Wagner, the Wehr-Wolf

by George W. M. Reynolds

And, all the while that these thoughts were agitating within her mind, Donna Nisida kept her eyes intently fixed on the portrait; but on reflecting a second time that should she fail to meet with Wagner soon again, or should he prove faithless to her, or if, indeed, he should nurse resentment and loathing for her on account of her unworthy conduct toward him on the island, and that her child should be born of an unwedded mother,—when, we say, she thought of this dread probability a second time, she burst into tears, and turned away from the contemplation of her mother’s countenance. And Nisida so seldom wept, that when tears did escape the usually sealed up springs of her emotions, they came in torrents, and were most bitter and painful to shed. But she at length triumphed over her feelings, or rather, their outpourings relieved her; and now the remembrance of another duty which she had resolved upon performing the moment she should reach home again was uppermost in her mind. She contemplated a visit to the mysterious closet—the dark cabinet of horrible secrets, in order to ascertain whether curiosity had triumphed over Francisco’s prudence, or if any one indeed had violated the loneliness of that chamber in which the late Count of Riverola, had breathed his last. She accordingly took a lamp in her hand, for it was now far advanced in the evening, and proceeded to the apartment where a father’s dying injunctions had been given to her brother, and which that father and that brother had so little suspected to have been heard and greedily drunk in by her ears. The door of the room was locked; Nisida accordingly proceeded forthwith to her brother’s chamber; and there, in a secret place where she knew he had been accustomed to keep papers or valuables, she found the key of the chamber containing the mysterious closet, but not the key of the closet itself. Of this latter circumstance she was glad; inasmuch as she conceived that he had adopted her counsel to carry it invariably secured about his person, so that no prying domestics might use it in his absence. Returning, therefore, with the one key which she had found, she entered the apartment where her father had breathed his last.

Unchanged was its appearance, in mournfulness and gloom unchanged, in arrangements and features precisely the same as when she last was there, on the night when she intercepted the banditti in their predatory visit. She drew aside the hangings of the bed, a cloud of dust flew out—and for a few moments she stood gazing on the couch where the dark spirit of her sire had fled from its mortal tenement! And as she still lingered near the bed, the remembrance of the death-scene came so vividly back to her mind, that for an instant she fancied she beheld the cold, stern, relentless countenance of the late Count of Riverola upon the pillow; and she turned away more in loathing and abhorrence than alarm, for through her brain flashed in dread association with his memory, the awful words—“And as the merciless scalpel hacked and hewed away at the still almost palpitating flesh of the murdered man, in whose breast the dagger remained deeply buried—a ferocious joy—a savage, hyena-like triumph filled my soul; and I experienced no remorse for the deed I had done!”

Yes, she turned aside, and was advancing rapidly toward the mysterious closet, when—holy God!—was it reality or imagination? Was it a human being or a specter from another world? For a tall, dark form, muffled apparently in a long cowl—or it might be a cloak, but Nisida was too bewildered to discriminate aright—glided from the middle of the room where her eyes first beheld it, and was lost to view almost as soon as seen. Strong minded as Nisida was, indomitable as was her courage, and far away as she was from being superstitious, yet now she staggered, reeled, and would have fallen had she not come in contact with the mysterious closet, against which she leaned for support. She gasped for breath, and her eyes were fixed wildly upon the door by which the figures had disappeared. Nevertheless, she had so far retained her presence of mind as to grasp the lamp firmly in her hand, for at that moment, after such a fright, in the room where her father had died, and in the close vicinity of the fearful cabinet, even Nisida would have fainted with terror to be left in darkness.

“’Twas imagination—naught save imagination,” she thought within herself, as she exerted all her power to surmount the alarms that had seized upon her. “But no! I remember to have closed the door carefully behind me, and now it is open!”

As that reminiscence and conviction flashed to her mind, she nerved herself to advance into the passage; but all was silent, and not a soul was there save herself. Scarcely knowing what to think, yet ashamed to give way to superstitious fears, Nisida retraced her steps, and proceeded to examine the door of the closet. She was satisfied that it had never been opened since the night of her father’s death; for the seals which she had induced Francisco to place upon the lock next day were still there. But all the while she was thus scrutinizing the door, the lock, and the seals, she could not help occasionally casting a furtive glance around, to convince herself that the tall, dark, muffled form was not standing behind her: and, as she retraced her way to her own apartments, she stopped now and then through dread that other footsteps beside her own echoed in the long and lonely corridors of the old mansion. She, however, regained her chamber in safety, and fell into a deep reverie respecting the tall figure she had seen. Were it not for the fact, of which she was confident, of her having closed the door on entering the room where her father had died, she would have concluded that her imagination had deluded her; but she now feared lest she might be watched by spies for some unknown and hostile purpose. It was perplexing, to say the least of it; and Nisida determined to adopt all possible precautions against her secret enemies, whoever they might be.

She accordingly arose from her seat—put off her upper garment—donned her thin but strong corselet—and then assumed the black velvet robe which reached up to her throat, concealing the armor beneath. Her flexible dagger—that fatal weapon which had dealt death to the unfortunate Agnes—was next thrust into the sheath formed by the wide border of her stomacher; and Nisida smiled with haughty triumph as if in defiance to her foes. She then repaired to one of the splendid saloons of the mansion; and ere she sat down to the repast that was served up, she dispatched a note acquainting Dr. Duras with her return, and requesting his immediate presence. In about half an hour the physician arrived, and his joy at beholding Nisida again was only equaled by his impatience to learn the cause of her long absence and all that had befallen her during the interval.

She made a sign for the old man to follow her to the retirement of her own apartments; and then, having closed the door, she said to him in a low tone, “Doctor, we will converse by means of signs no more; for, though still forced to simulate the deaf and dumb in the presence of the world, yet now—with you, who have all along known my terrible secret—our discourse must be too important to be carried on by mere signs.”

“Nisida,” returned Duras, also in a low and cautious tone, “thou knowest that I love thee as if thou wast my own daughter; and thy voice sounds like music upon my ears. But when will the dreadful necessity which renders thee dumb before the world—when will it cease, Nisida?”

“Soon—soon, doctor—if thou wilt aid me,” answered the lady.

A long and earnest conversation then ensued; but it is not necessary to give the details to the reader, inasmuch as their nature will soon transpire. Suffice it to say that Nisida urged a particular request, which she backed by such explanation and we must also say misrepresentations as she thought suitable to her purpose; and that Dr. Duras eventually, though not without compunction and hesitation, at length acceded to her prayer. She then gave him a brief account of her abduction from Florence by the villain Stephano—her long residence on the island of snakes—and her deliverance from thence by the Ottoman fleet, which was now off the port of Leghorn. But she said nothing of Fernand Wagner: nor did she inform the physician that she was acquainted with the cause of Francisco’s disappearance and the place where he was detained. At length Dr. Duras took his leave; but ere he left the room Nisida caught him by the hand, saying, in a low, yet impressive tone—“Remember your solemn promise, my dear friend, and induce your brother to leave Flora Francatelli to her fate.”