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

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СКАЧАТЬ she recollected what she was doing.

      The act was a purely mechanical one, which not the most rigid moralist could blame.

      And had the contents of the paper been of no interest, she might even have continued to read more in that same abstracted mood; but those four first lines were of a nature which sent a thrilling sensation of horror through her entire frame; the feeling terminating with an icy coldness of the heart.

      She shuddered without starting—shuddered as she stood; and not even a murmur escaped her lips.

      The intenseness of that sudden pang of horror deprived her alike of speech and motion during the instant that it lasted.

      And those lines, which produced so strange an impression upon the young maiden, ran thus:

      “merciless scalpel hacked and hewed away at the still almost palpitating flesh of the murdered man, in whose breast the dagger remained buried—a ferocious joy—a savage hyena-like triumph——”

      Flora read no more; she could not—even if she had wished.

      For a minute she remained rooted to the spot; then she threw herself into the chair, bewildered and dismayed at the terrible words which had met her eyes.

      She thought that the handwriting was not unknown to her; but she could not recollect whose it was. One fact was, however, certain—it was not the writing of her mistress.

      She was musing upon the horrible and mysterious contents of the paper, when Nisida rose from her couch.

      Acknowledging with a slight nod of the head the respectful salutation of her attendant, she hastily slipped on a loose wrapper, and seated herself in the arm-chair which Flora had just abandoned.

      The young girl then proceeded to comb out the long raven hair of her mistress.

      But this occupation was most rudely interrupted: for Nisida’s eyes suddenly fell upon the manuscript page on the table; and she started up in a paroxysm of mingled rage and alarm.

      Having assured herself by a second glance that it was indeed a portion of the writings which had produced so strange an effect upon her a few hours previously, she turned abruptly toward Flora; and, imperiously confronting the young maiden, pointed to the paper in a significant manner.

      Flora immediately indicated by a sign that she had found it on the floor, beneath the arm-chair.

      “And you have read it!” was the accusation which, with wonderful rapidity, Nisida conveyed by means of her fingers—fixing her piercing, penetrating eyes on Flora’s countenance at the same time.

      The young maiden scorned the idea of a falsehood; although she perceived that her reply would prove far from agreeable to her mistress, she unhesitatingly admitted, by the language of the hands. “I read the first four lines, and no more.”

      A crimson glow instantly suffused the face, neck, shoulders, and bosom of Nisida; but instantly compressing her lips—as was her wont when under the influence of her boiling passions, she turned her flashing eyes once more upon the paper, to ascertain which leaf of the manuscript it was.

      That rapid glance revealed to her the import, the dread, but profoundly mysterious import of the four first lines on that page; and, again darting her soul-searching looks upon the trembling Flora, she demanded, by the rapid play of her delicate taper fingers “Will you swear that you read no more?”

      “As I hope for salvation!” was Flora’s symbolic answer.

      The penetrating, imperious glance of Nisida dwelt long upon the maiden’s countenance; but no sinister expression—no suspicious change on that fair and candid face contradicted the assertion which she had made.

      “I believe you; but beware how you breathe to a living soul a word of what you did read!”

      Such was the injunction which Nisida now conveyed by her usual means of communication; and Flora signified implicit obedience.

      Nisida then secured the page of writing in her jewel casket; and the details of the toilet were resumed.

      CHAPTER IV.

       THE FUNERAL—THE INTERRUPTION OF THE CEREMONY.

       Table of Contents

      Eight days after the death of the Count of Riverola, the funeral took place.

      The obsequies were celebrated at night, with all the pomp observed amongst noble families on such occasions. The church in which the corpse was buried, was hung with black cloth; and even the innumerable wax tapers which burned upon the altar and around the coffin failed to diminish the lugubrious aspect of the scene.

      At the head of the bier stood the youthful heir of Riverola; his pale countenance of even feminine beauty contrasting strangely with the mourning garments which he wore, and his eyes bent upon the dark chasm that formed the family vault into which the remains of his sire were about to be lowered.

      Around the coffin stood Dr. Duras and other male friends of the deceased: for the females of the family were not permitted, by the custom of the age and the religion, to be present on occasions of this kind.

      It was eleven o’clock at night: and the weather without was stormy and tempestuous.

      The wind moaned through the long aisles, raising strange and ominous echoes, and making the vast folds of sable drapery wave slowly backward and forward, as if agitated by unseen hands. A few spectators, standing in the background, appeared like grim figures on a black tapestry; and the gleam of the wax tapers, oscillating on their countenances, made them seem death-like and ghastly.

      From time to time the shrill wail of the shriek-owl, and the flapping of its wings against the diamond-paned windows of the church, added to the awful gloom of the funeral scene.

      And now suddenly arose the chant of the priests—the parting hymn for the dead!

      Francisco wept, for though his father had never manifested toward him an affection of the slightest endearing nature, yet the disposition of the young count was excellent; and, when he gazed upon the coffin, he remembered not the coldness with which its inmate in his lifetime had treated him—he thought only of a parent whom he had lost, and whose remains were there!

      And truly, on the brink of the tomb no animosity should ever find a resting-place in the human heart. Though elsewhere men yield to the influence of their passions and their feelings, in pursuing each his separate interests—though, in the great world, we push and jostle each other, as if the earth were not large enough to allow us to follow our separate ways—yet, when we meet around the grave, to consign a fellow creature to his last resting-place, let peace and holy forgiveness occupy our souls. There let the clash of interests and the war of jealousies be forgotten; and let us endeavor to persuade ourselves that, as all the conflicting pursuits of life must terminate at this point at last, so should our feelings converge to the one focus of amenity and Christian love. And, after all, how many who have considered themselves to be antagonists must, during a moment of solemn reflection, become convinced that, when toiling in the great workshop of the world, they have been engaged, in unconscious fraternity, in building up the same fabric!

      The СКАЧАТЬ