Julio shook his head, without speaking.
"Water! water!" repeated the young man. "I am burning up, consumed by thirst. Water! water! one drop of water! Save me from a frightful death!"
Moved by pity and forgetting, as it were, his own situation, Julio thrust his hand under his doublet, drew out the bottle, uncorked it, and without speaking gave it to the wounded gentleman. He uttered a cry of joy, seized the bottle with feverish energy, and kissed with transport the hand which presented him the saving beverage.
Julio, with palpitating heart, watched the unfortunate Geronimo, as with trembling joy he placed the bottle to his lips, as if the contents were imparting to him a new life.
And indeed, after having quaffed a deep draught, Geronimo appeared to have new strength; for a sweet smile appeared upon his face, his eyes sparkled with gratitude, and lifting his hands to Julio, he said:
"May God bless you! you have saved me from a frightful death. May Heaven hear my prayer and reward you on the day of judgment for all the good I may have done in my life. The light blinded me; I could not see. Are you not Julio?"
This recognition struck Geronimo with terror, and in a feeble and discouraged voice he said:
"Julio, Julio, you pushed me into the chair!"
Then seeing the dagger in Julio's hands, he shuddered.
"A dagger in your hand! Ah! you come to kill me?"
"Yes, signor," replied Julio, sadly, "I come to take your life; but do not suppose I fulfil this fatal mission without emotion; on the contrary, my heart bleeds for you, and I feel an indescribable repugnance to deal the fatal blow."
"Ah! you are not merciless; you will have pity on me," said Geronimo.
"Impossible!" replied Julio. "Fatality governs us both; it has irrevocably condemned you to death, and me to inhumanity. All prayer, all supplication is useless; nothing can save your life. I beg you, signor, not to increase the difficulties of my task; accept with resignation a fate you cannot escape."
A sharp cry escaped Geronimo, as these unfeeling words convinced him that all hope was lost.
"My God!" he exclaimed, "is it then true that this dungeon is to become my tomb? Must I die without confession? Shall my body lie in unconsecrated ground? Oh, mercy! mercy!"
"Necessity is a merciless law, signor," replied Julio, "and I have more cause than you to complain of its harshness. You, at least, will receive in heaven the recompense of your innocent life, while I must commit here a crime from which I recoil with horror, but which is forced upon me by an irresistible power, and for which my poor soul will stand accused before the judgment-seat of God. But do not cherish a deceitful hope; there is no hope for you. Before I depart from here, that grave must receive your body. That I did not immediately on entering fulfil my sad mission is partly owing to the fact that an uncontrollable compassion paralyzed my arm, but still more, to my desire to afford you time to say some prayers. Therefore prepare your soul for its last passage. I will wait patiently even for a quarter of an hour. Pray with a tranquil mind—I will not strike without giving notice."
Saying these words, Julio put down the lamp replaced his dagger in its scabbard, and seated himself on a block of wood which was in a corner of the cellar.
Geronimo, overwhelmed by Julio's insensibility, bowed his head upon his breast. For some time he neither spoke nor moved, seeming to accept his fate with complete resignation. But the terror of death again possessed him.
"Impossible!" he exclaimed. "You will not kill me, Julio? I conjure you, by your soul's salvation, not to imbrue your hands in my blood!"
And the unfortunate young man endeavored to drag his feeble body toJulio's feet; but the latter drew his dagger in a threatening manner.
Geronimo uttered a cry of despair, crawled back to the side of the grave, and fell exhausted on the ground, where he bewept his sad fate.
His stifled sobs were so heart-breaking that Julio's soul was stirred within him, and without being conscious of it, he wiped away the tears which fell from his eyes.
In a voice full of compassion he said:
"Come, signor, be calm, and submit with resignation to the irrevocable decree of fate. When one has lived like you in the fear of God, honorably and loyally, death is but the passage to a better life."
A cry of indignation mingled with the convulsive sobs of the young gentleman.
"I understand you," said Julio; "you think that my pity is a cruel irony; you believe me to be inhuman. Even in the tomb you might justly call down maledictions on the head of the murderer who of his own will and choice would deprive you of life. But, alas! signor, I have neither will nor choice in the matter. To-morrow the officers of justice will search this house and cellar."
"To-morrow!" exclaimed Geronimo, a new hope-springing up in his heart.
"If I let you live, they would infallibly find you here," pursued Julio. "This hope inspires you with joy; vain hope! signor, for should it be realized, my master would perish on the scaffold, and I would expiate my crime on the gallows!"
"Julio," said Geronimo, beseechingly, "I will remove all suspicion from you; I will declare you innocent; I will reward you magnificently."
"It would be useless, signor. The law knows no mercy. My master would betray the part I had in the deed; and do you think the judges would pardon me for having pushed you into the chair?"
"Save me, spare my life, Julio; and if necessary for your acquittal, I will kneel to the bailiff, I will appeal to the emperor himself."
"There is another reason, unknown to you, signor," replied Julio, bitterly. "I am a fugitive, condemned to death by the laws of Italy. My master alone knows my real name. The least infidelity on my part would make him deliver me into the hands of those who for five years have been seeking me. Think you, then, that it is in my power to spare you? It is my own and my master's death you demand. And what a death! For him, the axe of the executioner and eternal infamy to his family; for me, the rack, the wheel, the gallows. Do not blame me then, signor; do not contend against implacable fate; employ your last moments in prayer, or tell me that you are ready to receive the mortal blow. Nothing can save you; that open tomb tells you a sad but pitiless truth. Again I beg you, signor, lift up your heart to God, and do not force me to make use of sudden violence."
"Die so young and guiltless!" lamented Geronimo. "Never again to see the light of heaven! O Mary, my beloved! how you will deplore my fate! My poor uncle! sorrow will bring your gray hairs to the grave!"
The accents of despair made Julio shudder; but he said, in a cold manner:
"Are you ready, signor?"
"A moment more, one moment for prayer!" said Geronimo.
He joined his hands and uttered a fervent prayer; but although he apparently accepted his fate with resignation, it was equally evident that his soul struggled against the death which was hanging over him.
By degrees, however, prayer brought resignation and consolation to Geronimo, for the nervous trembling of his limbs ceased and his voice became more distinct and calm.
Julio fixed his eyes on Geronimo, and his heart was touched when he thought he heard him ask pardon of God for his enemies; but when the lips of the young man pronounced his own name in ardent supplication, and he distinctly heard his unfortunate victim praying for the soul of his murderer, Julio dropped his knife, and said, with a deep sigh:
"My courage has forsaken me! I have not the strength to accomplish this cruel act."
"Ah!" exclaimed Geronimo, as Julio pronounced these words, "it is a voice from heaven speaking to your heart. Hearken to it. Have pity on me! spare my life!"
Julio was too absorbed in his own thoughts to heed Geronimo. In accents of despair he muttered:
"Frightful situation! Beside the very grave I have dug for him, he prays for my soul! And can I shed his blood? But there is no help for it. I must—I must!"
The young gentleman remarked the struggle in Julio's soul, and he mustered up all his strength to approach him; but Julio, seeing Geronimo's design, picked up his knife, took the lamp, and left the cellar, saying:
"It is useless, signor. Fate is more powerful than we are; and struggle as we may against its inevitable decrees, they must be accomplished! The sight of your sorrow has deprived me of all courage. I go to regain strength. I will soon return. Be prepared, for this time I will act without delay!"
He closed the door and walked slowly down the passage. Having reached his room, he stamped with anger, uttered desperate words, struck his forehead with his fist, vented his impatience, because he could see no solution of his difficulties. He paced the room like a madman, fought the air, stopped, resumed his walk,—until exhausted he threw himself into a chair. Sorrow, anguish, and rage, by turns were depicted on his countenance. He lamented the necessity of the murder, and complained in bitter terms of his sad fate. But in vain he tortured his brain—not a ray of light came to illumine his darkness. The pitiless "I must do it!" was the invariable refrain.
By chance his eye fell upon the two bottles which he had placed upon the table, and as if the sight had inspired him with a sudden resolution, he seized one of the bottles, uncorked it, and putting it to his lips, drank a long draught, stopped a moment for breath, then emptied the bottle.
He remained some time immovable as if to test the influence of the wine on his mind, swallowed half of the second bottle, drew his dagger, took the lamp, and descended the stairs, saying:
"Now my courage will not fail me! No more words: a single blow and all will be over! I must strike him in the back; he wears a cuirass on his breast."
Opening the door of the cellar, he placed the lamp on the ground without speaking, and raising his dagger, he walked directly towards Geronimo, who lifted his hands imploringly.
Within a few steps of his victim, Julio, with an exclamation of surprise, stopped suddenly as if immovable. His eye fell upon an object which Geronimo held in his hand and extended to him, as though it had power to turn aside the mortal blow.
It was a flat copper medal, in the centre of which was a cross and other emblems, and attached to it was a bright steel chain.
Julio, forgetful of what he was about to do, sprang forward, seized the strange medal, examined it closely, and said, in astonishment:
"This amulet in your hands, signor! What does it mean? How came you by it?"
Geronimo, whose every thought was fixed upon death, was too much startled by the sudden transition to reply immediately.
"Speak, tell me whence comes this amulet? Who gave it to you?"
"From Africa—from a blind woman," answered Geronimo, almost unintelligibly.
"In Africa? And the woman's name?" said Julio, beside himself with impatience.
"Mostajo. Teresa Mostajo!"
"Teresa Mostajo! You are then the liberator of my poor blind mother!"
"Then you will spare my life! God of mercy, I thank thee, there is still hope!"
But Julio heeded not the words of the young man.
"This amulet," he said, "recalls my native village. I see again my father, mother, friends. I see myself as I was before dissipation led me to sin and vice. This amulet, brought by my grandfather from Jerusalem, protected my father against many dangers, saved my mother's life; and you, signor, you owe to the same amulet escape from a violent death, for it turned aside my master's dagger from your breast. Strange and mysterious power which thus shields the victim from his executioner!"
"Julio," said Geronimo, "keep me not in suspense. Say that you will not take my life. Be merciful to the man whose name is blessed by the lips of your mother!"
"Fear not, signor; rather than shed one drop of your blood, I would pay the penalty of my guilty life on the gallows. But I must reflect upon our peculiar situation, for my mind is not clear; perhaps I may discover a means of escape. Do not disturb me, I beg you."
He withdrew to the corner of the cellar where he had been previously seated, and remained motionless for some time, without giving any sign of the agitation of his mind.
Geronimo regarded him at first with a look of joyful anticipation; by degrees, however, his face wore an expression of sadness and surprise; it seemed to him that Julio had fallen asleep. He was mistaken, however, for Julio arose after a while, and said:
"Now I see my way clearly. I will save you, signor; but in doing that, I might as well avoid securing a halter for myself. You must have patience until to-morrow. It is now about nine o'clock in the evening, and the time, I know, will be very long to you. But you must submit to a condition which is necessary for the preservation of my own life. To-morrow, at daybreak, I shall quit the city and country. Before leaving, I will set you at liberty. Do not attempt to shake my resolution; let me go now, signor, and expect with confidence your deliverance."
Geronimo joined his hands, and said, feebly:
"Thanks, thanks, and may the good God show you the mercy you have shown to me! I have yet a favor to implore, a benefit to ask."
"Speak, signor, what do you wish?"
"It is long since I awoke from my death-like stupor. I know not how long, and I am tormented by hunger and thirst; you have kept life in me by the wine so kindly bestowed, but now my body demands nourishment. Give me bread."
"Bread!" said Julio, "there is not a mouthful of food in the house."
But seeing Geronimo's eyes fixed in supplication upon him, he added:
"It is not late; perhaps I may find some shop still open. I will return presently; remain quiet, and have no anxiety, signor."
He took the lamp, left the cellar, closing the door after him, and ascended to his room. There folding his arms, he began to muse:
"How strange! the young merchant who, at the risk of his own life, defended my mother from her Moslem master, who paid her ransom, and liberated her from slavery—that merchant was Geronimo! By some mysterious influence the amulet protected his heart from the blade of his vindictive enemy; and when I am about to shed his blood, behold, the amulet paralyzes my arm. It is incomprehensible!"
The current of his thoughts changed. Seizing the half empty bottle, he drank its contents.
"Strange," said he, "how the bad effects of liquor are controlled by the emotions! I have taken enough to deprive me of consciousness, and I feel my mind as clear as though I had not touched a drop. This last draught, however, has mounted to my brain. So it is decreed that my master, Simon Turchi, must die upon the scaffold? It is disagreeable for both of us, but I could not help it. I shall not know what to do when the two hundred crowns are spent; necessity will force me to seek other resources, even at the risk of the gallows, and in all probability the fatal noose will encircle my neck. Bah! if it is predestined, who can prevent it? My master and I will receive only what we deserve. But I am forgetting the starving young gentleman; I must go out to procure him some food. It will be a fine opportunity to drink a pint of wine at theSwan; that cannot be closed yet, for gamblers do not keep early hours. Only one pint in passing! not more, for if my reason became clouded, I cannot answer for the consequences; but there is no need to fear that, for my life is at stake. I will return in half an hour."
He extinguished the lamp, and hastily traversed the garden.
Some time after the hour of Change, Simon Turchi had returned home, and was apparently preparing to go out again, for he had changed his doublet for one of a darker color, and his cloak lay on a chair beside him.
The signor was in high spirits; he carried his head proudly, a radiant smile illumined his countenance, and from time to time he rubbed his hands with an air of triumph. Julio had left for Germany! Nothing could have prevented his departure, for he had not been seen in the city. Simon Turchi has therefore no cause for fear, for if, contrary to expectation, his garden be searched and the corpse of Geronimo be discovered, the murder could easily be fastened upon Julio.
Already, by vague remarks to his servants and acquaintances, Turchi had prepared the way for making the accusation in case of necessity. He had exhibited great anxiety at Julio's absence the night before and during that day. He said that he had sharply reproved his servant for his dissipated habits and his neglect of duty. Julio had left him in evident anger.
The servants, who could not comprehend their master's anxiety, thought that he might be in some tavern, drowning his feelings with drink and awaiting the night to return home. To this Turchi answered that he had remarked for some time Julio's strange manner, that he seemed so absent-minded, was often heard to sigh and weep—in a word, something weighty appeared pressing on his conscience.
Early in the morning he sent Bernardo to the pavilion to see if Julio were there. Bernardo reported that there was no evidence of his having been there, except two empty bottles upon a table. Simon pretended that he had the bottles placed in the room, and Bernardo thought no more of the affair.
Simon Turchi would have satisfied himself by personal examination if Julio had thoroughly performed his work before his departure, but he feared to excite attention by his appearance in that direction; or, perhaps, he might even be obliged to assist at the search of his garden, should the bailiff refuse to exempt it. He determined to go to the cellar at nightfall, when the search must be interrupted, to examine the arrangements made by Julio. When therefore twilight was commencing to replace the glare of day, and Simon was certain of not meeting the officers of the law, he threw his cloak around his shoulders, turned with a light step and joyous heart the corner of the street, and took the direction to the square of Meir.
He had gone but a short distance, when he met Messire John VanSchoonhoven.
A smile lighted up Turchi's countenance. He was delighted to be accidentally brought into the bailiff's company, as he would thus learn the result of the researches already made.
After a polite salutation, Messire Van Schoonhoven said:
"I am happy to meet you. I was on my way to your house."
"To my house?" said Turchi. "Have you news of my friend?"
"No, signor; I wish to see you concerning an affair which, although not serious, necessitates a conversation with you. I would have spoken to you on this subject this evening when at Mr. Van de Werve's, but the place was inappropriate to such discussions."
"Return then with me," stammered Turchi, with ill-disguised anxiety.
"Where were you going, signor?" said the bailiff.
"I was going to take a walk along the Scheldt, in order to seek some diversion to the grief I feel for the disappearance of the unfortunate Geronimo."
"What I have to say, signor, need not interfere with your walk. I will accompany you a part of the way and enjoy with you the evening breeze."
The bailiff turned and walked by Turchi's side.
Looking around, to assure himself that they were not overheard, MessireVan Schoonhoven said:
"The affair in question would not require so many precautions were I not bailiff and you my friend. But in consequence of these two reasons, my mission becomes painful, and I must claim in advance your forbearance. You know that my agents are searching every house, building, and garden in the vicinity of the Hospital Grounds where Geronimo was last seen. The greatest part of this quarter has been carefully examined without any result."
Simon Turchi perfectly understood the bailiff's design, and although his heart beat painfully, he mastered his emotion, and said in an indifferent tone:
"And you think, Messire Van Schoonhoven, that my garden should be searched in like manner? It is very natural. No one is above the law—the knight and the peasant are there equal."
"Believe me, signor, that the thought of so disrespectful a conduct towards an honorable nobleman, and that nobleman my friend for years, would never have occurred to me. But the search became a necessity without any fault of mine. The presence of at least twenty of my agents in that quarter attracted the curious. A crowd followed those engaged in the search, and when it was noticed that your summer-house was the only one exempted, the magistrates were openly accused of injustice. The people were told that this was done by my order; but so great was the commotion that the affair reached the ears of the burgomaster and the constables, and these gentlemen waited on me, urging me to visit your garden likewise, so as to remove all cause of complaint."
"This explanation is wholly unnecessary, at least as far as regards myself," interrupted Simon Turchi. "I desire you to search my country-house as you do all the other dwellings in the vicinity."
They were not far from the bridge of Meir, and they ceased speaking, as in so frequented a place they were in danger of being overheard. Farther on, Turchi said:
"I acknowledge, however, that I am hurt and irritated by the disrespect and audacity of the populace. One might be tempted to suppose that they considered me capable of killing my best friend! My blood boils at the idea of such a suspicion!"
Simon gladly availed himself of the opportunity thus offered of attributing to a just indignation the cruel anxiety which tortured him. He had anticipated the announcement just made him by the bailiff, and in consequence had taken suitable measures to screen himself in case of discovery; but now a terrible doubt as to the result of the search, and as to the confidence which might be reposed in his statements, arose in his mind. The least unforeseen accident, the slightest oversight in his arrangement, might be his ruin.
"It is scandalous!" he exclaimed, shaking his fist. "To express publicly the opinion that a nobleman could so far degrade himself as to become a secret assassin! I will know who my insolent calumniators are, and I will then see if justice has power at Antwerp to protect an innocent stranger against the defamation of the people!"
"Calm yourself, signor," said Messire Van Schoonhoven; "I comprehend your well-founded indignation; but you are mistaken if you think the perquisition ordered by the burgomaster and constables be, in your regard, aught but a condescension to the clamors of the multitude. As for myself, I beg you not to be displeased with me for accomplishing my duty."
"You need offer no excuse, messire," said Simon, speaking more calmly. "It is but proper and natural to search my garden. I am irritated solely by the insolence of the people. Do your duty, and continue to honor me with a friendship of which I am proud, and of which I will always strive to be worthy."
"When will it be convenient to you, Signor Turchi, to have the officers visit your house?" asked the bailiff.
"The time is perfectly indifferent to me."
"But appoint an hour; I would regret causing you any inconvenience or trouble."
Simon Turchi reflected a moment, and said:
"To-morrow morning urgent affairs demand my attention; come then about noon."
"Suppose we say two o'clock?"
"Very well; between two and three."
"I will call for you to accompany me, signor. Do not be disturbed by this domiciliary visit; it implies no suspicion, but, as I said before, it is a simple condescension to the populace. Shall I have the honor of meeting you this evening at the house of Mr. Van de Werve?"
"I do not know, messire. Mary's excessive grief affects me so much that it haunts me day and night. Would that I could offer the least consolation to the afflicted young girl! But of what use is it to mingle my tears with hers, when there is no ray of hope to illumine the darkness of her despair?"
Messire Van Schoonhoven pressed Simon's hand.
"Your sincere friendship for Geronimo does you honor, signor," he said. "Were he your own brother, you could not be more deeply grieved. And how great is your generosity! Geronimo was your friend, but he was at the same time an obstacle to the accomplishment of the dearest wish of your heart. Through affection for him you have sacrificed your fondest hopes of happiness. But the inexplicable disappearance of Geronimo spreads out before you a brighter future. Time will alleviate the bitterness of Mary's sorrow, and who so well as yourself, signor, could restore her to happiness—you who possess her father's confidence and esteem?"
"Speak not of such things," said Simon. "I would gladly yield all the happiness the future might have in store for me to see my friend once more unharmed. But alas! alas!"
"That does not prevent me, signor, from cherishing the hope that, if Geronimo is really dead, you may one day receive the reward of your sincere friendship and your magnanimous generosity. To-morrow at two o'clock! May God be with you, signor!"
"And may He protect you, messire!"
Simon Turchi watched him until he was lost to sight, and then glanced around in order to note the degree of darkness. He drew his cloak closely around him, and walked rapidly down a side street, which soon brought him before the gate of his own garden. Unlocking the door, he traversed the walk rendered almost invisible by the darkness.
Beaching the house, he lighted a lamp and ascended the stairs to a room, which, in better times, he was accustomed to use as a bed-room, when occasionally he passed the night at the pavilion.
Casting his cloak upon a chair, he seated himself near a table, evidently a prey to distracting thoughts. He drew a phial from his doublet, and fixed his eyes upon it. By degrees, however, the clouds seemed to pass from his mind. He replaced the phial in his doublet, and said, calmly:
"Why am I so terrified? Did I not expect the search? Have not my precautions been well taken? What have I to fear? Julio is already at such a distance that he cannot be overtaken. If the corpse be found in the cellar, I will impute the crime to Julio. My explanation will be such that there will be no room for suspicion. But suppose it should be known! O torturing doubt! What a desperate game! Wealth, honor, power, and the hand of Mary Van de Werve, against my life and the honor of my family! Triumph and happiness on the one hand; disgrace and death on the scaffold on the other! Suppose I go to the bailiff, and accuse Julio of the murder? That would put me above suspicion. But no; the search will be superficial, mere matter of form for the sake of appearances. If Julio as arranged things properly, they will merely cast a glance into the cellar. My presence will be a restraint upon the officers, and will prevent them from pushing their search so far as to imply a suspicion. If they do not find the body, as is probable, the affair will forever remain secret, and I will have in future no cause for alarm. I must take courage and descend into the cellar, to see how Julio performed the task assigned him before his departure."
He approached a large wardrobe, took from it a bottle, poured out a large glass of wine and drank it. Lighted by the lamp, he descended the staircase and approached the cellar; but before proceeding through the subterranean passage, he hesitated and stepped back:
"Singular!" he said; "I am overpowered by fear! I recoil in terror before that dark cave, as though the dead could arise from the grave to take revenge. What! I had the courage to stab him while living, and yet I tremble upon approaching the spot where lie his inanimate remains! Away with this childish terror!"
However bold his words, the Signor Turchi did not become calm, and his heart beat violently as he again slowly approached the entrance to the cellar. He hesitated an instant, as he looked down the long, dark passage, but was about to proceed, when a noise outside the building made him shake with fear.
"What can it be? Am I not mistaken? Some one unlocks the garden-gate! WillI be found here? Am I betrayed?"
After a moment of torturing doubt he fled from the cellar to his room, his hair bristling with terror.
"They open the door of the house! They are within! They come! Great heavens! What can it mean?"
A man appeared on the threshold of the room in which Simon Turchi had taken refuge.
"Julio! it is Julio!" exclaimed Simon, in despair.
The servant reeled under the influence of liquor. His cheeks were flushed, his eyes wandering, and while the smile upon his lips indicated a disagreeable surprise at the presence of his master, it also said plainly that he feared not Simon's anger. He held in his hand a small wheaten loaf, but he hid it hastily under his doublet as if unwilling for Turchi to see it.
Casting upon him a look of fury, Simon Turchi sprang to his feet, clenched his fist, and exclaimed in a rage:
"This is too much! Infamous traitor! cowardly rascal! whence do you come? Does hell itself bring you here for the destruction of both of us? Speak, base drunkard, and tell me why you are here! Quick, or I will stretch you dead at my feet. I thirst for your blood."
Julio drew his knife from the scabbard and stammered, in a voice indistinct from intoxication:
"Wait awhile, signor. Wine, good wine has dulled my senses. You want to kill me? It would be very fortunate for one of us to die here—the executioner would have less work. But which of us must first render our account before the supreme tribunal, my knife and your dagger will decide. I am ready."
"Insolent wretch!" cried Turchi, grinding his teeth, "my own safety and yours compel me to a painful circumspection; but beware how you brave me! Tell me why you are not on your way to Germany."
"You ask me something that I don't know myself. But let me see. Just as I was about to leave I went to theSwan, and drank a few pints of wine. This morning, when I awoke, I was seated before a table at theSilver Dice. How I came there, I cannot tell. It was then too late for me to pass the gate. I determined to wait until to-morrow, and I came here to take a night's rest before setting out on the journey."
"And you played at dice?" said Turchi.
"I think I did; for the rattling of the dice still sounds in my ears."
"And the money? the two hundred crowns?"
"Be quiet, signor, on that point. I ask you for nothing. What business is it of yours that I have spent or lost a few pieces of gold, provided I leave for Germany to-morrow at daybreak?"
Simon Turchi was like one frenzied.
"Yes," he exclaimed, "and at the first tavern you meet on the way you will drown your senses with drink, and you will squander my money."
"Not so, signor; rely upon me—I will leave to-morrow morning at daybreak, and if I drink on the way it will only be to quench a burning thirst."
Simon Turchi's eye shone with a sudden and mysterious light, excited by some secret thought. He became calm, and shrugging his shoulders, said quietly, as though he submitted with resignation to the contradictions which he could not avoid:
"I ought, Julio, to punish your want of fidelity. If the bailiff had come here to-day, as I expected, your culpable neglect of duty would have placed us both in the hands of justice. Fortunately the visit will not be made before noon to-morrow. As your negligence has had no evil consequences, I fully pardon you, upon condition that you leave the city before sunrise, and that you travel without stopping until you reach the Rhine."
"Never fear this time, signor," replied Julio. "I will pass the night here, and at early dawn I will be beyond the city gate. In the first village I will buy a horse, and I will make such speed that he who would catch me must needs have wings."
He yawned, stretching his arms above his head, and said:
"I am overpowered by fatigue and sleep. If you have no other directions to give, permit me, signor, to go to bed, that I may be ready for the morning."
"Then I may rely upon you, Julio?"
"Have no anxiety about my journey; the rising sun will not find me atAntwerp."
"Are you certain?"
"As certain as I am that a halter hangs over my head, and over yours something quite as disagreeable."
This jest of his servant made Turchi convulsively contract his lips, but he restrained any expression of feeling, and arose, saying:
"Julio, would you like a glass of good Malmsey?"
"Ah, signor," replied the servant, "I was just thinking that a cup of Malmsey would relieve my parched throat, when, lo! my desire finds an echo in your heart."
"One single glass—a parting bumper."
"One or many, signor, as you wish—either will be welcome; but the excellent wine locked in the cupboard of your room will be particularly acceptable."
"Well, Julio, come with me, and we will drink to the happy termination of your journey."
He arose, traversed a passage, and ascended to the upper story. The servant followed him staggering, and trying to steady himself by the wall.
Having reached his bed-room, Turchi drew a second chair to the table, and said:
"Sit down, Julio; here is a bottle already opened. If I did not fear its effects, we would empty it in honor of your departure."
Julio sat down, and held the bottle before the lamp.
"Bah!" he exclaimed, "it only contains about four glasses. You need not trouble yourself about that quantity."
Signor Turchi took two large glasses from the cupboard, placed them on the table, and filled their to the brim.
"A pleasant journey to you, Julio," he said, "and may you arrive safely at your destination."
They both emptied their glasses at one draught, but the servant pushed his glass to his master, saying:
"Oh, the divine liquor! it is a cooling balm to my burning throat. One more glass, signor, I beg you."
Simon filled the glasses again, and said:
"Yes, but on condition that you wait awhile before drinking it."
Hoping that his obedience might procure him a third glass, Julio resisted the temptation to gratify himself at once.
In the meantime, Turchi contemplated his servant with a peculiar expression. There was a malicious sparkle in his eye, and a smile of triumph on his lips. He evidently had some purpose in thus watching Julio; but what could be his secret design?
At last he pretended that he was about to take the wine, but by a quick movement he upset it.
With an exclamation of impatience he raised the glass, and said:
"It is a sin to spill such wine. Now I have no more in which to drink your health. Get another bottle, Julio, from the cupboard; it is perhaps the last time that we shall drink together. On the third shelf, the bottle with the long neck."
Julio arose with difficulty from his chair, and staggered to the cupboard.
Simon Turchi thrust his hand in his doublet, and drew out a very small phial. He hastily poured nearly the whole contents into Julio's glass, and immediately concealed the phial; and although he trembled in every limb, he said, calmly:
"A little higher, Julio—to the left; that is the right bottle."
The servant brought the bottle to his master, who uncorked it; but as he was about to pour out the wine, he said:
"Empty your glass, Julio; this is a different wine, and the mixture would spoil both."
Julio drank the wine, but no sooner had he swallowed it than he exclaimed:
"What was in my glass? It had a strange, bitter taste. Did you put poison in it?"
"What a silly idea!" said Turchi, turning pale.
"You are capable of such a deed, signor."
"The lees gave the bad taste, Julio. Take another glass, and it will pass away."
Emptying his glass again, Julio said:
"You are right; it is gone. I never tasted anything in my life more disagreeable."
Turchi watched his servant narrowly. With assumed carelessness he said:
"Take care, Julio, to be up by daybreak. Go on foot to the village of Lierre; buy a good horse there, and make all possible haste to reach Diest; that is the shortest route, and you will be more likely to escape notice than on the highway. Once in Cologne, you are out of danger; but be careful not to remain there. Merchants from Antwerp frequently visit that city; you might possibly be recognized and arrested. You must leave the territories of the emperor. When the affair is forgotten, and when by my marriage with Miss Van de Werve I will have acquired a considerable fortune, I will send for you, and you will live with me as a friend rather than a servant. You shall spend your days in pleasure, and you will never have cause to regret what you have done for me. But, Julio, you do not answer? Is not such a fate desirable?"
"I am overpowered by sleep," stammered Julio, almost unintelligibly.
A triumphant smile flitted across Turchi's face.
"To-morrow at two o'clock," he continued, "the officers of justice will make a domiciliary visit here, but the bailiff will permit no search which intimates a suspicion. Since you have filled the cellar with fire-wood and empty casks, the bailiff will be satisfied that all is right. Perhaps, Julio, I may be able to recall you in two or three months."
Julio's head had fallen upon the table, but from time to time he started and muttered some indistinct words, showing that he was not in a deep sleep. Without once removing his eye from him, Simon continued to speak, although he was convinced that Julio no longer heard his words.
Suddenly Julio groaned. His head and limbs fell as though he had been struck by death; but the heaving of the chest and the deep scarlet of the cheeks proved that he was in a heavy sleep.
Simon quietly contemplated him for a while longer with a smile of satisfaction. Then he arose, approached his servant, shook him violently, and cried out:
"Julio, Julio, wake up!"
Julio did not stir.
"It succeeds according to my wishes," he said. "The poison is doing its work. He is deaf and insensible; he reposes in an eternal sleep. Life will be extinguished by degrees until sleep makes way for death. But I must not tarry. I must act quickly and forget nothing. And first the money!"
He searched Julio's pocket, and found in it one hundred and twenty crowns.After counting them on the table, he exclaimed:
"Eighty crowns spent already! It is impossible. He has either lost them at the gaming-table, or been robbed while he was sleeping in the tavern."
Still doubtful, he examined his garments, and found in a purse under his girdle the twenty crowns which he had destined for his mother.
"Ah, ah!" said Simon, laughing; "I had not all; I hear the sound of gold."
He put the twenty crowns with the rest of the money, and having satisfied himself that no more remained on the person of Julio, he was about to transfer the crowns to his pocket, when a sudden idea occurred to his mind.
"If I leave all this money on his person, they might think he had been paid to commit the deed; if I leave nothing, there will be no reason to conclude that he killed the Signor Geronimo to rob him. I wonder how much money Geronimo generally carried about him. I should suppose five or six crowns, or perhaps ten. I will leave six crowns and all the small change. And the keys? He must keep them, or, of course, he could not have entered without my knowledge. But should he be roused to consciousness by the death-agony, he might have sufficient strength to get out. I will leave him all the keys but that of the outer building. Iron bars render the place secure; he could not even enter the garden. Now I will put the phial in his doublet—no, in the pocket of his girdle; it will be as easily found. I will remove the bottles and everything which could indicate the presence of two persons."
He locked up the bottles and glasses, arranged the chairs, and wiped up the wine which had been spilled on the table and the floor.
While thus engaged, he muttered to himself:
"I must not remain longer. I myself must go to the bailiff and accuse Julio of the murder. Shall I go this evening? No; they might come and find him alive, and a powerful antidote might perhaps rouse him from sleep. To-morrow, then—to-morrow morning. But how shall I explain the affair? When and how did he reveal his crime? Night will suggest a means. All is done. I will go home and appear calm and cheerful."
He threw his cloak around his shoulders, took the lamp from the table, and walked to the door. There he stopped for a moment to contemplate his victim and precipitately descended the staircase. At the foot of the steps he extinguished the light, traversed the garden, opened the gate, and disappeared in the darkness.
When Julio left the cellar for the purpose of procuring bread, Geronimo cast himself on his knees, full of gratitude to God, to return thanks for the unexpected deliverance.
Julio had said "soon," but an hour passed, then another, then many more, and he came not.
A painful doubt began to take possession of Geronimo's mind. Had an accident happened to Julio? Had he perhaps cruelly abandoned his victim? Had he set out for Germany with the certainty that hunger would kill him whom the dagger had spared?
The unfortunate cavalier had no means of measuring the flight of time. What in the immutable darkness of his prison seemed to him a century, might in reality be only a few hours, and the promised bread would soon appear to his eyes as the star of safety—in a quarter of an hour, in a minute—that very instant.
By such reflections Geronimo sought to endure patiently the pangs of hunger. He put his ear to the keyhole and ceased breathing that he might catch the slightest sound. Alas! hour after hour passed in unbroken silence. Although Geronimo knew not whether it was day or night, his increasing sufferings were to him a sure indication of the passage of time. For a while he encouraged himself by the thought that Julio would not bring him the promised bread until dawn, and that he would give him at the same time food and liberty.
This hope by degrees diminished, and at last vanished entirely. The suffering young man could not longer deceive either his body or his mind; it became evident to him that the hour which he had hoped would restore him to freedom had long passed.
He had been abandoned—devoted to a cruel martyrdom, a frightful death! He was then to die in the midst of the torments of hunger—to die slowly in indescribable suffering, and fall into the yawning grave prepared for him!
Struck with terror by the conviction thus forced upon him, the unfortunate cavalier arose despairingly and ran panting and crying around the cellar, as though he could thus escape the death which menaced him.
The pain of his wounds was increased by this violent and feverish agitation. His breast heaved under his difficult respiration, but the gnawing hunger which agonized him made these sufferings seem light. Falling to the ground from exhaustion, he commenced, as soon as he had gained a little strength, his struggle against the tortures of hungry. At times his despair was cheered by the thought that even yet Julio might come. But Julio was plunged by the influence of poison into a mortal sleep, and in all probability would appear before Geronimo at the judgment-seat of God.
Hoping against hope, the young man seated himself on the ground. The violence of his sufferings seemed to abate and leave him at rest for a few moments. His thoughts wandered to all he loved upon earth, but the respite was of short duration. Soon the agony he endured drew from him piercing cries. During his long martyrdom no torment had equalled the present. It seemed as though he were being devoured by flames, or as if molten lead were coursing through his veins.
He writhed in convulsions, beat his breast, and in heart-rending accents called upon God for help. But nothing relieved his horrible sufferings.
He filled the air with his groans and screams, he beat the door with blind fury, tore the flesh from his fingers in his useless efforts to make an opening in his prison-walls, and ran from side to side as though the pangs of hunger had driven him mad.
At last, exhausted and convinced that there was no escape, that he must soon enter into his last agony, he threw himself upon the ground, bowed his head and joined his hands in prayer, begging for resignation to meet the death which would end his cruel martyrdom. His mind now appeared clear, and he was perfectly conscious, for after a while he shed a torrent of tears. His lips moved, giving utterance to confused sounds, but by degrees his words became more distinct, and fixing his eye in the darkness on the spot where he knew the grave had been dug, he said:
"No more hope! All is over. I must die! The grave yawns to receive me. Alas! what a place for my mortal remains! Forgotten, unknown, concealed by the darkness of a horrible crime! Not a tear will fall upon the tomb of the unfortunate victim; not a cross will mark the spot where I lie; not a prayer will be whispered over my body! Death approaches. Ah! I must not thus cling to life; I will pray and lift my hands in supplication to God. He alone—"
He stopped under the influence of a sudden emotion.
"Heavens! did I not hear a noise?"
He listened breathlessly for a time to catch the indistinct sound he thought he had heard; but he was mistaken.
"Why should I hope, when hope is no longer possible? Let me rather seek strength in the consideration of the better life which awaits me. The death I endure will purify me from all my sins. If God, in His impenetrable designs, has appointed this to be my earthly fate, He will, in His mercy, take into account before his judgment-seat what I have innocently suffered here below. Consoling hope, which, encourages me to look with confidence into eternity!
"And yet my life was so happy! Everything in the world smiled upon me; my path was strewn with roses; the future spread out before me like a cloudless sky resplendent with stars. God had not only given me health, fortune, and peace of heart, but also the hope of uniting my fate with that of a lovely young girl. Mary Van de Werve! the incarnation of all that men admire and heaven loves: virtue, piety, modesty, charity, beauty, love! Alas! alas! must I leave all that? Must I say a last adieu, renounce my hopes, and never see her again? Die and sleep forever in an unknown tomb, while she lives!"
A cry of anguish escaped him. But it was caused rather by his train of thought than by the adieu he had just spoken, for he added, in a suppliant voice:
"Pardon, O Lord, pardon! Thy creature clings to life; but be not angry with the weakness of my nature. Should I die by the terrible death of starvation, I humbly accept Thy holy will, and I bless Thy hand which deals the blow! God of mercy, grant that I may find grace with Thee!"
Calmed by this invocation, he resumed, with less emotion and in a tone which proved that his soul had received consolation:
"And if I be permitted in my last hour to offer to Thee my supplications, I pray Thee, O God of mercy, to spare my uncle, and let not my misfortune deprive him also of life. He was my father and benefactor; he taught me to live in the fear of Thy holy name. By the cruel sufferings which I endure, by my terrible death, have pity on him! Let Thy angels also guard and protect the pious and pure young girl who is before Thee as an immaculate dove! Jesus, Saviour of mankind, on the cross you prayed to your heavenly Father for those who crucified Thee. Demand not an account of my blood from my enemy. Pardon him, lead him back to the path of virtue, and after death grant him eternal rest! My strength fails; the sweat of death is on my brow. O my God! in this, my last hour, grant me the grace to die with Thy love alone in my heart, and Thy holy name alone upon my lips!"
The last words of this prayer had scarcely fallen from his lips, when he cried aloud, arose trembling, and eagerly fixed his eyes upon the opposite wall, upon which a faint streak of light flickered.
"O my God! what means this?" he exclaimed. "Light? light? a voice? Is some one coming? Is there still hope? I shall not die! Cruel dream! Frightful illusion! But no, it is indeed a light; it becomes brighter. I hear a human voice. Alas! this suspense is worse than death!"
Tottering from weakness, and supporting himself by the sides of the wall, he gained the door, and trembling between hope and fear, he put his eye to the keyhole in order to discover who was approaching his person.
He saw in the distance a man with a lamp in his hand; but his gestures were so strange, and his countenance so singular, that he was at a loss to know whether it were a human being, or only a creation of his own disordered brain.
Still he heard confused sounds in the passage; a voice seemed to complain, curse, and call for aid.
By degrees the mysterious apparition drew nearer, and Geronimo recognized the servant of Simon Turchi; but why was Julio writhing in such horrible convulsions? Why was his face so horribly contorted? Why did he threaten and rage in such harsh accents?
A horrible conviction forced itself upon Geronimo's mind. Julio had sought in drink the courage necessary to accomplish the work which fate exacted of him. He had thus drowned his senses, and had come now to slay his victim without mercy.
The thought for the moment roused his fears; but he remembered that he had just offered to God his life in expiation of his sins. He retired to the other side of the cellar, knelt by the side of the grave, and with a smile upon his lips and his eyes lifted to heaven, he calmly awaited the fatal blow.
He heard Julio trying to insert the key in the lock as if his hand were unsteady. He noticed that there was no finger in his tone of voice; on the contrary, the cries which escaped him were rather those of alarm and distress; but before he had time for reflection the door opened.
Julio put down the lamp as if his strength had entirely failed him, and fell upon the ground, exclaiming in a supplicating voice:
"O signor, help, help! I am poisoned! A burning fire consumes me! Take pity on me! For the love of God, deliver me from this torture!"
"Poisoned!" exclaimed Geronimo, hastening to Julio. "What has happened to you? The mark of death is on your face!"
"Simon Turchi gave me last night poisoned wine, in order to destroy the witness who could prove your death by his hand. He made me pay Bufferio to assassinate you. He wishes to marry Mary Van de Werve, and he desires to remove any cause of fear that his happiness may be disturbed. Ah! the poison consumes me!"
"Tell me, Julio, what I can do for your relief."
Saying this, he knelt by Julio, and threw open his doublet to give him air:
"Thanks, thanks, O my God! here is bread!" exclaimed Geronimo, almost wild with joy, and snatching with feverish haste the small loaf which Julio had concealed, and which he had entirely forgotten since his fatal stupor.
The young man, absorbed in satisfying his devouring hunger, no longer heeded Julio's complaints, but having soon appeased its cravings, he took his hands, saying:
"I bless you, Julio, and may the omnipotent God reward you in heaven. Tell me what I can do to save you. Set me at liberty, and I will fly for physician and priest. The keys—quick, the keys!"
"Alas!" said Julio, in a hopeless voice, "my cruel murderer took from me the keys of the door. We are shut up in the building. But I cannot die thus, consumed by poison, without confession, without hope of pardon for my soul! Go up-stairs, signor, call aloud, break open the door, wrest the iron bars from the windows. Collect all your strength, take pity on me and help me!"
Geronimo seized the keys, and, lighted by the lamp, he hastily traversed the subterranean passage, and mounted the staircase.
The gray dawn was appearing in the east, but to the eyes of the young man so long accustomed to utter darkness it was almost as bright as noonday.
Convinced that Julio's condition demanded immediate aid, Geronimo hastily tried all the keys in the exterior door, pulled all the bolts, endeavored to wrench the door from the hinges, and worked with so much energy that at last he fell from weakness.
Taking a short rest, he arose, threw up the windows, shook the iron bars, ran up-stairs and called aloud for help. But all his efforts were useless—the pavilion was too far removed from any habitation to permit him to indulge the hope that his voice, weak as it was, could be heard.
In running through the building—almost maddened by despair—to seek an outlet, he entered the kitchen, where he perceived a vessel full of water. The sight filled him with joy. Perhaps water, taken in large quantities, might deaden the effects of the poison and save Julio's life. At any rate, he had no other remedy, and as it was his only hope, he grasped at it as if it were an inspiration from heaven.
Filling a pitcher, he ran with it to the cellar, and radiant with joy, approached Julio, who had barely strength to ask in a feeble voice:
"Is the priest coming? Will the doctor be here? Ah! it is too late!"
"Drink," said Geronimo, holding the pitcher to his lips; "the water will cool the inflammation and refresh you."
Julio took the water.
"Thank you, signor; it is useless, the water does me no good."
"Take more, I beg you, Julio,—as much as you can."
Julio obeyed mechanically and nearly emptied the pitcher. His respiration became very labored, and the sweat ran in big drops from his brow.
"Do you feel better, Julio?" asked the young man.
"A little better; the heat is not so burning."
"There is still hope!" exclaimed Geronimo, joyfully. "Take courage, Julio; have confidence in the mercy of God. When all human aid fails us, then God gives his omnipotent assistance."
"But," said Julio, "my heart beats so feebly, my limbs are benumbed.Signor, I am dying. The poison is killing me."
"Die? Julio! You have delivered me from death, and shall I be powerless to save you? What shall I do? O my God, what can I try?"
"Think no more of it, signor," said the dying man. "I feel that there is no hope. Alas! I was partly the cause of your bitter sufferings: I pushed you into the chair; I intended to kill you, the deliverer of my blind mother! Take pity on me! Let not your just malediction follow my poor soul into eternity. Pardon me, signor, pardon!"
"Speak not thus, Julio. But for you, that yawning grave would now cover my corpse. Shall I refuse pardon to you who spared my life? No; I will pray for you, I will give alms for the repose of your soul. Have confidence in the goodness of God."
"Confidence?" said Julio, in a dying voice. "I shudder to think of the judgment which awaits me. In this, my death agony, I see with frightful clearness. I dare not hope in God's mercy. I have done nothing to merit it. A dark veil is before my eyes."
The death-rattle was in his throat.
Geronimo passed his arm around his neck and raised his head, and seeingJulio's eyes fixed upon him, he said, tenderly and fervently:
"Julio, listen to me! You say you dare not hope in the mercy of God' Have you forgotten that Jesus Christ shed his blood to redeem fallen man? Do you not know that there is joy before the angels when a sinner, by sincere repentance, escapes the eternal enemy of man and enters triumphant into heaven? You repent, do you not? You sincerely repent?"
Julio bowed affirmatively.
"Ah!" exclaimed Geronimo, "if I cannot save your body from death, at least let me keep your soul from eternal torments. Oh! if I could thus repay the debt of gratitude I owe you! Julio, were God to prolong your life, would you renounce evil and return courageously and sincerely to the path of duty and virtue? You say yes? You implore God's mercy, do you not? You have confidence in the inexhaustible treasure of his goodness? Then, Julio, raise your dying eyes to heaven, direct your last thoughts to Him who is the source of all mercy, and with full confidence let your soul wing its flight to the supreme tribunal. Already from the highest heaven God absolves the repentant sinner!"
A triumphant hope illumined the countenance of Julio as he endeavored to raise his eyes to heaven.
"Saved—his soul is saved!" exclaimed Geronimo, transported with a pious joy.
A slight convulsion passed over the limbs of Julio, his muscles became paralyzed, his head fell heavily on Geronimo's shoulder, and drawing his last breath, he murmured, almost unintelligibly:
"Mercy! O my God!"
"He is dead!" said Geronimo. "May thy soul receive my fraternal embrace in its passage to eternity! May this mark of reconciliation weigh in the balance of eternal justice!"
He bent over the dead; but as if contact with the corpse had deprived him of his little remaining strength, he fell as it were lifeless. Not a limb moved, his arms dropped motionless, his eyes closed, it seemed that his soul had also taken its flight to heaven to accompany the soul of Julio before God's judgment seat.