
understood that Schedoni, having discovered the ruffian's design, had
rushed into the chamber to save a stranger from his murderous poniard,
and had unconsciously rescued his own daughter, when the portrait at
her bosom informed him of the truth. With this conviction Ellena's eyes
overflowed with gratitude, and her heart was hushed to peace.
Schedoni, meanwhile, shut up in his chamber, was agitated by feelings
of a very opposite nature. When their first excess was exhausted,
and his mind was calm enough to reflect, the images that appeared on
it struck him with solemn wonder. In pursuing Ellena at the criminal
instigation of the Marchesa di Vivaldi, it appeared that he had been
persecuting his own child; and in thus consenting to conspire against
the innocent, he had in the event been only punishing the guilty, and
preparing mortification for himself on the exact subject to which he
had sacrificed his conscience. Every step that he had taken with a
view of gratifying his ambition was retrograde, and while he had been
wickedly intent to serve the Marchesa and himself, by preventing the
marriage of Vivaldi and Ellena, he had been laboriously counteracting
his own fortune. An alliance with the illustrious house of Vivaldi,
was above his loftiest hope of advancement, and this event he had
himself nearly prevented by the very means which had been adopted, at
the expence of every virtuous consideration, to obtain an inferior
promotion. Thus by a singular retribution, his own crimes had recoiled
upon himself.
Schedoni perceived the many obstacles, which lay between him and his
newly awakened hopes, and that much was to be overcome before those
nuptials could be publicly solemnized, which he was now still more
anxious to promote, than he had lately been to prevent. The approbation
of the Marchesa was, at least, desirable, for she had much at her
disposal, and without it, though his daughter might be the wife of
Vivaldi, he himself would be no otherwise benefited at present than
by the honour of the connection. He had some peculiar reasons for
believing, that her consent might be obtained, and, though there was
hazard in delaying the nuptials till such an experiment had been
made, he resolved to encounter it, rather than forbear to solicit
her concurrence. But, if the Marchesa should prove inexorable, he
determined to bestow the hand of Ellena, without her knowledge, and
in doing so he well knew that he incurred little danger from her
resentment, since he had secrets in his possession, the consciousness
of which must awe her into a speedy neutrality. The consent of the
Marchese, as he despaired of obtaining it, he did not mean to solicit,
and the influence of the Marchesa was such, that Schedoni did not
regard that as essential.
The first steps, however, to be taken, were those that might release
Vivaldi from the Inquisition, the tremendous prison into which
Schedoni himself, little foreseeing that he should so soon wish for
his liberation, had caused him to be thrown. He had always understood,
indeed, that if the Informer forbore to appear against the Accused
in this Court, the latter would of course be liberated; and he also
believed, that Vivaldi's freedom could be obtained whenever he should
think proper to apply to a person at Naples, whom he knew to be
connected with the _Holy Office_ of Rome. How much the Confessor had
suffered his wishes to deceive him, may appear hereafter. His motives
for having thus confined Vivaldi, were partly those of self-defence.
He dreaded the discovery and the vengeance, which might follow the
loss of Ellena, should Vivaldi be at liberty immediately to pursue his
enquiries. But he believed that all trace of her must be lost, after a
few weeks had elapsed, and that Vivaldi's sufferings from confinement
in the Inquisition would have given interests to his mind, which
must weaken the one he felt for Ellena. Yet, though in this instance
self-defence had been a principal motive with Schedoni, a desire of
revenging the insult he had received in the church of the Spirito
Santo, and all the consequent mortifications he experienced, had been a
second; and, such was the blackness of his hatred, and the avarice of
his revenge, that he had not considered the suffering, which the loss
of Ellena would occasion Vivaldi, as sufficient retaliation.
In adopting a mode of punishment so extraordinary as that of
imprisonment in the Inquisition, it appears, therefore, that Schedoni
was influenced, partly by the difficulty of otherwise confining
Vivaldi, during the period for which confinement was absolutely
necessary to the success of his own schemes, and partly by a desire
of inflicting the tortures of terror. He had also been encouraged by
his discovery of this opportunity for conferring new obligations on
the Marchesa. The very conduct, that must have appeared to the first
glance of an honest mind fatal to his interests, he thought might be
rendered beneficial to them, and that his dexterity could so command
the business, as that the Marchesa should eventually thank him as the
deliverer of her son, instead of discovering and execrating him as his
Accuser; a scheme savoured by the unjust and cruel rule enacted by the
tribunal he approached, which permitted anonymous Informers.
To procure the arrestation of Vivaldi, it had been only necessary to
send a written accusation, without a name, to the _Holy Office_ with
a mention of the place where the accused person might be seized; but
the suffering in consequence of this did not always proceed further
than the _question_; since, if the Informer failed to discover
himself to the Inquisitors, the prisoner, after many examinations, was
released, unless he happened unwarily to criminate himself. Schedoni,
as he did not intend to prosecute, believed, therefore, that Vivaldi
would of course be discharged after a certain period, and supposing
it also utterly impossible that he could ever discover his Accuser,
the Confessor determined to appear anxious and active in effecting
his release. This character of a deliverer, he knew he should be the
better enabled to support by means of a person officially connected
with the _Holy Office_, who had already unconsciously assisted his
views. In the apartment of this man, Schedoni had accidentally seen a
formula of arrestation against a person suspected of Heresy, the view
of which had not only suggested to him the plan he had since adopted,
but had in some degree assisted him to carry it into effect. He had
seen the scroll only for a short time, but his observations were so
minute, and his memory so clear, that he was able to copy it with at
least sufficient exactness to impose upon the Benedictine priest, who
had, perhaps, seldom or never seen a real instrument of this kind.
Schedoni had employed this artifice for the purpose of immediately
securing Vivaldi, apprehending that, while the Inquisitors were
slowly deliberating upon his arrest, he might quit Celano, and elude
discovery. If the deception succeeded, it would enable him also to
seize Ellena, and to mislead Vivaldi respecting her destination. The
charge of having carried off a nun might appear to be corroborated by
many circumstances, and Schedoni would probably have made these the
subject of real denunciation, had he not foreseen the danger and the
trouble in which it might implicate himself; and that, as the charge
could not be substantiated, Ellena would finally escape. As far as
his plan now went, it had been successful; some of the bravoes whom he
hired to personate officials, had conveyed Vivaldi to the town, where
the real officers of the Inquisition were appointed to receive him;
while the others carried Ellena to the shore of the Adriatic. Schedoni
had much applauded his own ingenuity, in thus contriving, by the matter
of the forged accusation, to throw an impenetrable veil over the fate
of Ellena, and to secure himself from the suspicions or vengeance of
Vivaldi, who, it appeared, would always believe that she had died, or
was still confined in the unsearchable prisons of the Inquisition.
Thus he had betrayed himself in endeavouring to betray Vivaldi, whose
release, however, he yet supposed could be easily obtained; but how
much his policy had, in this instance, outrun his sagacity, now
remained to be proved.
The subject of Schedoni's immediate perplexity was, the difficulty
of conveying Ellena back to Naples; since, not chusing to appear
at present in the character of her father, he could not decorously
accompany her thither himself, nor could he prudently entrust her to
the conduct of any person, whom he knew in this neighbourhood. If was,
however, necessary to form a speedy determination, for he could neither
endure to pass another day in a scene, which must continually impress
him with the horrors of the preceding night, nor that Ellena should
remain in it; and the morning light already gleamed upon his casements.
After some further deliberation, he resolved to be himself her
conductor, as far at least as through the forests of the Garganus, and
at the first town where conveniencies could be procured, to throw aside
his Monk's habit, and, assuming the dress of a layman, accompany her
in this disguise towards Naples, till he should either discover some
secure means of sending her forward to that city, or a temporary asylum
for her in a convent on the way.
His mind was scarcely more tranquil, after having formed this
determination, than before, and he did not attempt to repose himself
even for a moment. The circumstances of the late discovery were almost
perpetually recurring to his affrighted conscience, accompanied by a
fear that Ellena might suspect the real purpose of his midnight visit;
and he alternately formed and rejected plausible falsehoods, that might
assuage her curiosity, and delude her apprehension.
The hour arrived, however, when it was necessary to prepare for
departure, and found him still undecided as to the explanation he
should form.
Having released Spalatro from his chamber, and given him directions to
procure horses and a guide immediately from the neighbouring hamlet,
he repaired to Ellena's room, to prepare her for this hasty removal.
On approaching it, a remembrance of the purpose, with which he had
last passed through these same passages and stair-case, appealed so
powerfully to his feelings, that he was unable to proceed, and he
turned back to his own apartment to recover some command over himself.
A few moments restored to him his usual address, though not his
tranquillity, and he again approached the chamber; it was now, however,
by way of the corridor. As he unbarred the door, his hand trembled;
but, when he entered the room, his countenance and manner had resumed
their usual solemnity, and his voice only would have betrayed, to an
attentive observer, the agitation of his mind.
Ellena was considerably affected on seeing him again, and he examined
with a jealous eye the emotions he witnessed. The smile with which she
met him was tender, but he perceived it pass away from her features,
like the aërial colouring that illumines a mountain's brow; and the
gloom of doubt and apprehension again overspread them. As he advanced,
he held forth his hand for her's, when, suddenly perceiving the dagger
he had left in the chamber, he involuntarily withdrew his proffered
courtesy, and his countenance changed. Ellena, whose eyes followed his
to the object that attracted them, pointed to the instrument, took it
up, and approaching him said, "This dagger I found last night in my
chamber! O my father!"--
"That dagger!" said Schedoni, with affected surprize.
"Examine it," continued Ellena, while she held it up, "Do you know to
whom it belongs? and who brought it hither?"
"What is it you mean?" asked Schedoni, betrayed by his feelings.
"Do you know, too, for what purpose it was brought?" said Ellena
mournfully.
The Confessor made no reply, but irresolutely attempted to seize the
instrument.
"O yes, I perceive you know, too well," continued Ellena, "here, my
father, while I slept"----
"Give me the dagger," interrupted Schedoni, in a frightful voice.
"Yes, my father, I will give it as an offering of my gratitude,"
replied Ellena, but as she raised her eyes, filled with tears, his
look and fixed attitude terrified her, and she added with a still more
persuasive tenderness, "Will you not accept the offering of your child,
for having preserved her from the poniard of an assassin?"
Schedoni's looks became yet darker; he took the dagger in silence,
and threw it with violence to the furthest end of the chamber, while
his eyes remained fixed on her's. The force of the action alarmed
her; "Yes, it is in vain that you would conceal the truth," she added,
weeping unrestrainedly, "your goodness cannot avail; I know the
whole."----
The last words aroused Schedoni again from his trance, his features
became convulsed, and his look furious. "What do you know?" he demanded
in a subdued voice, that seemed ready to burst in thunder.
"All that I owe you," replied Ellena, "that last night, while I slept
upon this mattress, unsuspicious of what was designed against me, an
assassin entered the chamber with that instrument in his hand, and----"
A stifled groan from Schedoni checked Ellena; she observed his rolling
eyes, and trembled; till, believing that his agitation was occasioned
by indignation against the assassin, she resumed, "Why should you think
it necessary to conceal the danger which has threatened me, since it is
to you that I owe my deliverance from it? O! my father, do not deny me
the pleasure of shedding these tears of gratitude, do not refuse the
thanks, which are due to you! While I slept upon that couch, while a
ruffian stole upon my slumber--it was you, yes! can I ever forget that
it was my father, who saved me from his poniard!"
Schedoni's passions were changed, but they were not less violent; he
could scarcely controul them while he said in a tremulous tone--"It is
enough, say no more;" and he raised Ellena, but turned away without
embracing her.
His strong emotion, as he paced in silence the furthest end of the
apartment, excited her surprize, but she then attributed it to a
remembrance of the perilous moment, from which he had rescued her.
Schedoni, meanwhile, to whom her thanks were daggers, was trying
to subdue the feelings of remorse that tore his heart; and was so
enveloped in a world of his own, as to be for some time unconscious
of all around him. He continued to stalk in gloomy silence along the
chamber, till the voice of Ellena, entreating him rather to rejoice
that he had been permitted to save her, than so deeply to consider
dangers which were past, again touched the chord that vibrated to his
conscience, and recalled him to a sense of his situation. He then bade
her prepare for immediate departure, and abruptly quitted the room.
Vainly hoping that in flying from the scene of his meditated crime, he
should leave with it the acuteness of remembrance, and the agonizing
stings of remorse, he was now more anxious than ever to leave this
place. Yet he should still be accompanied by Ellena, and her innocent
looks, her affectionate thanks, inflicted an anguish, which was
scarcely endurable. Sometimes, thinking that her hatred, or what to
him would be still severer, her contempt, must be more tolerable than
this gratitude, he almost resolved to undeceive her respecting his
conduct, but as constantly and impatiently repelled the thought with
horror, and finally determined to suffer her to account for his late
extraordinary visit in the way she had chosen.
Spalatro, at length, returned from the hamlet with horses, but without
having procured a guide to conduct the travellers through a tract of
the long-devolving forests of the Garganus, which it was necessary for
them to pass. No person had been willing to undertake so arduous a
task; and Spalatro, who was well acquainted with all the labyrinths of
the way, now offered his services.
Schedoni, though he could scarcely endure the presence of this man,
had no alternative but to accept him, since he had dismissed the
guide who had conducted him hither. Of personal violence Schedoni
had no apprehension, though he too well understood the villainy of
his proposed companion; for he considered that he himself should be
well armed, and he determined to ascertain that Spalatro was without
weapons; he knew also, that in case of a contest, his own superior
stature would easily enable him to overcome such an antagonist.
Every thing being now ready for departure, Ellena was summoned, and the
Confessor led her to his own apartment, where a slight breakfast was
prepared.
Her spirits being revived by the speed of this departure, she would
again have expressed her thanks, but he peremptorily interrupted her,
and forbade any further mention of gratitude.
On entering the court where the horses were in waiting, and perceiving
Spalatro, Ellena shrunk and put her arm within Schedoni's for
protection. "What recollections does the presence of that man revive!"
said she, "I can scarcely venture to believe myself safe, even with
you, when he is here."
Schedoni made no reply, till the remark was repeated. "You have nothing
to fear from him," muttered the Confessor, while he hastened her
forward, "and we have no time to lose in vague apprehension."
"How!" exclaimed Ellena, "is not he the assassin from whom you saved
me! I cannot doubt, that you know him to be such, though you would
spare me the pain of believing so."
"Well, well, be it so," replied the Confessor; "Spalatro, lead the
horses this way."
The party were soon mounted, when, quitting this eventful mansion,
and the shore of the Adriatic, as Ellena hoped for ever, they entered
upon the gloomy wilderness of the Garganus. She often turned her eyes
back upon the house with emotions of inexpressible awe, astonishment,
and thankfulness, and gazed while a glimpse of it's turretted walls
could be caught beyond the dark branches, which, closing over it, at
length shut it from her view. The joy of this departure, however,
was considerably abated by the presence of Spalatro, and her fearful
countenance enquired of Schedoni the meaning of his being suffered
to accompany them. The Confessor was reluctant to speak concerning a
man, of whose very existence he would willingly have ceased to think.
Ellena guided her horse still closer to Schedoni's, but, forbearing to
urge the enquiry otherwise than by looks, she received no reply, and
endeavoured to quiet her apprehensions, by considering that he would
not have permitted this man to be their guide, unless he had believed
he might be trusted. This consideration, though it relieved her fears,
encreased her perplexity respecting the late designs of Spalatro,
and her surprise that Schedoni, if he had really understood them to
be evil, should endure his presence. Every time she stole a glance at
the dark countenance of this man, rendered still darker by the shade
of the trees, she thought "assassin" was written in each line of it,
and could scarcely doubt that he, and not the people who had conducted
her to the mansion, had dropped the dagger in her chamber. Whenever
she looked round through the deep glades, and on the forest-mountains
that on every side closed the scene, and seemed to exclude all
cheerful haunt of man, and then regarded her companions, her heart
sunk, notwithstanding the reasons she had for believing herself in
the protection of a father. Nay, the very looks of Schedoni himself,
more than once reminding her of his appearance on the sea-shore,
renewed the impressions of alarm and even of dismay, which she had
there experienced. At such moments it was scarcely possible for her
to consider him as her parent, and, in spite of every late appearance,
strange and unaccountable doubts began to gather on her mind.
Schedoni, meanwhile, lost in thought, broke not, by a single word,
the deep silence of the solitudes through which they passed. Spalatro
was equally mute, and equally engaged by his reflections on the
sudden change in Schedoni's purpose, and by wonder as to the motive,
which could have induced him to lead Ellena in safety, from the very
spot whither she was brought by his express command to be destroyed.
He, however, was not so wholly occupied, as to be unmindful of
his situation, or unwatchful of an opportunity of serving his own
interests, and retaliating upon Schedoni for the treatment he had
received on the preceding night.
Among the various subjects that distracted the Confessor, the
difficulty of disposing of Ellena, without betraying at Naples that
she was his relative, was not the least distressing. Whatever might be
the reason which could justify such feelings, his fears of a premature
discovery of the circumstance to the society with whom he lived,
were so strong, as often to produce the most violent effect upon his
countenance, and it was, perhaps, when he was occupied by this subject,
that it's terrific expression revived with Ellena the late scene
upon the shore. His embarrassment was not less, as to the excuse to
be offered the Marchesa, for having failed to fulfil his engagement,
and respecting the means by which he might interest her in favour of
Ellena, and even dispose her to approve the marriage, before she should
be informed of the family of this unfortunate young woman. Perceiving
all the necessity for ascertaining the probabilities of such consent,
before he ventured to make an avowal of her origin, he determined not
to reveal himself till he should be perfectly sure that the discovery
would be acceptable to the Marchesa. In the mean time, as it would be
necessary to say something of Ellena's birth, he meant to declare,
that he had discovered it to be noble, and her family worthy, in every
respect, of a connection with that of the Vivaldi.
An interview with the Marchesa, was almost equally wished for and
dreaded by the Confessor. He shuddered at the expectation of meeting a
woman, who had instigated him to the murder of his own child, which,
though he had been happily prevented from committing it, was an act
that would still be wished for by the Marchesa. How could he endure her
reproaches, when she should discover that he had failed to accomplish
her will! How conceal the indignation of a father, and dissimulate all
a father's various feelings, when, in reply to such reproaches, he
must form excuses, and act humility, from which his whole soul would
revolt! Never could his arts of dissimilation have been so severely
tried, not even in the late scenes with Ellena, never have returned
upon himself in punishment so severe, as in that which awaited him with
the Marchesa. And from it's approach, the cool and politic Schedoni
often shrunk in such horror, that he almost determined to avoid it at
any hazard, and secretly to unite Vivaldi and Ellena, without even
soliciting the consent of the Marchesa.
A desire, however, of the immediate preferment, so necessary to his
pride, constantly checked this scheme, and, finally made him willing
to subject every honest feeling, and submit to any meanness, however
vicious, rather than forego the favourite object of his erroneous
ambition. Never, perhaps, was the paradoxical union of pride and
abjectness, more strongly exhibited than on this occasion.
While thus the travellers silently proceeded, Ellena's thoughts often
turned to Vivaldi, and she considered, with trembling anxiety, the
effect which the late discover was likely to have upon their future
lives. It appeared to her, that Schedoni must approve of a connection
thus flattering to the pride of a father, though he would probably
refuse his consent to a private marriage. And, when she further
considered the revolution, which a knowledge of her family might
occasion towards herself in the minds of the Vivaldi, her prospects
seemed to brighten, and her cares began to dissipate. Judging that
Schedoni must be acquainted with the present situation of Vivaldi, she
was continually on the point of mentioning him, but was as constantly
restrained by timidity, though, had she suspected him to be an
inhabitant of the Inquisition, her scruples would have vanished before
an irresistible interest. As it was, believing that he, like herself,
had been imposed upon by the Marchesa's agents, in the disguise of
officials, she concluded, as has before appeared, that he now suffered
a temporary imprisonment by order of his mother, at one of the family
villas. When, however, Schedoni, awaking from his reverie, abruptly
mentioned Vivaldi, her spirits fluttered with impatience to learn his
exact situation, and she enquired respecting it.
"I am no stranger to your attachment," said Schedoni, evading the
question, "but I wish to be informed of some circumstances relative to
it's commencement."
Ellena, confused, and not knowing what to reply, was for a moment
silent, and then repeated her enquiry.
"Where did you first meet?" said the Confessor, still disregarding
her question. Ellena related, that she had first seen Vivaldi, when
attending her aunt from the church of San Lorenzo. For the present she
was spared the embarrassment of further explanation by Spalatro, who,
riding up to Schedoni, informed him they were approaching the town of
Zanti. On looking forward, Ellena perceived houses peeping from among
the forest-trees, at a short distance, and presently heard the cheerful
bark of a dog, that sure herald and faithful servant of man!
Soon after the travellers entered Zanti, a small town surrounded by the
forest, where, however, the poverty of the inhabitants seemed to forbid
a longer stay than was absolutely necessary for repose, and a slight
refreshment. Spalatro led the way to a cabin, in which the few persons,
that journied this road were usually entertained. The appearance of the
people, who owned it, was as wild as their country, and the interior of
the dwelling was so dirty and comfortless, that Schedoni, preferring
to take his repast in the open air, a table was spread under the
luxuriant shade of the forest-trees, at a little distance. Here, when
the host had withdrawn, and Spalatro had been dispatched to examine
the post-horses, and to procure a lay-habit for the Confessor, the
latter, once more alone with Ellena, began to experience again somewhat
of the embarrassments of conscience; and Ellena, whenever her eyes
glanced upon him, suffered a solemnity of fear that rose almost to
terror. He, at length, terminated this emphatic silence, by renewing
his mention of Vivaldi, and his command that Ellena should relate the
history of their affection. Not daring to refuse, she obeyed, but with
as much brevity as possible, and Schedoni did not interrupt her by a
single observation. However eligible their nuptials now appeared to
him, he forbore to give any hint of approbation, till he should have
extricated the object of her regards from his perilous situation. But,
with Ellena, this very silence implied the opinion it was meant to
conceal, and, encouraged by the hope it imparted, she ventured once
more to ask, by whose order Vivaldi had been arrested; whither he had
been conveyed, and the circumstances of his present situation.
Too politic to intrust her with a knowledge of his actual condition,
the Confessor spared her the anguish of learning that he was a prisoner
in the Inquisition. He affected ignorance of the late transaction at
Celano, but ventured to believe, that both Vivaldi and herself had been
arrested by order of the Marchesa, who, he conjectured, had thrown him
into temporary confinement, a measure which she, no doubt, had meant to
enforce also towards Ellena.
"And you, my father," observed Ellena, "what brought you to my
prison,--you who was not informed with the Marchesa's designs? What
accident conducted you to that remote solitude, just at the moment when
you could save your child!"
"Informed of the Marchesa's designs!" said Schedoni, with
embarrassment and displeasure: "Have you ever imagined that I could be
accessary--that I could consent to assist, I mean could consent to be a
confidant of such atrocious"----Schedoni, bewildered, confounded, and
half betrayed, checked himself.
"Yet you have said, the Marchesa meant only to confine me," observed
Ellena; "was that design so atrocious? Alas, my father! I know too well
that her plan was more atrocious, and since you had too much reason to
know this, why do you say that imprisonment only was intended for me?
But your solicitude for my tranquillity leads you to"----
"What means," interrupted the suspicious Schedoni, "can I particularly
have of understanding the Marchesa's schemes? I repeat, that I am not
her confidant; how then is it to be supposed I should know that they
extended further than to imprisonment?"
"Did you not save me from the arm of the assassin!" said Ellena
tenderly; "did not you wrench the very dagger from his grasp!"
"I had forgotten, I had forgotten," said the Confessor, yet more
embarrassed.
"Yes, good minds are ever thus apt to forget the benefits they confer,"
replied Ellena. "But you shall find, my father, that a grateful heart
is equally tenacious to remember them; it is the indelible register of
every act that is dismissed from the memory of the benefactor."
"Mention no more of benefits," said Schedoni, impatiently; "let silence
on this subject henceforth indicate your wish to oblige me."
He rose, and joined the host, who was at the door of his cabin.
Schedoni wished to dismiss Spalatro as soon as possible, and he
enquired for a guide to conduct him through that part of the forest,
which remained to be traversed. In this poor town, a person willing
to undertake that office was easily to be found, but the host went in
quest of a neighbour whom he had recommended.
Meanwhile Spalatro returned, without having succeeded in his
commission. Not any lay-habit could be procured, upon so short a
notice, that suited Schedoni. He was obliged, therefore, to continue
his journey to the next town at least, in his own dress, but the
necessity was not very serious to him, since it was improbable that he
should be known in this obscure region.
Presently the host appeared with his neighbour, when Schedoni,
having received satisfactory answers to his questions, engaged
him for the remainder of the forest-road, and dismissed Spalatro.
The ruffian departed with sullen reluctance and evident ill-will,
circumstances which the Confessor scarcely noticed, while, occupied
by the satisfaction of escaping from the presence of the atrocious
partner of his conscience. But Ellena, as he passed her, observed the
malignant disappointment of his look, and it served only to heighten
the thankfulness his departure occasioned her.
It was afternoon before the travellers proceeded. Schedoni had
calculated that they could easily reach the town, at which they
designed to pass the night, before the close of evening, and he had
been in no haste to depart during the heat of the day. Their track now
lay through a country less savage, though scarcely less wild than that
they had passed in the morning. It emerged from the interior towards
the border of the forest; they were no longer enclosed by impending
mountains; the withdrawing shades were no longer impenetrable to the
eye, but now and then opened to gleams of sunshine-landscape, and blue
distances; and in the immediate scene, many a green glade spread it's
bosom to the sun. The grandeur of the trees, however, did not decline;
the plane, the oak, and the chestnut still threw a pomp of foliage
round these smiling spots, and seemed to consecrate the mountain
streams, that descended beneath their solemn shade.
To the harassed spirits of Ellena the changing scenery was refreshing,
and she frequently yielded her cares to the influence of majestic
nature. Over the gloom of Schedoni, no scenery had, at any moment,
power; the shape and paint of external imagery gave neither impression
or colour to his fancy. He contemned the sweet illusions, to which
other spirits are liable, and which often confer a delight more
exquisite, and not less innocent, than any, which deliberative reason
can bestow.
The same thoughtful silence, that had wrapt him at the beginning of
the journey, he still preserved, except when occasionally he asked
a question of the guide concerning the way, and received answers too
loquacious for his humour. This loquacity, however, was not easily
repressed, and the peasant had already begun to relate some terrible
stories of murder, committed in these forests upon people, who had
been hardy enough to venture into them without a guide, before the
again abstracted Schedoni even noticed that he spoke. Though Ellena
did not give much credit to these narratives, they had some effect
upon her fears, when soon after she entered the deep shades of a part
of the forest, that lay along a narrow defile, whence every glimpse of
cheerful landscape was again excluded by precipices, which towered on
either side. The stilness was not less effectual than the gloom, for
no sounds were heard, except such as seemed to characterize solitude,
and impress it's awful power more deeply on the heart,----the hollow
dashing of torrents descending distantly, and the deep sighings of
the wind, as it passed among trees, which threw their broad arms over
the cliffs, and crowned the highest summits. Onward, through the
narrowing windings of the defile, no living object appeared; but, as
Ellena looked fearfully back, she thought she distinguished a human
figure advancing beneath the dusky umbrage that closed the view. She
communicated her suspicion to Schedoni, though not her fears, and they
stopped for a moment, to observe further. The object advanced slowly,
and they perceived the stature of a man, who, having continued to
approach, suddenly paused, and then glided away behind the foliage
that crossed the perspective, but not before Ellena fancied she
discriminated the figure of Spalatro. None but a purpose the most
desperate, she believed, could have urged him to follow into this
pass, instead of returning, as he had pretended, to his home. Yet
it appeared improbable, that he alone should be willing to attack
two armed persons, for both Schedoni and the guide had weapons of
defence. This consideration afforded her only a momentary respite from
apprehension, since it was possible that he might not be alone, though
only one person had yet been seen among the shrouding branches of the
woods. "Did you not think he resembled Spalatro?" said Ellena to the
Confessor, "was he not of the same stature and air? You are well armed,
or I should fear for you, as well as for myself."
"I did not observe a resemblance," replied Schedoni, throwing a glance
back, "but whoever he is, you have nothing to apprehend from him, for
he has disappeared."
"Yes, Signor, so much the worse," observed the guide, "so much the
worse, if he means us any harm, for he can steal along the rocks behind
these thickets, and strike out upon us before we are aware of him.
Or, if he knows the path that runs among those old oaks yonder, on the
left, where the ground rises, he has us sure at the turning of the next
cliff."
"Speak lower," said Schedoni, "unless you mean that he should benefit
by your instructions."
Though the Confessor said this without any suspicion of evil intention
from the guide, the man immediately began to justify himself, and
added, "I'll give him a hint of what he may expect, however, if he
attacks us." As he spoke, he fired his trombone in the air, when every
rock reverberated the sound, and the faint and fainter thunder retired
in murmurs through all the windings of the defile. The eagerness, with
which the guide had justified himself, produced an effect upon Schedoni
contrary to what he designed; and the Confessor, as he watched him
suspiciously, observed, that after he had fired, he did not load his
piece again. "Since you have given the enemy sufficient intimation
where to find us," said Schedoni, "you will do well to prepare for his
reception; load again, friend. I have arms too, and they are ready."
While the man sullenly obeyed, Ellena, again alarmed, looked back in
search of the stranger, but not any person appeared beneath the gloom,
and no footstep broke upon the stilness. When, however, she suddenly
heard a rustling noise, she looked to the bordering thickets, almost
expecting to see Spalatro break from among them, before she perceived
that it was only the sounding pinions of birds, which, startled by the
report of the trombone from their high nests in the cliffs, winged
their way from danger.
The suspicions of the Confessor had, probably, been slight, for they
were transient; and when Ellena next addressed him, he had again
retired within himself. He was ruminating upon an excuse to be
offered the Marchesa, which might be sufficient both to assuage her
disappointment and baffle her curiosity, and he could not, at present,
fabricate one that might soothe her resentment, without risk of
betraying his secret.
Twilight had added its gloom to that of the rocks, before the
travellers distinguished the town, at which they meant to pass the
night. It terminated the defile, and its grey houses could scarcely be
discerned from the precipice upon which they hung, or from the trees
that embosomed them. A rapid stream rolled below, and over it a bridge
conducted the wanderers to the little inn, at which they were to take
up their abode. Here, quietly lodged, Ellena dismissed all present
apprehension of Spalatro, but she still believed she had seen him, and
her suspicions, as to the motive of his extraordinary journey, were not
appeased.
As this was a town of ampler accommodation than the one they had left,
Schedoni easily procured a lay-habit, that would disguise him for
the remainder of the journey; and Ellena was permitted to lay aside
the nun's veil, for one of a more general fashion; but, in dismissing
it, she did not forget that it had been the veil of Olivia, and she
preserved it as a sacred relique of her favourite recluse.
The distance between this town and Naples was still that of several
days journey, according to the usual mode of travelling; but the most
dangerous part of the way was now overcome, the road having emerged
from the forests; and when Schedoni, on the following morning, was
departing, he would have discharged the guide, had not the host assured
him, he would find one still necessary in the open, but wild, country
through which he must pass. Schedoni's distrust of this guide had
never been very serious, and, as the result of the preceding evening
proved favourable, he had restored him so entirely to his confidence,
as willingly to engage him for the present day. In this confidence,
however, Ellena did not perfectly coincide; she had observed the man
while he loaded the trombone, on Schedoni's order, and his evident
reluctance had almost persuaded her, that he was in league with some
person who designed to attack them; a conjecture, perhaps, the more
readily admitted while her mind was suffering from the impression
of having seen Spalatro. She now ventured to hint her distrust to
the Confessor, who paid little attention to it, and reminded her,
that sufficient proof of the man's honesty had appeared, in their
having been permitted to pass in safety, a defile so convenient for
the purpose of rapine as that of yesterday. To a reply apparently so
reasonable, Ellena could oppose nothing, had she even dared to press
the topic; and she re-commenced the journey with gayer hopes.