on returning from my last visit to the palace i had carefully noted the way thereto, so i was able to escort signorina angello without calling in the services of peppino. i was unwilling to drive there, as the presence of a fiacre even in that deserted piazza might be noticed, and i did not want any comment made by the scandal-loving italian populace on our visit to this out-of-the-way locality. so in company with bianca, who had put on a veil, and who said nothing to me from the time we left casa angello, being apparently occupied with her own reflections, i walked down the gloomy, narrow streets towards that terrible palazzo morone, the very idea of which inspired me with horror and dismay.
it was one of those burning days common to that time of the year in italy, and much as i despised and cursed those drain-like alleys in wet weather, yet i now saw there was method in the madness of their style of building, for their cool shadow and humid atmosphere was wonderfully pleasant after the glare, the dust, and heat of the great piazza. we walked on the broad carriage-way, which was less painful to the feet than the cobble-stone paving between, and every now and then saw some typical picture of italian life. a dark-faced woman with a red handkerchief twisted carelessly round her head, leaning from a high balcony, on the iron railings of which was displayed the family washing; a purple cloud of wisteria blooming in some pergola near the red roof-tops; sleek grey donkeys laden with panniers, stepping complacently along the narrow way; slender italian men presiding over fruit-stalls, piled high with their picturesque contents; and over all, the vivacious clatter and din of voices, struck through at times with the sharp, metallic notes of the mandolin. it was very charming, and, i would have enjoyed it thoroughly, artistically speaking, had it not been for the local odours. oh, the smells of those picturesque streets! they were too terrible for description; and how the italians are not swept off the face of the earth by a plague of typhoid is more than i can understand. i smoked cigarettes most of the time, as a preventive against infection; but on beholding ideal paintings of italian scenes, i always shudder at the memory of the malodorous reality, and on arriving in well-drained london again, my first prayer was one of thanks for having escaped from ill-smelling italy.
my thoughts during this portentous walk were, i am afraid, rather frivolous; but so fearful had been the strain on my nerves for the past few days, that it was a great relief to think idly of anything and any one. not so bianca; even through her veil i could see the glisten of tears, and catch the sound of her quick indrawn breath as she strove to fight down the emotion that threatened to overwhelm her. i saw that the poor child was nearly hysterical with her efforts to control herself, and stopped short in dismay.
"signorina, you are not well. do not go to this palazzo."
"yes, yes! i must, signor hugo. i cannot pass another night in this state of suspense. i must know all, and at once. is the palazzo morone far off?"
"we are just at it, signorina."
and so we were; for at that moment we entered the silent, grass-grown square, at the end of which stood the palazzo, looking gruesome even in the sunshine, with its broken windows, damp, disfigured walls, and general air of weird solitude. some swallows were shooting through the still air and twittering round the rich sculptures of the fa?ade, but their merry chirpings only added to the eerie feeling inspired by the great mansion--a feeling which i noticed thrilled bianca with fear as she paused shuddering, under the grinning masks and unlovely faces peering downward from the arched entrance.
"oh, how could he come to this terrible place at night!" she cried, crossing herself, with a look of fear in her eyes. "desolate as it is in the sun, what must it be when the moon shines! it is an abode of the dead--a tomb--a tomb! dio! his tomb."
"signorina, do not affright yourself thus! things may not be so bad as you think."
"it is like the inferno of dante! and turns my blood cold with fear; but i will not go back! i must find guiseppe, even if it cost me my life. come, signor, presto! there is no time to lose."
she crossed herself once more, then flitted through the opening in the iron gate like a noiseless-winged bird, upon which i hastily followed her, and we stood for a moment in the lonely courtyard, gazing at the great portals of the door leading to the hall, which stood half-open.
"signorina, i will lead you to the room. you are not afraid? you do not tremble?"
"ah! i am afraid, and i do tremble, signor, for i am only a girl; but lead on, love will make me strong, and you will protect me. give me your hand, signor; i am not afraid when i hold your hand."
with a fleeting smile on her pale lips, she placed her hand in mine, and as i grasped its cold whiteness, i guessed how terrified this delicate, superstitious girl was of this unholy place. but for the resolute look on her pallid face, i would have insisted upon her turning back; but it was useless to urge retreat now, so with the name "guiseppe! guiseppe!" on her lips, as if to inspire her with courage, she almost dragged me through the half-closed door into the hall of shadows.
"ah! mother mary, it is like a church!"
it was like a church--like some old deserted church, filled with the chill atmosphere of the grave; and the slow movement of the wind-shaken tapestries, the glimmer of the ghostly white stairs in the dim distance, and the solemnity of the huge pillars of black marble, made me think of those god-cursed cities of the "thousand and one nights," whose silence is only broken by the voice of the one survivor chanting the melancholy verses of the koran. bianca, overpowered by this mute spectacle of a dead past, clung convulsively to my arm with faltering prayers on her lips, and i became afraid lest, by a feeling of sympathy, her terror should unnerve me also, so with a cheerful laugh, which echoed dismally through the vast vestibule, i led her onward towards the grand staircase.
"come, signorina, do not be afraid. you are quite safe with me."
"yes, yes! guiseppe! guiseppe!"
we slowly ascended the staircase, gained the corridor, and at length arrived at the second flight of shallow steps leading to the secret room. here bianca, seeing the darkness, nearly fainted with nervous fear, for, deeply imbued with grim italian superstitions, she beheld unseen terrors in every shadowy corner. i again wanted her to return, but with wilful obstinacy she refused, so, as i luckily had a pocket-flask of brandy with me, i made her take a little to revive her. the fiery spirit put new life into her sinking limbs, and, after lighting my candle as usual, i led her up the steps, through the short corridor, through the tapestried ante-chamber, until at last we stood in the fatal room.
"here, signor hugo!"
"yes!"
she flung back her veil with a feverish gesture, and peered into the darkness, which was hardly broken by the feeble light of the small candle i carried. suddenly a thought struck me which i at once put into execution, and lighted all the tapers yet remaining in the candelabra on the table. to the darkness succeeded a blaze of mellow light, and bianca, with a look of surprise on her face, gazed round the singular room with the white pillars, the ominous blood-red hangings, and the banquet of the dead set forth with such splendid display on the gilt table.
"what a strange room!" she said timidly. "signor hugo! what does it mean?"
"i have told you all i know, signorina. your lover was lured to this room. i saw him pass through that door, and then i was drugged as i have said."
"you did not then see who received him here?"
"no! i did not."
the first part of the lie was difficult to utter on account of a choking feeling in my throat, but the last sentence came out with tolerable grace.
"and you do not think guiseppe left this room again?"
"i'm afraid not, signorina!"
"then, where can he be?" she asked with an anxious look around.
"i think he is concealed in some secret cell, the entrance to which is from this apartment."
"oh, signor hugo, let us look for it at once."
"certainly!"
"a meal on the table--all this gold and silver. it is a robbers' cave, signor."
"y--es--i suppose so!"
"come, let us be quick then, or the robbers may arrive."
she looked nervously towards the door, but i, taking a candle off the table, reassured her with a gay laugh,--
"do not be afraid, signorina. no one comes here during the day."
"hush! what is that?"
infected by her terror my heart gave a jump, and i listened intently, but could hear no sound.
"it is nothing, signorina. your nerves are unstrung!"
"no! no! i can hear it. some one is coming. listen!"
in order to humour her fancy i remained silent with all my senses on the alert, and with a feeling of dread i heard the sound. the light fall of footsteps, the rustle of a silken dress--a dress!--the full horror of the situation rushed on me at once.
"it must be the contessa morone!"
in a moment i had blown out all the candles, and, dragging bianca with me, retreated in the darkness to the far end of the room. the girl gave a little cry as the lights disappeared, but i pressed her hand significantly.
"hush, signorina. not a word!"
at the time i heard the steps they were at the door of the ante-chamber, where the new-comer was evidently pausing a moment, and as the curtains of the inner room had been half drawn aside on our entrance, it was for this reason we had heard them so clearly. the steps recommenced. i heard their soft, light fall on the marble floor, the rustle of the silken gown, like the sound of dry leaves in an autumnal wind, and then i felt that this woman was standing in the arched doorway, looking straight at myself and the shrinking girl through the darkness.
"why are you here, signor hugo, and who is that woman?"
it was the voice of the contessa, and i gave a cry of horror as i suddenly remembered how ineffectual the darkness was to conceal us from the eyes of this nyctalopist. bianca, however, knew nothing of this woman, or of her gift of seeing in the dark; so, overcome with fear at the demoniac power she believed the unknown possessed, she gave a shriek of terror and sank fainting at my feet.
"what does this mean?"
again the voice of the contessa sounded cruel and menacing in its tones; so feeling myself at a disadvantage in the dark, through not possessing the terrible attribute of this woman, i staggered forward and lighted the candles. at once out of the gloom sprang that evil face with a frown on the white brow, a deadly glitter in the cruel eyes, and an ominous tightening of the thin lips.
i don't think i can call myself a coward, but at that moment my blood ran cold at the horror of that medusa-like countenance, and i stood before this phantom of lucrezia borgia as if turned into stone, unable to move or speak.
the contessa moved forward to the table and looked at me steadily, with a wicked smile frozen on her red lips.
"you do not reply, signor hugo; but i begin to understand. you have been here before?"
"yes!"
i hardly recognised my own voice, so hoarse and broken did it sound, stealing in a whisper from between my dry lips. she still looked at me steadily, and i felt fascinated with dread by the snake-like glare of those cruel eyes.
"when were you here, signor?"
"on monday night!"
"and you saw--nothing," she said in a meaning tone.
"yes!" i replied, lifting my head boldly, "i saw you receive guiseppe pallanza, and i saw you give him the poisoned cup!"
she gave a cry of rage like a trapped animal, and made a step forward, but restraining herself with a powerful effort, sank into a chair and leaned her elbow on the table. dressed in heavy black garments of velvet and silk, she looked more like the borgia than ever, and the ruby necklace she constantly wore flashed forth rays of red fire in the glimmer of the tremulous light.
"i understand now why you said guiseppe pallanza would not come back," she said with a scornful smile. "i thought last night you knew more than you told. eh! signor, and it was you who sang at the door of the ezzelino."
"yes, it was i."
"meddlesome englishman that you are, do you not fear that i will treat you as i treated that false one?"
"no! i mistrust your wine!"
"true, signor machiavella! forewarned is forearmed. so you came here to look for pallanza?"
"i came to look for his body, madame morone, but i do not know where it is."
"no; nor will you find it. and who is this woman?"
"guiseppe's betrothed."
the contessa gave a cry of rage, and, rising from her seat, rushed towards the unconscious girl where she lay in the darkness. owing to her singular gift she needed no light to see by, but examined the face of her rival minutely in the gloom. i had stepped forward, fearing lest, carried away by jealous anger, she should do the poor child an injury; but such was not her intention, for after a minute's examination, she arose from her stooping position with a burst of wicked laughter.
"so it was for this white-faced thing that he was going to leave me--me, giulietta morone! eh, i feel much flattered at having such a rival. why is she here, signor hugo?"
"to find pallanza," i replied shortly.
"she will never find him; he is lost to her for ever. but," she added, with a wicked smile, "i am not afraid of your betraying me, signor hugo. i am not afraid of this poor fool, who thought to take guiseppe from me, so i will revenge myself."
"revenge yourself?"
"yes; i have said it. you came here like a thief in the night, and saw what you were not meant to see. she comes in the daylight to seek her lover. well, she shall see him. wait till she revives, and i will blast her eyes with the sight of what he is now."
"you are a demon!"
"i am a wronged woman, whom a man sought to deceive. ecco! behold, then, englishman that you are, how we italian women revenge ourselves!"
she stepped past the unconscious body of the girl, and, going to one of the pillars on the right side of the room, apparently touched a spring, for the whole pillar--which, as i have described before, was half built into the wall--revolved slowly with a grating sound and displayed a cavity. i bent forward with a shudder of horror, and saw--nothing!
the cavity was empty!
signora morone gazed at it with a look of horror on the wild beauty of her face; then, with a cry of rage, of fear, and of dread, rushed out of the room.
i heard her shriek, "lost! lost! lost!" three times, then the sound of her retreating footsteps died away in the distance, and i was left alone in the ghastly gloom with the unconscious girl at my feet, and an agony in my heart such as i never hope to feel again in this life.
how i got out of that accursed room i hardly know; but i faintly remember lifting bianca in my arms, and, guided by instinct, stagger through the dark corridors, down the silent stairs, and out into the courtyard. the fresh air seemed to revive me, and, collecting my scattered senses together with a gigantic effort, i looked round for some means by which to bring bianca out of her faint, the length of which alarmed me terribly.
in the corner of the courtyard there was a sculptured trough, which the late rains had brimmed over, so, hastening towards this, i filled my cap with water, and, returning to bianca, threw it in her face.
she revived slowly with a shuddering sigh, and looked round vacantly; then, with a sudden recollection of what she had come through, she flung herself into my arms with an imploring cry,--
"oh, that voice! that voice! take me away from that cruel voice!"
