Wagner, the Wehr-Wolf. George W. M. Reynolds

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СКАЧАТЬ nun, on whom that sudden evidence of emotion was not lost. “You have suffered yourself to be deluded by the whisperings of that feeling whose tendency was to wean your soul from Heaven.”

      “And is it possible that a pure and virtuous love can be construed into a crime?” demanded the young maiden, her indignation overpowering her fears.

      “A love that is founded on, and fostered by ambition is a sin,” replied the nun. “Marriage is doubtless an institution ordained by Heaven; but it becomes a curse, and is repulsive to all pious feelings, when it unites those whose passion is made up of sensuality and selfishness.”

      “You dare not impute such base considerations to me!” exclaimed Flora, her cheeks again flushing, but with the glow of conscious innocence shamefully outraged by the most injurious suspicions.

      “Nay, daughter,” continued the nun, unmoved by the manner of the young maiden; “you are unable to judge rightly of your own heart. You possess a confidence in integrity of purpose, which is but a mental blindness on your part.”

      “Of what am I accused? and wherefore am I brought hither?” asked Flora, beginning to feel bewildered by the sophistry that characterized the nun’s discourse.

      “Those who are interested in your welfare,” replied the nun evasively, “have consigned you to the care of persons devoted to the service of Heaven, that your eyes may be opened to the vanity of the path which you have been pursuing, but from which you are so happily rescued.”

      “And where am I? is this the Convent of the Carmelites? why was I subjected to all the alarms—all the mental tortures through which I have just passed?” demanded the young maiden, wildly and rapidly.

      “Think not that we have acted toward you in a spirit of persecution,” said the nun. “The mysteries which have alarmed you will be explained at a future period, when your soul is prepared by penance, self-mortification, and prayer to receive the necessary revelation. In the meantime, ask no questions, forget the world, and resolve to embrace a life devoted to the service of Heaven.”

      “To embrace a conventual existence!” almost shrieked the wretched girl. “Oh! no, never!”

      “Not many days will elapse ere your mind will undergo a salutary change,” said the nun, composedly. “But if you will follow me—as you appear to be somewhat recovered—I will conduct you to your cell adjoining the Chamber of Penitence.”

      Flora, perceiving that any further attempt to reason with the recluse would be fruitlessly made, rose and followed her into a narrow, dark passage, at the end of which was a door standing half open.

      The nun extinguished her lamp, and led the way into a large apartment hung with black. At the further end there was an altar, surmounted by a crucifix of ebony, and lighted up with four wax candles, which only served to render the gloom of the entire scene more apparent.

      At the foot of the altar knelt five women, half naked, and holding scourges in their hands.

      “These are the penitents,” whispered the nun to Flora. “Pause for a moment and contemplate them.”

      A minute elapsed, during which the five penitents remained motionless as statues, with their heads bowed upon their bosoms, and their hands hanging down by their sides, as if those limbs were lifeless—save in respect to the hands that held the scourges. But, suddenly, one of them—a young and beautiful woman—exclaimed, in a tone of piercing anguish, “It is my fault! it is my fault! it is my fault!”—and the others took up the wail in voices equally characteristic of heartfelt woe.

      Then they lacerated their shoulders with the hard leathern thongs of their scourges; and a faintness came over Flora Francatelli when she observed the blood appear on the back of the young and beautiful penitent who had given the signal for this self-mortification.

      The nun, perceiving the effect thus produced upon the maiden, touched her upon the shoulder as a signal to follow whither she was about to lead; and, opening one of the several doors communicating with the Chamber of Penitence, she said in a low whisper—“This is your cell. May the Virgin bless you!”

      Flora entered the little room allotted to her, and the nun retired, simply closing, but not bolting the door behind her.

      A taper burnt before a crucifix suspended to the wall; and near it hung a scourge, from which last mentioned object Flora averted her eyes with horror.

      A bed, a simple toilet-table, a praying-desk, and a single chair, completed the furniture of the cell, which was of very narrow dimensions.

      Seating herself on the bed, Flora burst into an agony of tears.

      What would her aunt think when she received the news of her disappearance? for she could not suppose that any friendly feeling on the part of her persecutors would induce them to adopt a course which might relieve that much-loved relative’s mind concerning her. What would Francisco conjecture? Oh! these thoughts were maddening!

      Anxious to escape from them, if possible, the almost heartbroken girl proceeded to lay aside her garments and retire to rest.

      Physical and mental exhaustion cast her into a deep sleep; but the horrors of her condition pursued her even in her dreams; so that when she awoke she was not startled to find herself in that gloomy cell.

      Casting her eyes around, she observed two circumstances which showed her that some one had visited her room during the hours she slept; for a new taper was burning before the crucifix, and her own garments had been removed—the coarse garb of a penitent now occupying their place on the chair.

      “Oh! is it possible that I am doomed to bid farewell to the world forever?” exclaimed Flora, in a voice of despair, as she clasped her hands convulsively together.

      CHAPTER XX.

       FRANCISCO AND NISIDA—DR. DURAS AND THE LETTER.

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      The greatest confusion prevailed in the Riverola Palace, when, in the morning, the disappearance of Flora Francatelli was discovered.

      Nisida hastened, at an early hour, to her brother’s apartment, and intimated to him the fact that she was nowhere to be found.

      Francisco, who was already dressed, was overwhelmed with grief at this announcement, and, in the first excess of excitement, conveyed to her his intention of seeking the young maiden throughout the city.

      He was hastening to quit the room, when Nisida held him back, and intimated to him that his anxiety in this respect would create suspicions injurious alike to his reputation and that of Flora Francatelli—the more so, as she was but a menial in the household.

      Francisco paused and reflected for a few moments; then, having tenderly embraced his sister, he hastily addressed her by the symbolic language in which they were accustomed to converse:

      “Pardon me, beloved Nisida, for having kept a secret from thee—the only one that my heart has ever so selfishly cherished.”

      Nisida appeared to be profoundly astonished at this communication, and made an impatient sign for him to proceed.

      “You СКАЧАТЬ