But before he could move on beyond the break in the trees from which he had been observing the cavalry in the valley below, a thin white smoke rose up from the villa, and the detachment which had ridden up to it was seen retreating towards the main body of their comrades, who had paused upon the high road. The next moment a flash of flame mingled with the smoke, and then, from two of the windows, lines of fire were seen to extend along a verandah, probably of wood, which ran round three sides of the house. Another moment, and all was in flames, while indistinctly were seen several persons, apparently women, in the hands of the brutal soldiery.
Lorenzo shut his teeth close and rode on. He uttered not a word aloud, but he thought, "Oh that I had supreme power over this beautiful land, if but for a brief space of time, I would be a tyrant for the people's good--remorseless, cruel to all such fiends as these. But I would stop the crimes that make a hell of a paradise, or die."
The ascent seemed very long. Oh, how long the last portion of any journey seems when we are hastening to those we love! "Is it much farther, Antonio? is it much farther?" asked Lorenzo, repeatedly.
"Only a mile, my lord--only half a mile," replied the man. But the mile seemed a day's journey, the half mile a league.
At length the joyful words were heard, "We turn off here, signor." But still the chestnut woods hid the villa from sight; and though Lorenzo now pushed on his jaded horse fast along the more level ground they had reached, some more slow moments passed ere he came upon the smooth, free turf-ground, bedizened with flowers, which Antonio had described at the approach to the villa. It opened out at a turn of the road very suddenly, and the young knight was upon it ere he was aware. But in an instant he reined in his horse, and was still gazing forward with a look of dismay and anguish when his men came up.
There indeed stood the Villa Morelli--at least what was left of it. There were the old towers firm and perfect externally, though the windows were cracked and broken; but the more modern edifice which was turned towards the west for the purpose of catching the full influence of the most beautiful hour of Italy, with its light graceful architecture, its richly-ornamented windows, and fairy colonnade, where was it?
Parts still stood shattered and toppling over, as if about to fall the next moment; part lay in fragments upon the terrace, and part had fallen inward, crushing the luxurious halls and splendidly-furnished chambers, while here and there a wandering wreath of smoke, and even a creeping line of fire among scorched and broken beams, told by what agency the ruin had been produced.
Old men hardened in the petrifying experience of the world, and men of iron souls created and fashioned for the sterner things of life, may be brought suddenly into the presence of such scenes, may even have personal interest in them, without feeling more than a vague general sense of disgust and horror at those who have produced them, and the sorrow which is natural to the human mind in seeing fair things blighted, either by gradual decay or sudden accident. But Lorenzo Visconti was not one of those. There was a certain degree of firmness--even perhaps sternness in his character, it is true; but he was full of emotions, and sensitive, and very young.
There had dwelt his young bride when last he heard of her; there he had every reason to believe she had been dwelling peacefully within a few short hours. Is it wonderful that, besides all the terrible fears which rushed in an indistinct crowd through his head, a thousand wild thoughts should crowd upon his brain and seem to paralyse its functions.
Where was she now? What had become of her? Had she been carried off by the baud of ruthless marauders he had seen below? Was she buried in those dreadful ruins? These and a thousand other fearful questions were flooding his mind like the waves of a sea stirred by a hurricane.