The Betrothed Part 31

"We cannot."

"You cannot? Great G.o.d! why can you not? Where are you taking me?"

"We cannot; your supplications are useless. Do not be frightened; we will not harm you. Be quiet; no one shall harm you."

More than ever alarmed to perceive that her words produced no effect, Lucy turned to Him who holds in his powerful hand the hearts of men, and can, if he sees fit, soften the most ferocious. She crossed her arms on her breast, and prayed from the depth of her heart, fervently; then again vainly implored to be set free: but we have not the heart to relate more at length this painful journey, which lasted four hours, and which was to be succeeded by many hours of still deeper anguish.

At the castle, the Unknown was waiting her arrival with extraordinary solicitude and agitation of mind. Strange, that he who had coldly and calmly disposed of so many lives, and had regarded as nothing the torments he inflicted, should now feel an impression of remorse, almost of terror, at the tyranny he exercised over an unknown girl, an humble peasant! From a high window of his castle, he had for some time looked down upon the valley beneath; at last he saw the carriage approaching slowly at a distance, as if the horses were wearied with their rapid journey. He perceived it, and felt his heart beat violently.

"Is she there?" thought he. "What trouble this girl gives me! I must free myself from it." And he prepared himself to send one of his ruffians to meet the carriage, and tell Nibbio to conduct the girl immediately to the castle of Don Roderick; but an imperious _No_, which made itself heard by his conscience, caused him to relinquish his design. Tormented, however, by the necessity of ordering something to be done, and insupportably weary of waiting the slow approach of the carriage, he sent for an old woman who was attached to his service.

This woman had been born in the castle, and had pa.s.sed her life in it.

She had been impressed from infancy with an opinion of the unlimited power of its masters; and her princ.i.p.al maxim was implicit obedience towards them. To the ideas of duty were united sentiments of respect, fear, and servile devotion. When the Unknown became lord of the castle, and began to make such horrible use of his power, she experienced a degree of pain, and at the same time a more profound sentiment of subjection. In time she became habituated to what was daily acting before her: the powerful and unbridled will of such a lord she viewed as an exercise of fated justice. When somewhat advanced in years, she had espoused a servant of the house, who being sent on a hazardous expedition, left his body on the high road, and his wife a widow in the castle. The revenge that her lord took for his death imparted to her a savage consolation, and increased her pride at being under his protection. From that day she rarely set foot beyond the castle walls, and by degrees there remained to her no other idea of human beings, than that of those by whom she was daily surrounded. She was not employed in any particular service, but each one gave her something to do as it pleased him. She had sometimes clothes to mend, food to prepare, and wounds to dress. Commands, reproaches, and thanks were equally mingled with abusive raillery: she went by the appellation of the _old woman_, and the tone with which the name was uttered varied according to the circ.u.mstances and humour of the speaker. Disturbed in her idleness and irritated in her self-love, which were her two ruling pa.s.sions, she returned these compliments with language in which Satan might have recognised more of his own genius than in that of her persecutors.

"You see that carriage below there," said the Unknown.

"I do," said she.

"Have a litter prepared immediately, and let it carry you to _Malanotte_. Quick, quick; you must arrive before the carriage; it approaches with the slow step of death. In this carriage there is--there ought to be--a young girl. If she is there, tell Nibbio from me, that he must place her in the litter, and that he must come at once to me. You will get into the litter with her; and when you arrive here, you must take her to your room. If she asks you where you are leading her, whose is this castle, be careful----"

"Oh, do not doubt me," said the old woman.

"But," pursued the Unknown, "comfort her, encourage her."

"What can I say to her?"

"What can you say to her? Comfort her, I tell you. Have you arrived at this age, and know not how to administer consolation to the afflicted?

Have you never had any sorrow? Have you never been visited by fear? Do you not know the language that consoles in such moments? Speak this language to _her_ then; find it in the remembrance of your own misfortunes. Go directly."

When she was gone, he remained some time at the window, gazing at the approaching carriage; he then looked at the setting sun, and the glorious display of clouds about the horizon. He soon withdrew, closed the window, and kept pacing the apartment in a state of uneasy excitement.

CHAPTER XXI.

The old woman hastened to obey, and gave orders, under authority of that name which, by whomsoever p.r.o.nounced, set the whole castle in motion, as no one imagined that any one would dare to use it unauthorised. She reached _Malanotte_ a little before the carriage: when it was near at hand, she left the litter; and making a sign to the coachman to stop, approached the window, and whispered in the ear of Nibbio the will of her master.

Lucy, sensible that the motion of the carriage had ceased, shook off the lethargy into which she had for some time been plunged, and in an agony of terror looked around her. Nibbio had drawn himself back on the seat, and the old woman, resting her chin on the window, said to Lucy, "Come, my child; come, poor girl; come with me. I have orders to treat you kindly, and to offer you every consolation."

At the sound of a female voice the unfortunate girl felt a momentary relief, which was, however, succeeded by deeper terror as she looked at the person from whom it proceeded. "Who are you?" said she, anxiously fixing her eyes upon her.

"Come, come, poor girl," repeated the old woman.

Nibbio and his two companions, inferring the designs of their master from the extraordinary deportment of the old woman, endeavoured to persuade the poor girl to obey; but Lucy kept gazing at the wild and savage solitude around, which left her no ray of hope. However, she attempted to cry out; but seeing Nibbio give a look to the handkerchief, she stopped, trembled, was seized, and then placed in the litter. The old woman was placed beside her; and Nibbio left the two villains for their escort, and hastened forward at the call of his master. Lucy, aroused to momentary energy by the near approach of the deformed and withered features of her companion, cried, "Where am I? Where are you taking me?"

"To one who wishes you well; to a great--you are a lucky girl; be happy, do not be afraid; be happy. He has told me to encourage you; you will tell him that I have done so, will you not?"

"Who is this man? What is he? What does he want with me? I do not belong to him. Tell me where I am. Let me go. Tell these men to let me go, to take me to some church. Oh, you, who are a woman, in the name of the holy Virgin, I entreat you."

This holy and tender name, so often p.r.o.nounced with respect in her early years, and for so long a time neglected and forgotten, produced on the mind of the wretched woman, who had not heard it for so long a time, a confused impression, like the remembrance of lights and shadows on the mind of one blind from infancy.

Meanwhile the Unknown, standing at the door of the castle, looked below, and saw the litter slowly ascending, and Nibbio walking a few steps in advance of it. At the sight of his master, he hurried forward. "Come here," said the signor to him, and led the way to an inner hall. "Well?"

said he, stopping.--"All has been done according to your wishes,"

replied Nibbio, bowing. "The order in time, the young girl in time, no one near the place, a single cry, no one alarmed, the coachman diligent, the horses swift; but----"

"But what?"

"But, to say truth, I would rather have received orders to plunge a dagger in her heart at once, than to have been obliged to look at her, and hear her entreaties."

"What is this? What is this? What do you mean?"

"I would say that during the whole journey--yes, during the whole journey--she has excited my compa.s.sion."

"Compa.s.sion! What dost thou know of compa.s.sion? What _is_ compa.s.sion?"

"I have never understood what it is until to-day; it is something like fear; if it takes possession of one, one is no longer a man."

"Let me hear, then, what she has done to excite your compa.s.sion?"

"Oh, most ill.u.s.trious signor, she wept, implored, and looked so piteously; then turned pale, pale as death; then wept, and prayed again, and said such words----"

"I will not have this girl in the castle," thought the Unknown. "I was wrong to embark in this business; but I have promised, I have promised: when she is far away----" And looking imperiously at Nibbio, "Now," said he, "put an end to your compa.s.sion; mount a horse, take with you two or three companions, if you wish; go to the castle of Don Roderick, thou knowest it. Tell him to send immediately, immediately--or otherwise----"

But another _No_, more imperious than the first, whose sound was heard in the depth of his soul, prevented his proceeding. "_No_," said he in a determined tone, as if expressing the command of this secret voice,--"_no_; go to bed; and to-morrow morning you shall do what I shall then order."

"This girl must have some demon who protects her," thought he, as he remained alone, with his arms crossed on his breast, regarding the fitful shadows cast by the rays of the moon on the floor, which darted through the grating of the lofty windows. "She must have some demon or an angel who protects her. Compa.s.sion in Nibbio! To-morrow morning, to-morrow morning at the latest, she shall be sent away; she must submit to her destiny, that is certain. And," continued he, with the tone of one who gives a command to a wayward child, under the conviction that he will not obey it, "we will think of it no more. This animal Don Roderick must not come to torment me with thanks, for--I do not wish to hear her spoken of. I have served him--because I promised to do so; and I promised, because it was my destiny. But Don Roderick shall pay me with usury. Let us see----"

And he endeavoured to imagine some difficult enterprise in which to engage Don Roderick as a punishment; but his thoughts involuntarily recurred to another subject. "Compa.s.sion in Nibbio! What has she done? I must see her. No! Yes! I must see her."

He pa.s.sed through several halls, and arriving at the apartment of the old woman, knocked with his foot at the door.

"Who is there?"

"Open."

At the sound of this voice, the old woman quickly obeyed, and flung the door wide open. The Unknown threw a glance around the chamber, and by the light of the lantern, which stood on the table, saw Lucy on the floor in one corner of it.

"Why did you place her there?" said he, with a frowning brow.

"She placed herself there," replied she, timidly. "I have done all I could to encourage her; but she will not listen to me."

"Rise," said he to Lucy, who, at the noise of his step, and at the sound of his voice, had been seized with new terror. She buried her face in her hands, and remained silent and trembling before him.

"Rise; I will not harm you; I can befriend you," said the signor.

"Rise!" repeated he, in a voice of thunder, irritated at having spoken in vain.