The Cryptogram: A Novel

by James De Mille

"I have had some troubles," Zillah replied.

Lord Chetwynde forbore to question her about those troubles. He went on to speak about the air of Val d'Arno being the best thing in the world for all illness, and congratulated her on having so beautiful a spot in which to live. Zillah grew enthusiastic in her praises of Florence and all the surrounding scenery; and as each learned how long the other had been here they wondered why they had not met.

"But I," said Zillah, "have not gone often to the city since the first week. It is so beautiful here."

"And I," said Lord Chetwynde, "have ridden all about the environs, but have never been near here before. And even if I had, I should have gone by it without knowing or suspecting that you were here."

Obed Chute had much to see about, and these two remained long together. They talked over many things. Sometimes there were long pauses, which yet were free from embarrassment. The flush on Zillah's cheek, and the kindling light of her eye, showed a pleasure which she could not conceal. Happiness was so strange to her that she welcomed eagerly this present hour, which was so blight to her poor sorrow-laden heart. Lord Chetwynde forgot his troubles, he banished the future, and, as before, he seized the present, and enjoyed it to the full.

Obed returned at last and joined them. The time fled by rapidly. Lord Chetwynde made a move to return at about eleven o'clock, but Obed would not allow him. He made him stay that night at the villa.

CHAPTER LXIII.

A CHANGE.

Although Lord Chetwynde was always out by day, yet he had always returned to his rooms at night, and therefore it was a matter of surprise to Hilda, on this eventful night, that twelve o'clock came without any signs of his return. In her wild and ungovernable passion her whole life had now grown to be one long internal struggle, in which it was with difficulty that she kept down the stormy feelings within her. This night she had grown more nervous than usual. It was as though she had attained to the culmination of the long excitements through which she had passed. His absence filled her with a thousand fears. The longing of her heart grew intolerable as the hours passed by without any signs of his return. Weary of calling to her servant to ask if he had come back, she at last dismissed the servant to bed, and sat herself at the door of her room, listening for the sound of footsteps. In that watchful attitude she sat, dumb and motionless; but the hours passed by her as she sat there, and still he came not.

Through those hours her mind was filled with a thousand fears and fancies. Sometimes she thought that he had been assassinated. At other times she fancied that Gualtier might have broken his promise, and come back from London, full of vengeance, to track the man whom he hated. These ideas, however, at length left her, and another took possession of her, which was far more natural and probable, and which finally became a deep and immovable conviction. She thought that Lord Chetwynde had at last yielded to his aversion; and unwilling, from motives of gratitude, to have any formal farewell, he had concluded to leave her abruptly.