When the repast was concluded, and they were left alone together for a few minutes, Nisida’s manner suddenly changed from calm patrician reserve to a strange agitation—her lips quivered, her eyes flashed fire;—and then, as if desperately resolved to put into execution the idea which she had formed, she seized Demetrius by the hand, bent her head toward him, and murmured in the faintest whisper possible, “Start not to hear the sound of my voice! I am neither deaf nor dumb. But this is not the place for explanations. I have much to tell, you much to hear—for I can speak to thee of Calanthe, and prove that he whom thou servest so zealously is a wretch meriting only thy vengeance.”
“My God! my God!—what marvels are now taking place!” murmured the Greek, surveying Nisida in profound astonishment not unmingled with alarm.
“Silence—silence, I implore you!” continued she, in the rapid, low, and yet distinctly audible whisper, “for your sake—for mine, betray me not! Deaf and dumb must I appear—deaf and dumb must I yet be deemed for a short space. But to-night, at twelve o’clock, you will meet me, Demetrius, in the garden of the Riverola mansion;—and then I will conduct you to an apartment where we may confer without fear of being overheard—without danger of interruption.”
“I will not fail thee, lady,” said the Greek, scarcely able to recover from the amazement into which Nisida’s sudden revelation of her power of speech and hearing had thrown him: then, as an oppressive feeling seized upon his soul, he demanded, “But Calanthe, lady, in the name of heaven! one word more and let that word give me hope that I may see my sister again!”
“Demetrius,” answered Nisida, her countenance becoming ominous and somber, “you will never behold her more. The lust of Ibrahim Pasha—nay, start not so violently—brought destruction and death upon Calanthe!”
The features of the young Greek were at first distorted with anguish, and tears started from his eyes: but in the next moment their expression changed to one denoting the fiercest rage.
Nisida understood all that was passing in his soul; and she bent upon him a significant glance, which said more eloquently than language could have done—“Yes, vengeance thou shalt have!”
She then rose from the velvet cushions which had been spread upon the ground within the tent, and waving her hand in token of temporary farewell to Demetrius, hastened forth, mounted her horse, and departed, alone and unattended, toward Florence.
Great was the surprise that evening of the numerous servants and dependents at the Riverola mansion, when Donna Nisida suddenly reappeared after an absence of very nearly seven months—and that absence so unaccountable to them! Although her haughty and imperious manner had never been particularly calculated to render her beloved by the menials of the household, yet her supposed affliction of deafness and dumbness had naturally made her an object of interest; and, moreover, as close upon three months had elapsed since Count Francisco himself had disappeared in a strange and alarming way two days only after his return from the wars, the domestics were pleased to behold at least one member of the lost family come back amongst them. Thus it was with sincere demonstrations of delight that the dependents and menials welcomed Donna Nisida at Riverola; and she was not ungracious enough to receive their civilities with coldness. But she speedily escaped from the ceremonies of this reception: and, intimating by signs to the female minions who were about to escort her to her apartments that she was anxious to be alone, she hurried thither, her heart leaping with joy at the thought of being once more beneath the roof of the palace of her forefathers. And, Fernand—wast thou forgotten? Oh! no—no; in spite of all her revived schemings and new plots, Nisida, thy well-beloved Nisida, had room in her heart for thine image! On reaching her own suit of apartments, the key of which had been handed to her by one of the female dependents, Nisida found everything in the same state as when she last was there; and it appeared to her a dream, yes, a very wondrous dream, that she had been absent for nearly seven months, and during that period had seen and experienced such strange vicissitudes. The reader need scarcely be informed that Nisida’s first impulse, on entering her own suit of apartments in the Riverola mansion, was to hasten and gaze once more upon the portrait of her mother, and intent, earnest, enthusiastic was the upraised look now fixed upon that portrait, even as when we first saw Nisida contemplating the sweet and benignant countenance in the second chapter of our narrative. Yes:—and again was her gaze indicative of a devotion, an adoration, a worship.
“Oh! my sainted mother,” thought Nisida within her breast, “I have not proved ultimately faithless to the solemn vows I pledged to thee upon thy death-bed! No; if for a time I yielded to the voluptuous idleness of love and passion in that now far off Mediterranean isle, yet, at last did I arouse myself to energy for young Francisco’s sake, and I came back as soon as Heaven sent me the means of return to the place where my presence may best serve his interests, and carry out thy wishes! For, oh! when thou wast alive, my worshiped, my adored mother, how good, how kind, how affectionate wast thou toward me. And that tenderness of a mother for her offspring, ah! how well can I comprehend it now; for I also shall soon become a mother. Yes, Fernand! within the last week I have received the conviction that a being bearing thine image will see the light in due time; and the honor of the proud name of Riverola requires that our child must not be born of an unwedded mother! But wilt thou seek me out, Fernand? Oh! where art thou now? whither was the bark, in which I beheld thee last, wafting thee away?”