The Cryptogram: A Novel

by James De Mille

Zillah's excitement was so great that, for all that night, she could not sleep. There were many things for her to think about. The idea that Hilda had been so marvelously rescued, and was still alive and waiting for her, filled her mind. But it did not prevent her from dwelling in thought upon the frightful scenes through which she had passed. The thought of her dear friend's lonely voyage, drifting over the seas in an open boat, unprotected from the storm, and suffering from cold, from hunger, and from sorrow till sense left her, was a painful one to her loving heart. Yet the pain of these thoughts did not disturb her. The joy that arose from the consciousness of Hilda's safety was of itself sufficient to counterbalance all else. Her safety was so unexpected, and the one fact was so overwhelming, that the happiness which it caused was sufficient to overmaster any sorrowful sympathy which she might feel for Hilda's misfortunes. So, if her night was sleepless, it was not sad. Rather it was joyful; and often and often, as the hours passed, she repeated that prayer of thankfulness which the first perusal of the letter had caused.

Besides this, the thought of going on to join Hilda was a pleasant one. Her friend had been so thoughtful that she had arranged all for her.

No companion could be more appropriate or more reliable than Mr. Gualtier, and he would certainly make his appearance shortly. She thought also of the pleasure of living in Naples, and recalled all that she had ever heard about the charms of that place. Amidst such thoughts as these morning came, and it was not until after the sun had risen that Zillah fell asleep.

Two days after the receipt of that letter by Zillah, Gualtier arrived. Although he had been only a music-teacher, yet he had been associated in the memory of Zillah with many happy hours at Chetwynde; and his instructions at Pomeroy Court, though at the time irksome to her, were now remembered pleasantly, since they were connected with the memories of her father; and on this occasion he had the additional advantage of being specially sent by Hilda. He seemed thus in her mind to be in some sort connected with Hilda. She had not seen him since the Earl's illness, and had understood from Hilda that he had gone to London to practice his profession.

As Gualtier entered, Zillah greeted him with a warmth which was unusual from her to him, but which can readily be accounted for under the circumstances. He seemed surprised and pleased. His small gray eyes twinkled, and his sallow cheeks flushed with involuntary delight at such marks of condescension. Yet in his manner and address he was as humble and as servile as ever. His story was shortly told. He had received, he said, a short note from Miss Krieff, by which he learned that, owing to an act of thoughtlessness on her part, she had gone adrift in a boat, and had been picked up by a ship on its way to Naples, to which place she had been carried. He understood that she had written to Lady Chetwynde to come and join her. Gualtier hoped that Lady Chetwynde would feel the same confidence in him which Miss Krieff had expressed in making known to him that they had been living under an assumed name. Of course, unless this had been communicated to him it would have been impossible for him to find her. He assured her that with him her secret was perfectly inviolable, that he was perfectly reliable, and that the many favors which he had received from General Pomeroy, from the late Earl, and from herself, would of themselves be sufficient to make him guard her secret with watchful vigilance, and devote himself to her interests with the utmost zeal and fidelity.

To Zillah, however, the voluble assurances of Gualtier's vigilance, secrecy, and fidelity were quite unnecessary. It was enough that she had known him for so many years. Her father had first made him known to her. After him her second father, Earl Chetwynde, had made him her teacher. Last of all, at this great hour in her life, Hilda herself had sent him to accompany her. It would have been strange indeed if, under such circumstances, any doubt whatever with regard to him had for one moment entered her mind.

On the day after the receipt of Hilda's letter Zillah had gone for the first time to the rectory, and told the joyful news to her kind friends there. She read the letter to them, while they listened to every word with breathless interest, often interrupting her with exclamations of pity, of sympathy, or of wonder. Most of all were they affected by the change which had come over Zillah, who in one night had passed from dull despair to life and joy and hope. She seemed to them now a different being. Her face was flushed with excitement; her deep, dark eyes, no longer downcast, flashed with radiant joy; her voice was tremulous as she read the letter, or spoke of her hope of soon rejoining Hilda. These dear old people looked at her till their eyes filled with tears; tears which were half of joy over her happiness, and half of sadness at the thought that she was to leave them.

"Ah, my child," said Mrs. Harvey, in a tremulous voice, "how glad I am that your dear sister has been saved by our merciful God; but how sad I feel to think that I shall lose you now, when I have come to love you so!"

Her voice had such inexpressible sadness, and such deep and true affection in its tones, that Zillah was touched to the heart. She twined her arms fondly about the neck of the old lady, and kissed her tenderly.

"Ah, my dearest Mrs. Harvey," said she, "how can I ever repay you for all your loving care of me! Do not think that I did not see all and feel all that you did for me. But I was so sad."