How long little Mila, having now ventured once to let her tongue run loose on the forbidden subject, would have continued recapitulating the praises of the stranger lady—little dreaming of the wounds she was inflicting on the feelings of her older friend and mistress—it is impossible to say, had not Nina interrupted her.
“I must go and see this stranger lady!” she exclaimed, in a tone which startled the little girl, and taught her that it would have been wiser to have obeyed orders, and not mentioned her. “Come, Mila, we will go at once, and you shall run up into her room, and announce me.”
“Oh, dear! signora, that will never do,” answered the Greek girl. “You forget that the directions of our chief forbid you to quit your tower; and what would he say, were he to hear that you had visited that of the stranger lady. He is certain to come back, and find you there.”
Nina had, however, so determined to satisfy her jealous suspicions, that she overruled all Mila’s scruples.
“If I find them fatally true, a speedy death will be my only resource, or, ah! that of my rival;” so ran the current of her thoughts. “I could not let her live in the triumphant enjoyment of what I had lost—his love. I could not bear to think that other ears but mine own hear the tender accents of his voice, which speaks so eloquently to me of love. ’Twould be madness to know that I were flung aside for one more young and beautiful, perchance, but one who could not feel for him one tenth part of the intense love I bear him. I must go and see her. If she is—oh! God, what?” And her hand touched, unconsciously, the hilt of a small dagger she wore in her girdle.
Ada Garden was sitting in her chamber when little Mila hurried into her presence, and intimated, as well as she could, that a lady desired to see her, flying out at the same speed with which she entered.
As it happened, Ada did not, in the least, understand what she meant, and supposing it was a matter of no importance, continued the perusal of a work she held in her hand. She was startled by hearing a deep sigh, and looking up, she saw a graceful female figure standing at the other end of the room, with her eyes fixed intently on her. For the first moment, the idea glanced across her mind, that her senses must have deceived her, so statue-like was the form—so rigid was the gaze; but a few seconds served to assure her that a human being was in her presence. Her own look, as she lifted up her eyes, betokened surprise, though not alarm, and there was that sweet and tranquil expression, that purity, the consciousness of innocence, in her countenance, which the beautiful Italian—for she was the intruder—interpreted aright. Nina did not utter a word for some moments; but with the passionate impulse which had, unhappily, too often guided her, she advanced towards her supposed rival, and knelt down before her, bending her head to the ground. She soon looked up, and gazed in her countenance with an expression of earnest inquiry, as if she would read her thoughts.
“Lady,” she at length exclaimed, “I have wronged you—I feel—I know—you cannot be the base, the cruel being I have believed you. You would not seek to estrange the affections of a husband from one who lives for him alone. Say you do not love Argiri Caramitzo, the chief of this island—you do not wish to win his love.”
Astonishment prevented Ada from answering this extraordinary address, and she hesitated, while she considered in what terms she should speak, so that she might quickly tranquillise the agitated feelings of her visitor, and, at the same time, avoid wounding them.
Nina seemed to mistake her silence for an acknowledgment of guilt, for she sprang to her feet, and her dagger-blade flashed in her hand. In another moment, it would have been stained with blood, had not Ada exclaimed—