The Lady Adelaide had not retired to rest. She was pacing her apartment in unutterable misery. The social conditions of life, its forms and objects, were to her as nothing since her terrible awaking to reality.
Morning had dawned before the return of the Lord of Visinara. He was fatigued both in body and mind, and, throwing himself upon a couch, slept for some hours. And he probably would have rested longer, had not an unusual disturbance and commotion in his household aroused him. They were telling a strange tale: one that, for the moment, drove the life-blood away from his heart. It was, that the wicked dealings of Gina Montani with Satan had been brought to light on the previous day. The holy Father Anselmo had taxed her with her guilt, and she had openly confessed all without reserve; and that the Evil One had appeared in the night, and had run away with her—a just reward.
In those times, a reputed visit of the devil in propria persona would have been likely to obtain more credence than it could in these: but it would probably be going too far to say that the Lord of Visinara participated in the belief of his horror-stricken household. Certain it is, he caused minute inquiries to be made, although at the express disapprobation of the spiritual directors of the neighboring monastery, some of whom were attached to the services of his chapel, and pointed out to him the grievous sin it was thus to be solicitous about the fate of an avowed heretic. But he could learn nothing. The maid who waited on her testified that she assisted Gina to undress on the previous night. In proof of which, the garments she had taken off were found in the chamber. The remainder of her clothes were in their places undisturbed; the only article missing being a nightdress, which the attendant in question said she saw her put on; and her bed had not been slept in. Giovanni spoke to his wife, but she observed a haughty silence, and it was useless to question her. He had the moat dragged, and the neighborhood for miles round scoured, but no tidings could be obtained. Yet, strange to say, in passing on that first morning through the remote corridors, he fancied he heard her voice pronounce his name in a tone of imploring agony. He searched in every nook and corner, but found nothing, and soon thought no more of it, except to marvel how his imagination could so have deceived him.
After a time, peace was restored between the count and the Lady Adelaide; but all bliss for her, all mutual confidence, had ceased for ever.
IV.
It was midnight. In the nursery at the castle sat the head nurse, and on her lap was the dying heir of Visinara, now eight or ten months old. Until nine days previous, he had been a healthy child, but, from that time, a wasting fever had attacked him, and now he was ill unto death. The Lady Adelaide, her eyes blinded with tears, knelt beside him, gazing on his colorless face. The count himself was gently rubbing his little hands to try and excite some warmth in them.
"Do you not think he looks a little, a very little better?" demanded the lady, anxiously.
The nurse hesitated. She did not think so, but she was unwilling to say what she thought.
"His hands—are they any warmer, Giovanni?"