Monte-Cristo's Daughter

by Edmund Flagg

"Do I know him?" repeated Lorenzo, with a shudder. "Yes—that is no!"

Espérance stared at his comrade in surprise and uneasiness; the youthful peasant evidently had more knowledge of the singular intruder than he was willing to admit. There was surely some mystery here. What was it? Did the presence of this stranger menace the peace, the tranquillity, the safety of the Solara family? Was he in some dark way associated with the movements and actions of old Pasquale? Espérance attempted to question Lorenzo further, but he only shook his head and declined to make any disclosures. He, however, stipulated that his sister should not be informed of what had occurred, urging that there was no necessity of uselessly alarming her. Alarming her? What could he mean? Espérance grew more and more perplexed, and his conviction that he had met the stranger previously, increasing in strength, added to his anxiety and discomfort.

For some hours Giovanni had kept his room and given no sign. What was he meditating? Was it possible that he was concocting some cunning plan by which to circumvent intervention and gain undisturbed possession of the girl who had so powerfully influenced his passions? Could it be that he was in some mysterious way associated with the strange peasant, whose sudden advent seemed of such ill omen? Espérance thought of all these things and was infinitely tortured by them, but, one by one, he succeeded in dismissing them from his mind. Giovanni was certainly under a potent spell that might lead him to the commission of any indiscretion, but he was at bottom a man of honor, and there was some chance that his better feelings might obtain the mastery of his mere physical inclinations. At any rate, Espérance felt that he could trust him for one night more at least. Perhaps in the morning he would awaken to a true sense of his position and acknowledge his error; he might even implore his friend's pardon, admit that he was right and consent to return to Rome, leaving the bewitching Annunziata in all her innocence and purity. Upon reflection Espérance decided that the stranger could be in nowise the associate or accomplice of the Viscount, for the latter had communicated with no one, had not even gone a dozen steps from the Solara cabin during his entire period of convalescence. The idea of collusion was untenable. Espérance resolved to watch and wait. There was no telling what a few hours might bring forth; but at the worst he would fight; if he fell he would not regret it, and, if Giovanni perished at his hands, his death would be due to his own headlong impulses and his blood, under the circumstances, could not be a disgraceful, dishonorable stain.

Towards nightfall old Pasquale Solara began to display unwonted activity, showing, at the same time, signs of considerable agitation. He was yet uncommunicative and morose, spoke only at rare intervals; often he did not reply at all to the questions addressed to him, and when he did answer it was only in gruff, snappish monosyllables. He went from place to place uneasily, frequently leaving the cabin and gazing peeringly and stealthily into the forest as if he expected some one or was looking for some secret signal known only to himself. He glanced at Lorenzo and Espérance suspiciously, seeking, as it were, to penetrate their very thoughts. When he encountered Annunziata, he examined her from head to foot with a strange mixture of satisfaction, anxiety and tremulousness. At such times there was a greedy, wolfish expression in his glittering eyes, and his hands worked nervously.

When twilight had given place to darkness, he suddenly left the hut and did not return. His unusual conduct had occasioned somewhat of a commotion in the little household, but quiet reigned after his departure and his singular behavior was speedily forgotten by his children. Not so, however, with Espérance. The young man, agitated as he was with the turmoil of his own feelings, could not get old Pasquale and his behavior out of his mind. It filled him with sinister forebodings and made him look forward to the night with an indefinable dread, not unmingled with absolute fear. It seemed to him that the old shepherd was meditating some dark and desperate deed that would be put into execution with disastrous results ere dawn.

The evening, nevertheless, passed without incident, and in due course sleep brooded over the Solara cabin, wrapping all its inmates in silence and repose. All its inmates? All save the son of Monte-Cristo, who tossed restlessly upon his couch and could not close his eyes. At length, however, he managed to calm himself somewhat and was just sinking into a sort of half slumber when he was suddenly roused by a wild, far echoing cry that caused him to leap instantly from his bed. The cry was a woman's, and he thought he recognized the voice, of Annunziata Solara. A second's thought seemed to satisfy him on this point, for the flower-girl was the only female in the vicinity and the voice was certainly hers; but it sounded from a distance, without the cabin, and this fact bewildered him. Promptly old Solara's conduct returned to his mind, and instinctively he connected the morose shepherd with the cry and whatever was happening. The young man had not removed his garments; it was, therefore, only the work of an instant for him to grasp his pistol, which he kept loaded beneath his pillow, and rush from the hut in the direction of the cry, which had been repeated, but was growing fainter and fainter.

As he emerged from the cabin, he heard a shot echo through the forest, and almost immediately a man rushed into his arms, bleeding profusely from a gaping wound in the temple. The night was moonless and dark, but in the feeble and uncertain light Espérance recognized Lorenzo.

"My sister—my sister—poor Annunziata!" the young peasant gasped, painfully. "Your friend—abducted—gone! Oh! my God!" and he sank to the ground an unconscious mass, quivering in the final agonies of dissolution.

Espérance was horror-stricken. Annunziata abducted by Giovanni! He could draw no other conclusion from the young peasant's broken exclamations! Lorenzo slain, too, and doubtlessly also by the impetuous Viscount's hand! Oh! it was horrible!—it was almost beyond belief! He bent over Lorenzo's prostrate form, straightened it out and felt in the region of the heart; there was no beat; it was as he had divined—Annunziata's manly and generous brother was dead—the victim of a cowardly, treacherous assassin—and that assassin!—oh! he could not think of it and retain his faith in men!

Espérance left Lorenzo's corpse lying upon the sward, and, pistol in hand, started forward to go to Annunziata's aid, to rescue her from her dastardly abductor, if it lay within his power to do so. He reached the forest and plunged into its sombre depths. Scarcely had he gone twenty feet when a man carrying a flaming torch rushed wildly by him, in his shirt sleeves, hatless, his short, thick gray hair standing almost erect upon his head. In the sudden flash of light his haggard eyes blazed like those of a maniac. In his left hand he held a long, keen-bladed knife. He glanced neither to the right nor the left, but kept straight on, as if he were a ferocious bloodhound in pursuit of human prey. Espérance came to an abrupt pause, and stared with wide-open eyes at the startling apparition. It was old Pasquale Solara! The son of Monte-Cristo shuddered as he thought that the father, with all his Italian ferocity thoroughly aroused, was in pursuit of the man who had abducted his daughter and murdered his son. In that event the Viscount's death was sure, for he could not escape the vengeance of the distracted and remorseless shepherd! Should he raise his voice and warn him? No, a thousand times no! Giovanni deserved death, and did the furious old man inflict it, he would be only advancing the just punishment of the outraged law!