‘And thou art Gherardi mio!’ cried the woman, as she rushed wildly toward him and clasped him in her arms. It was Marietta herself who spoke.
How tell the glorious outburst of Gerald’s joy, as he overpowered her with questions—whence she came, whither going, how and why, and wherefore there? Was she really and truly the Egyptian who had visited him on his sick-bed, and not a mere vision?
‘And was it from thy lips, then,’ cried he, ‘that I learned that all this ambition was but a snare—that I was destined to be only the tool of crafty men, deep in their own designss? At times the revelation seemed to come from thee, and at times a burst of heart-felt conviction. Which was it, Marietta mia?’
‘Who is he?’ cried the Fra eagerly. ‘This surely cannot be—ay, but it is the Prince—the son of my old lord and master!’ and he knelt and kissed Gerald’s hands over and over again. ‘He knows me not—at least as I once was—the friend, the boon companion of a king’s son,’ continued he passionately.
‘Were you, then, one of his old Scottish followers—one of those faithful men who clung so devotedly to his cause?’
‘No, no; but I was one that he loved better than them all.’
‘And you, Marietta, dearest, how is it that I see you here?’ cried Gerald, again turning to her.
‘I came many a weary mile after you, mio caro,’ said she. ‘I knew of these men’s designs long, long ago, and I determined to save you from them. I believed I could have secured Massoni as your friend; but I was wrong—the Jesuit was stronger in him than the man. I remained at St. Ursula months after I might have left it, just to see the Père—to watch his game—and, if possible, attach him to me; but I failed—utterly failed. He was true to his cause, and would not accept my love. More fortunate, however, was I with the Cardinal—even, perhaps, that I wished or cared for—His Eminence was my slave. There was not a secret of the Vatican I did not learn. I read the correspondence with the Spanish minister, Arazara; I suggested the replies; I heard the whole plan for your expedition—how you were to be secretly married to the Countess Ridolfi, and the marriage only avowed when your success was assured.’
She paused, and the Fra broke in—‘Tell all—everything—the mine has exploded now, and none are the worse for it Go on with your confession.’
‘It is of the other alternative he speaks,’ said she, dropping her voice to a faint whisper. ‘Had you failed——’