Wagner, the Wehr-Wolf

by George W. M. Reynolds

“‘Flora,’ she said, while her tears fell upon me as I knelt, ‘no happiness will come to thee, my child, from this attachment which has already plunged thee into so much misery. It is beyond all doubt certain that the relations of the count were the authors of thy imprisonment; and their persecutions would only be renewed, were they to learn that the count was made aware of your reappearance in Florence. For thy sake, then, my child, I shall suffer the impression of thy continued absence and loss to remain on the minds of those who may inquire concerning thee; and should his lordship call here again, most especially to him shall I appear stricken with grief on account of thee. His passion, my child, is one of boyhood—evanescent, though ardent while it endures. He will soon forget thee; and when he shall have learnt to love another there will no longer be any necessity for thee to live an existence of concealment.’

“Thus spoke my aunt, dear Francisco, and I dared not gainsay her. When you came the last time. I heard your voice; I listened from my chamber door to all you said to my aunt, and I longed to fly into your arms. You went away and my heart was nearly broken. Some days afterward we learnt the strange disappearance of the Lady Nisida and then knew that you must have received a severe blow, for I was well aware how much you loved her. Two or three weeks elapsed, and then we heard that you were about to depart to the wars. Oh! how bitter were the tears that I shed, how fervent were the prayers that I offered up for your safety.”

“And those prayers have been heard on high, beloved one, exclaimed Francisco, who had listened with melting heart and returning tenderness to the narrative which the maiden told so simply but so sincerely, and in the most plaintive tones of her musical voice.

“Can you forgive me now?” asked the blushing maiden, her swimming eyes bending on her lover glances eloquently expressive of hope.

“I have nothing to forgive, sweet girl,” replied Francisco. “Your aunt behaved with a prudence which in justice I cannot condemn; and you acted with an obedience and submission to your venerable relative which I could not be arbitrary enough to blame. We have both endured much for each other, my Flora; but the days of our trials are passed; and your good aunt will be convinced that in giving your young heart to me, you have not confided in one who is undeserving of so much love. Let us hasten into her presence. But one question have I yet to ask you,” he added, suddenly recollecting an idea which had ere now made some impression on his mind. “You informed me how you were liberated from the convent, and you mentioned the name of the Countess of Arestino, whom circumstances had made your companion in that establishment, and to whom your aunt gave an asylum. Know you not, dearest Flora, that fame reports not well of that same Giulia of Arestino—and that a woman of tarnished reputation is no fitting associate for an innocent and artless maiden such as thou?”

“During the period that the Lady of Arestino and myself were companions in captivity,” responded Flora, with a frankness as amiable as it was convincing, “she never in the most distant manner alluded to her love for the Marquis of Orsini. When the marquis appeared in the convent, in company with the robbers, I was far too much bewildered with the passing events, to devote a thought to what might be the nature of their connection; and even when I had more leisure for reflection, during the entire day which I passed in the stronghold of the banditti, I saw naught in it save what I conceived to be the bond of close relationship. I offered her ladyship an asylum at the abode of my aunt, as I should have given a home, under such circumstances, to the veriest wretch crawling on the face of the earth. But in that cottage the countess and myself have not continued in close companionship; for my aunt accidentally learnt that fame reported not well of the Lady of Arestino, and in a gentle manner she begged her to seek another home at her earliest leisure. The countess implored my venerable relative to permit her to retrain at the cottage, as her life would be in danger were she not afforded a sure and safe asylum. Moved by her earnest entreaties, my aunt assented; and the countess has almost constantly remained in her own chamber. Sometimes—but very rarely—she goes forth after dusk, and in a deep disguise; the marquis has not, however, visited the cottage since my aunt made this discovery relative to the reputation of the Lady of Arestino.”

“Thanks, charming Flora, for that explanation!” cried the young count. “Let us now hasten to thine aunt; and in her presence will I renew to thee all the vows of unalterable and honorable affection which my heart suggests, as a means of proving that I am worthy of thy love.”

And, hand-in-hand, that fine young noble and that beauteous, blushing maiden proceeded to the cottage.

Two persons, concealed in an adjacent grove, had overheard every syllable of the above conversation. These were the valet Antonio, and his mother, Dame Margaretha, at whose dwelling, it will be recollected, the unfortunate Agnes had so long resided, under the protection of the late Count of Riverola.

“This is fortunate, mother!” said Antonio, when Francisco and Flora had retired from the vicinity of the grove. “You are spared the trouble of a visit to the old Signora Francatelli; and I have learned sufficient to enable me to work out all my plans alike of aggrandizement and revenge. Let us retrace our way into the city; thou wilt return to thy home—and I shall hence straight to the Lord Count of Arestino.”