CHAPTER CI.Viviani had long and repeatedly menaced Lady Margaret with vengeance. In every moment of resentment, on every new interview, at every parting scene, revenge, immediate and desperate, was the cry; but it had been so often repeated, and so often had proved a harmless threat, that it had at length lost all effect upon her. She considered him as a depraved and weak character—base enough to attempt the worst; but too cowardly to carry his project into effect. She knew him not. That strong, that maddening passion which had taken such deep root in his soul, still at times continued to plead for her; and whilst hope, however fallacious, could be cherished by him, he would not at once crush her beyondrecovery. A lesser vengeance had not gratified the rage of his bosom; and the certainty that the menaced blow when it fell would overwhelm them both in one fate, gave him malignant consolation.Her renewed intercourse with Lord Dartford, he had endured. Lord Dartford had prior claims to himself; and though it tortured him to see them in each other’s society, he still forbore: but when he saw that he was the mere object of her hate, of her ridicule, of her contempt, his fury was beyond all controul. He wrote to her, he menaced her; he left her, he returned; but he felt his own little importance in the unprovoked calm with which she at all times received him: and maddening beyond endurance, “This is the moment,” he cried: “now, now I have strength to execute my threats, and nothing shall change me.”It was in London that Count Viviani, having left Lady Margaret in anger, addressedBuchanan by letter. “Leave your steeds, and your gaming tables, and your libertine associates,” he said. “Senseless and heartless man, awake at last. Oh! you who have never felt, whose pulse has never risen with the burning fires of passion, whose life, unvaried and even, has ever flowed the same—awake now to the bitterness of horror, and learn that you are in my power.” Buchanan heard the tale with incredulity; but when obliged to credit it, he felt with all the poignancy of real misery. The scene that took place between himself and his mother had left him yet one doubt: upon that doubt he rested. It was her solemn asseveration of innocence. But the heart that is utterly corrupted fears not to perjure itself; and he continued in suspense; for he believed her guilty.Such was the state of things, when Viviani, having by fraud again possessed himself of Zerbellini, sought Lady Margaret,and found her a few moments after the duke had left the castle. He well knew whither he was gone; he well knew also, that it was now too late to recall the vengeance he had decreed; yet one hope for Lady Margaret and himself remained:—would she fly with him upon that hour.Allwas prepared for flight in case he needed it; and with her, what perils would he not encounter. He entered the castle, much disguised: he made her the proposal; but she received it with disdain. One thing alone she wished to know; and that she solemnly enjoined him to confess to her: was Zerbellini the real heir of Delaval?—was she guiltless of the murder of her brother’s child? “You shall see him, speak with him,” said Viviani, “if you will follow me as soon as the night is dark. I will conduct you to him, and your own eyes and ears shall be convinced.”So saying, he left her to fill the horrorsof her own black imagination; but, returning at the time appointed, he led her to the wood, telling her that the boy was concealed in an apartment of the turret, close to the chapel. Suddenly pausing, as he followed the path:—“This is the very tree,” he cried, turning round, and looking upon her fiercely; “yes, this is the spot upon which La Crusca shed the blood of an innocent for you.” “Then the boy was really and inhumanly murdered,” said Lady Margaret, pale with horror at the thought, but still unappalled for herself. “Yes, lady, and his blood be on your soul! Do you hope for mercy?” he cried, seizing her by the arm. “Not from you.” “Dare you appeal to heaven?” She would not answer. “I must embrace thee here, lady, before we for ever part.” “Monster!” said Lady Margaret, seizing the dagger in his hand, as he placed his arm around her neck. “I have already resolved that I will never survive publicinfamy; therefore I fear you not; neither will I endure your menaces, nor your insulting and barbarous caresses. Trifle not with one who knows herself above you—who defies and derides your power. I dare to die.” And she gazed unawed at his closely locked fist. “Stab here—stab to this heart, which, however lost and perverted, yet exists to execrate thy crimes, and to lament its own.” “Die then—thus—thus,” said her enraged, her inhuman lover, as he struck the dagger, without daring to look where his too certain hand had plunged it. Lady Margaret shrunk not from the blow; but fixing her dying eyes reproachfully upon him, closed them not, even when the spirit of life was gone.Her murderer stood before her, as if astonished at what he had dared to do. “Lie there, thou bleeding victim,” he said, at length pausing to contemplate his bloody work. “Thou hast thought it no wrong to violate thy faith—to makea jest of the most sacred ties. Men have been thy victims: now take the due reward of all thy wickedness. What art thou, that I should have idolized and gazed with rapture on that form?—something even more treacherous and perverted than myself. Upon thee, traitress, I revenge the wrongs of many; and when hereafter, creatures like thee, as fair, as false, advance into the world, prepared even from childhood to make a system of the arts of love, let them, amidst the new conquests upon which they are feeding their growing vanity, hear of thy fate and tremble.”Saying these words, and flying with a rapid step, his dagger yet reeking with the blood of his victim, he entered the town of Belfont, at the entrance of which he met St. Clare, and a crowd of followers, returning from the last meeting at Inis Tara. “Hasten to the castle,” he cried, addressing all who surrounded him; “sound there the alarum; forthe heir of Altamonte is found; Lady Margaret Buchanan is murdered.—Hasten there, and call for the presence of the duke; then return and meet me at the chapel, and I will restore to your gaze your long forgotten and much injured lord.” The people in shouts re-echoed the mysterious words, but the darkness of evening prevented their seeing the horrid countenance of the wretch who addressed them. St. Clare alone recognised the murderer, and fled. Viviani then returned alone to the chapel.
Viviani had long and repeatedly menaced Lady Margaret with vengeance. In every moment of resentment, on every new interview, at every parting scene, revenge, immediate and desperate, was the cry; but it had been so often repeated, and so often had proved a harmless threat, that it had at length lost all effect upon her. She considered him as a depraved and weak character—base enough to attempt the worst; but too cowardly to carry his project into effect. She knew him not. That strong, that maddening passion which had taken such deep root in his soul, still at times continued to plead for her; and whilst hope, however fallacious, could be cherished by him, he would not at once crush her beyondrecovery. A lesser vengeance had not gratified the rage of his bosom; and the certainty that the menaced blow when it fell would overwhelm them both in one fate, gave him malignant consolation.
Her renewed intercourse with Lord Dartford, he had endured. Lord Dartford had prior claims to himself; and though it tortured him to see them in each other’s society, he still forbore: but when he saw that he was the mere object of her hate, of her ridicule, of her contempt, his fury was beyond all controul. He wrote to her, he menaced her; he left her, he returned; but he felt his own little importance in the unprovoked calm with which she at all times received him: and maddening beyond endurance, “This is the moment,” he cried: “now, now I have strength to execute my threats, and nothing shall change me.”
It was in London that Count Viviani, having left Lady Margaret in anger, addressedBuchanan by letter. “Leave your steeds, and your gaming tables, and your libertine associates,” he said. “Senseless and heartless man, awake at last. Oh! you who have never felt, whose pulse has never risen with the burning fires of passion, whose life, unvaried and even, has ever flowed the same—awake now to the bitterness of horror, and learn that you are in my power.” Buchanan heard the tale with incredulity; but when obliged to credit it, he felt with all the poignancy of real misery. The scene that took place between himself and his mother had left him yet one doubt: upon that doubt he rested. It was her solemn asseveration of innocence. But the heart that is utterly corrupted fears not to perjure itself; and he continued in suspense; for he believed her guilty.
Such was the state of things, when Viviani, having by fraud again possessed himself of Zerbellini, sought Lady Margaret,and found her a few moments after the duke had left the castle. He well knew whither he was gone; he well knew also, that it was now too late to recall the vengeance he had decreed; yet one hope for Lady Margaret and himself remained:—would she fly with him upon that hour.Allwas prepared for flight in case he needed it; and with her, what perils would he not encounter. He entered the castle, much disguised: he made her the proposal; but she received it with disdain. One thing alone she wished to know; and that she solemnly enjoined him to confess to her: was Zerbellini the real heir of Delaval?—was she guiltless of the murder of her brother’s child? “You shall see him, speak with him,” said Viviani, “if you will follow me as soon as the night is dark. I will conduct you to him, and your own eyes and ears shall be convinced.”
So saying, he left her to fill the horrorsof her own black imagination; but, returning at the time appointed, he led her to the wood, telling her that the boy was concealed in an apartment of the turret, close to the chapel. Suddenly pausing, as he followed the path:—“This is the very tree,” he cried, turning round, and looking upon her fiercely; “yes, this is the spot upon which La Crusca shed the blood of an innocent for you.” “Then the boy was really and inhumanly murdered,” said Lady Margaret, pale with horror at the thought, but still unappalled for herself. “Yes, lady, and his blood be on your soul! Do you hope for mercy?” he cried, seizing her by the arm. “Not from you.” “Dare you appeal to heaven?” She would not answer. “I must embrace thee here, lady, before we for ever part.” “Monster!” said Lady Margaret, seizing the dagger in his hand, as he placed his arm around her neck. “I have already resolved that I will never survive publicinfamy; therefore I fear you not; neither will I endure your menaces, nor your insulting and barbarous caresses. Trifle not with one who knows herself above you—who defies and derides your power. I dare to die.” And she gazed unawed at his closely locked fist. “Stab here—stab to this heart, which, however lost and perverted, yet exists to execrate thy crimes, and to lament its own.” “Die then—thus—thus,” said her enraged, her inhuman lover, as he struck the dagger, without daring to look where his too certain hand had plunged it. Lady Margaret shrunk not from the blow; but fixing her dying eyes reproachfully upon him, closed them not, even when the spirit of life was gone.
Her murderer stood before her, as if astonished at what he had dared to do. “Lie there, thou bleeding victim,” he said, at length pausing to contemplate his bloody work. “Thou hast thought it no wrong to violate thy faith—to makea jest of the most sacred ties. Men have been thy victims: now take the due reward of all thy wickedness. What art thou, that I should have idolized and gazed with rapture on that form?—something even more treacherous and perverted than myself. Upon thee, traitress, I revenge the wrongs of many; and when hereafter, creatures like thee, as fair, as false, advance into the world, prepared even from childhood to make a system of the arts of love, let them, amidst the new conquests upon which they are feeding their growing vanity, hear of thy fate and tremble.”
Saying these words, and flying with a rapid step, his dagger yet reeking with the blood of his victim, he entered the town of Belfont, at the entrance of which he met St. Clare, and a crowd of followers, returning from the last meeting at Inis Tara. “Hasten to the castle,” he cried, addressing all who surrounded him; “sound there the alarum; forthe heir of Altamonte is found; Lady Margaret Buchanan is murdered.—Hasten there, and call for the presence of the duke; then return and meet me at the chapel, and I will restore to your gaze your long forgotten and much injured lord.” The people in shouts re-echoed the mysterious words, but the darkness of evening prevented their seeing the horrid countenance of the wretch who addressed them. St. Clare alone recognised the murderer, and fled. Viviani then returned alone to the chapel.