"I am safe," thought she; "not a sound is within hearing. Now for my treasures, and away I away from this hateful city forever!"
"Whom the gods would destroy, they first blind."
Arabella never suspected that, under cover of darkness, others besides herself were lurking in that garden; and now as she advanced toward the house, two tall figures approached the postern, and stationed themselves on either side of it.
"She is caught," whispered one.
"Yes," replied another, "the bird has come of its own accord into the net. We must wait now until we receive further orders."
Arabella, meanwhile, looked exultingly at the dark clouds which overhung the sky, and almost laughed. "Thank you, fair moon," said she, "for withdrawing your splendor at my behest. Tomorrow you shall shed your soft beams upon my flight, for then I shall need your friendly light. Far away from Vienna, I shall be rich, happy, and free!"
Now she was at the servants' entrance. Oh, how the hinges creaked, as she opened the door! But what of it? No one was there to hear the sound. How foolishly her heart was beating! Now she was inside, and, with spasmodic haste, she bolted herself within. The darkness was intense. She could not see her hand before her, and in spite of herself a cold chill ran through her frame, and her knees trembled with vague terror. What if, through this black expanse, a hand should suddenly touch hers! and—"Oh, how dreadful is this darkness!" thought she. "I might die here, and no one could come to my help! I feel as I did once before, on that night of horror in Italy!"
She shuddered, and, almost swooning with fright, cowered under the shelter of the marble balustrade, to which she had by this time groped her way. And now, before her terrified soul, swept phantom after phantom, all from the miserable spirit-land of the past. Once more she lived through a night dark as this, when a wretched, betrayed, dishonored girl, she had slunk through the streets of Rome in search of death—death and annihilation in the black waves of the Tiber. She felt the waters engulf her, she heard her own death-cry, the last protest of youth against self-destruction; and then she felt the grasp of Podstadsky—Podstadsky who, in restoring her to the world, had laid a new curse upon her life. Until then she had been luxurious, frivolous, pleasure-loving; but in the Tiber she had found a new and terrible baptism—the baptism of crime. Without love she had consented to become Podstadsky's mistress, and so became the partner of his guilt. Together they had planned their bold schemes of fraud, and, oh, how successful they had been until this last misfortune! At all events, her connection with Podstadsky was at an end. The pillory had liberated her, and now—now she would lead a blameless life. No more fraud—no more theft. Crime was too dangerous; she saw that it must inexorably lead to shame. She would be satisfied with what she had, and become a virtuous woman. She was quite rich enough to be good, and it would be such bliss to live without a guilty secret!
She laughed, and then shivered at the sound of her own voice, and a supernatural terror took such violent hold of her imagination, that she could no longer bear the darkness. She must see, or she would die of fear. Giuseppe had provided her with a dark lantern, a vial of phosphorus, and some matches.
"How delightful it is to have this new invention!" thought she, as, touching the phosphorus, she struck a light. With this light she felt a little reassured, but could she have seen her blanched, terror-stricken face, she would have screamed, and fancied it a spectre!