CHAPTER VII.
THE HOUR STRIKES.
The chapel was approached by a door communicating with the corridor. (There was another entrance from the garden; at this entrance Adamo was stationed.) It was narrow and lofty, more like a gallery than a chapel, except that the double windows at either end were arched and filled with stained glass. The altar was placed in a recess facing the door opening from the corridor. It was of dark marble raised on steps, and was backed by a painting too much blackened by smoke to be distinguished. Within the rails stood Fra Pacifico, arrayed in a vestment of white and gold. The grand outline of his tall figure filled the front of the altar. No one would have recognized the parish priest in the stately ecclesiastic who wore his robes with so much dignity. Beside Fra Pacifico was Angelo transformed into an acolyte, wearing a linen surplice—Angelo awed into perfect propriety—swinging a silver censer, and only to be recognized by the twinkling of his wicked eyes (not even Fra Pacifico could tame them). To the right of the altar stood the marchesa. Maestro Guglielmi, tablets in hand, was beside her. Behind, at a respectful distance, appeared Silvestro, gathered up into the smallest possible compass.
As the slow moments passed, all stood so motionless—all save Angelo, swinging the silver censer—they might have passed for a sculptured group upon a marble tomb. One—two—struck from the old clock in the Lombard Tower at Corellia. At the last stroke the door from the garden was thrown open. Count Nobili stood in the doorway. At the moment of Count Nobili's appearance Maestro Guglielmi drew out his watch; then he proceeded to note upon his tablets that Count Nobili, having observed the appointed time, was not subject to a fine.
Count Nobili paused on the threshold, then he advanced to the altar. That he had come in haste was apparent. His dress was travel-stained and dusty; the locks of his abundant chestnut hair matted and rough; his whole appearance wild and disordered. All the outward polish of the man was gone; the happy smile contagious in its brightness; the pleasant curl of the upper lip raising the fair mustache; the kindling eye so capable of tenderness. His expression was of a man undergoing a terrible ordeal; defiance, shame, anger, contended on his face.
There was something in the studied negligence of Count Nobili's appearance that irritated the marchesa to the last degree of endurance. She bridled with rage, and exchanged a significant glance with Guglielmi.
Footsteps were now heard coming from the sala. It was Enrica, led by the cavaliere. Enrica was whiter than her bridal veil. She had suffered Pipa to array her as she pleased, without a word. Her hair was arranged in a coronet upon her head; a whole sheaf of golden curls hung down from it behind. There were the exquisite symmetry of form, the natural grace, the dreamy beauty—all the soft harmony of color upon her oval face—but the freshness of girlhood was gone. Enrica had made a desperate effort to be calm. Nobili was under the same roof—in the same room—Nobili was beside her. Would he not show some sign that he still loved her?—Else why had he come?—One glance at him was enough. Oh! he was changed!—She could not bear it. Enrica would have fled had not Trenta held her. The marchesa, too, advanced a step or two, and cast upon her a look so menacing that it filled her with terror. Trembling all over, Enrica clung to the cavaliere. He led her gently forward, and placed her beside Count Nobili standing at the altar. Thus unsupported, Enrica tottered—she seemed about to fall. No hand was stretched out to help her.
Nobili had turned visibly pale as Enrica entered. His face was averted. The witnesses, Adamo and Silvestro, ranged themselves on either side. The marchesa and Maestro Guglielmi drew nearer to the altar. Angelo waved the censer, walking to and fro before the rails. Pipa peeped in at the open doorway. Her eyes were red with weeping. Pipa looked round aghast.
"What a marriage was this! More like a death than a marriage! She would not have married so—not if it had cost her her life—no music, no rose-leaves, no dance, no wine. None had even changed their clothes but the cavaliere and the signorina. And a bridegroom like that!—a statue—not a living man! And the signorina—poverina—hardly able to stand upon her feet! The signorina would be sure to faint, she was so weak."
Pipa had to muffle her face in her handkerchief to drown her sobs. Then Fra Pacifico's impressive voice broke the silence with the opening words of exhortation.
"Deus Israel sit vobiscum."
"Gloria patri," was the response in Angelo's childish treble.
Enrica and Nobili now knelt side by side. Two lighted tapers, typical of chaste love, were placed on the floor beside them on either hand. The image of the Virgin on the altar was uncovered. The tall candles flickered, Enrica and Nobili knelt side by side—the man who had ceased to love, and the woman who still loved, but who dared not confess her love!
As Fra Pacifico proceeded, Count Nobili's face hardened. Was not the basilisk eye of the marchesa upon him? Her lawyer, too, taking notes of every look and gesture?
"Mario Nobili, wilt thou have this woman to be thy wife?" asked the priest. Turning from the altar, Fra Pacifico faced Count Nobili as he put this question.
A hot flush overspread Nobili's face. He opened his lips to speak, but no words were audible. Would the words not come, or would Nobili at the last moment refuse to utter them?
"Mario Nobili, wilt thou have this woman to be thy wedded wife?" sternly repeated Fra Pacifico, fixing his dark eyes upon him.
"I will," answered Nobili. Whatever his feelings were, Nobili had mastered them.
For an instant Nobili's eye met Enrica's. He turned hastily away. Enrica sighed. Whatever hopes had buoyed her up were gone. Nobili had turned away from her!
Fra Pacifico placed Enrica's hand in that of Nobili. Poor little hand—how it trembled! Ah! would Nobili not recall how fondly he had clasped it? What kisses he had showered upon each rosy little finger! So lately, too! No—Nobili is impassive; not a feature of his face changes. But the contact of Nobili's beloved hand utterly overcame Enrica. The limit of her endurance was reached. Again the shadow of death was upon her—the shadow that had led her to the dark abyss.
When Nobili dropped her hand; Enrica leaned forward upon the edge of the marble rails. She hid her head upon her arms. Her long hair, escaped from the fastening, shrouded her face.
"Benedicat vos omnipotens Deus!" spoke the deep voice of Fra Pacifico.
He made the sign of the cross. The address followed. The priest's last words died away in sonorous echoes. It was done. They were man and wife!
Fra Pacifico had by no outward sign betrayed what he felt during the discharge of his office; but his conscience sorely smote him. He asked himself with dismay if, in helping Enrica, he had not committed a mortal sin? Hitherto he had defended Count Nobili; now his whole soul rose against him. "Would Nobili say nothing in justification?" Spite of himself, Fra Pacifico's fists clinched themselves under his vestments.
But Nobili was about to speak. He gave a hurried glance round the circle—upon Enrica kneeling at the altar; with the air of a man who forces himself to do a hateful penance, he broke silence.
"In the presence of the blessed sacrament"—his voice was thick and hoarse—"I declare that, after the explanations given, I withdraw my accusations. I hold that lady, now Countess Nobili"—and he pointed to the motionless mass of white drapery kneeling beside him—"I hold that lady innocent in thought and life. But I include her in the just indignation with which I regard this house and its mistress, whose agent she has made herself to deceive me."
Count Nobili's kindling eye rested on the marchesa. She, in her turn, shot a furious glance at the cavaliere.
"'Explanations given!' Then Trenta had dared to exonerate Enrica! It was degrading!"
"This reparation made," continued Count Nobili—"my name and hand given to her by the Church—honor is satisfied: I will never live with her!"
Was there no mercy in the man as he pronounced these last words? No appeal? No mercy? Or had the marchesa driven him to bay?
The marchesa!—Nobili's last words had shattered the whole fabric of her ambition! Never for a moment had the marchesa doubted that, the marriage once over, Nobili would have seriously refused the splendid position she offered him. Look at her!—She cannot conceal her consternation.
"I invite you, therefore, Maestro Guglielmi"—the studied calmness of Nobili's manner belied the agitation of his voice and aspect—"you, Maestro Guglielmi, who have been called here expressly to insult me—I invite you to advise the Marchesa Guinigi to accept what I am willing to offer."
"To insult you, Count Nobili?" exclaimed Guglielmi, looking round.
(Guglielmi had turned aside to write a few hurried words upon his
tablets, torn out the leaf, and slipped it into the marchesa's hand.
So rapidly was this done, no one had perceived it.) "To insult you?
Surely not to insult you! Allow me to explain."
"Silence!" thundered Fra Pacifico standing before the altar. "In the name of God, silence! Let those who desire to wrangle choose a fitter place. There can be no contentions in the presence of the sacrament. The declaration of Count Nobili's belief in the virtue of his wife I permitted. I listened to what followed, praying that, if human aid failed, God, hearing his blasphemy against the holy sacrament of marriage, might touch his heart. In the hands of God I leave him!"
Having thus spoken, Fra Pacifico replaced the Host in the ciborium, and, assisted by Angelo, proceeded to divest himself of his robes, which he laid one by one upon the altar.
At this instant the marchesa rose and left the chapel. Count Nobili's eyes followed her with a look of absolute loathing. Without one glance at Enrica, still immovable, her head buried on her arms, Nobili left the altar. He walked slowly to the window at the farther end of the chapel. Turning his back upon all present, he took from his pocket a parchment, which he perused with deep attention.
All this time Cavaliere Trenta, radiant in his official costume, his white staff of office in his right hand, had remained standing behind Enrica. Each instant he expected to see her rise, when it would devolve on him to lead her away; but she had not stirred. Now the cavaliere felt that the fitting moment had fully come for Enrica to withdraw. Indeed, he wondered within himself why she had remained so long.
"Enrica, rise, my child," he said, softly. "There is nothing more to be done. The ceremony is over."
Still Enrica did not move. Fra Pacifico leaned over the altar-rails, and gently raised her head. It dropped back upon his hand—Enrica had fainted.
This discovery caused the most terrible commotion. Pipa, who had watched every thing from the door, screamed and ran forward. Fra Pacifico was bending over the prostrate girl, supported in the arms of the cavaliere.
"I feared this," Fra Pacifico whispered. "Thank God, I believe it is only momentary! We must carry her instantly to her room. I will take care of her."
"Poor, broken flower!" cried Trenta, "who will raise thee up?" His voice came thick, struggling with sobs. "Can you see that unmoved, Count Nobili?" Trenta pointed to the retreating figure of Fra Pacifico bearing Enrica in his arms.
At the sound of Trenta's voice, Count Nobili started and turned around. Enrica had already disappeared.
"You will soon give her another bridegroom—he will not leave her as you have done—that bridegroom will be Death! To-day it is the bridal-veil—to-morrow it will be the shroud. Not a month ago she lay upon what might have been her death-bed. Your infamous letter did that!" The remembrance of that letter roused the cavaliere out of himself; he cared not what he said. "That letter almost killed her. Would to God she had died! What has she done? She is an angel! We were all here when you signed the contract. Why did you break it?" Trenta's shrill voice had risen into a kind of wail. "Do you mean to doubt what I told you at Lucca? I swear to you that Enrica never knew that she was offered in marriage to Count Marescotti—I swear it!—I did it—it was my fault. I persuaded the marchesa. It was I. Enrica and Count Marescotti never met but in my presence. And you revenge yourself on her? If you had the heart of a man, you could not do it!"
"It is because I have the heart of a man, I will not suffer degradation!" cried Nobili. "It is because I have the heart of a man, I will not sink into an unworthy tool! This is why I refuse to live with her. She is one of a vile conspiracy. She has joined with the marchesa against me. I have been forced to marry her. I will not live with her!"
Count Nobili stopped suddenly. An agonized expression came into his face.
"I screened her in the first fury of my anger—I screened her when I believed her guilty. Now it is too late—God help her!" He turned abruptly away.
Cavaliere Trenta, whose vehemence had died away as suddenly as it had risen, crept to the door. He threw up his hands in despair. There was no help for Enrica!
All this time Maestro Guglielmi's keen eyes had noted every thing. He was on the lookout for evidence. Persons under strong emotions, as a rule, commit themselves. Count Nobili was young and hot-headed. Count Nobili would probably commit himself. Up to this time Count Nobili had said nothing, however, that could be made use of. Guglielmi's ready brain worked incessantly. If he could carry out the plan he had formed, he might yet be a judge within the year. Already Guglielmi feels the touch of the soft fur upon his official robes!
After the cavaliere's departure, Guglielmi advanced. He had been standing so entirely concealed in the shadow thrown by the altar, that Nobili had forgotten his presence. Nobili now stared at him in angry surprise.
"With your permission," said the lawyer, with a low bow, accosting Nobili, "I hope to convince you how much you have wronged me by your accusation."
"What accusation?" demanded the count, drawing back toward the window.
"I do not understand you."
Guglielmi was the marchesa's adviser; Count Nobili hated him.
"Your accusation that 'I am here to insult you.' If you will do me the honor, Count Nobili, to speak to me in private"—Guglielmi glanced at Silvestro, Adamo, and Angelo, peering out half hid by the altar—"if you will do me this honor, I will prove to you that I am here to serve you."
"That is impossible," answered Nobili. "Nor do I care. I leave this house immediately."
"But allow me to observe, Count Nobili," and Maestro Guglielmi drew himself up with an air of offended dignity, "you are bound as a gentleman to retract those words, or to hear my explanation." (Delay at any price was Guglielmi's object.) "Surely, Count Nobili, you cannot refuse me this satisfaction?"
Count Nobili hesitated. What could this strange man have to say to him?
Guglielmi watched him.
"You will spare me half an hour?" he urged. "That will suffice."
Count Nobili looked greatly embarrassed.
"A thousand thanks!" exclaimed Guglielmi, accepting his silence for consent. "I will not trespass needlessly on your time. Permit me to find some one to conduct you to a room."
Guglielmi looked round—Angelo came forward.
"Conduct Count Nobili to the room prepared for him," said the lawyer.
"There, Count Nobili, I will attend you in a few minutes."