THE Devil's Head.

Pelorus Guardian and Miners' Advocate., Volume 26, Issue 63, 3 August 1915, Page 7

THE Devil's Head.

COPYRIGHT

By J. FITZGERALD MOLLOY, Author of “An Excellent Knave, ,r "‘A Justified Sinner,” etc.

PART 13. CHAPTER XXIX,

KknoNi Receives a Visit,

In the great brown Availed palace overlooking the Tiber,'the count and his daughter sat at their noonday meal. The time was early in May, and already the air Avas sultry. Beyond the cool enclosure of the vast apartment in which 'hoy Avere, they could see the sunlight tilling the Avorld Avith joy, and catch glimpses of the sky, deep blue and unfvetted hv a cloud.

‘lt grows too warm for comfort in

home,’ the count said, as ho poured some Avnter into a glass half full of wine; ■ hut in a few days move yon avi’ll he at the lakes and 1 in Perugia.’ ‘My dear child, you should he as

happy as a summer day,’ her father

remarked, with an effort at gaiety. ‘ Few daughters of our house have.

married under such favourable circumstances, For Xeroni is richer than any of

his ancestors have been for centuries; whilsfhis influence at the Quiriual is as great as theirs has been at the Vatican,’ 1 What is the use of it all?’ she asked, with ill-concealed melancholy. ‘ Presently you will come, to appreciate a position- that the highest in our land might covet.’ ‘ When perhaps I shall envy the poorest peasant woman her happiness,’ remarked Cristina. He remained untouched by her words, by the hopelessness of her tone. 1 Your happiness will come in time,’ he said, hopefully. Por answer, she shook her head in doubt.

‘ Since the royal wedding, no bride

lias had such presents as yours.' The thins "■ yahy has given is magnificent, whilst the cardinal’s superb gift ’ He paused as the door opened and a servant entered with a butch of letters that had just been delivered. The greater number were for Cristina. ‘ More congratulations,’the count remarked, as be unfolded his glasses to look at his own. 1 1 suppose so,’ she replied, indifferently. Then catching sight of a familiar handwriting ou one of the envelopes, she added : ‘ There is one from Lady Trentham, and it has a mourning border.’

She had not heard from the countess

for some time,- and a swift pang of suspause shot through her mind as she wondered what friend or relative Lady Trentham had lost. Quickly tearing its cover, she ran her eyes over the letter until she came to the announcement of Ortana’s death, which she read with a

strange swelling of the heart, though for her as for the world at large the tragedy was stripped of half its terror. Looking up, her eyes, dim with tears, saw those of her father fixed upon her questioningly. 1 . * What has happened ? ’ he asked, philosophically prepared to hear bad news of his friends. ‘ tpdy Tregazkes is dead,’ replied Cristina, sorrowfully. ‘ Dead,’ he repeated in astonishment. ‘ How did it happen ? ’ ‘ lly what is called misadventure. She accidentally took an overdose of some mixture her doctor had given her. How horrible, how pitiful. Poor woman, poor woman.’ ‘ Yes, yes; but don’t distress yourself, dear child. She always struck me as being neurotic. Yes, it’s very sad,’ he remarked. Mentally lie congratulated himself on the fact that this mishap hud not occurred earlier; for shrewd and watchful, he had gauged not only his daughter’s affection for Hi gel, but had rightly attributed to his marriage the depression from which she had suffered. Ho therefore considered it fortunate the news of Rigel’s freedom had come too late to interfere with her prospects. Por that she still loved him her father could not but believe. Cristina continued to read her letter, finding interest in tbc details given of her friends. Eigel, who had been terribly upset by the shock, had shut up the castle and gone abroad for an indefinite time; Major Claypole was making arrangements to leave the place and settle in Jersey; the writer would not remain in Loudon during the season, but thought of settling in some quiet town in Switzerland, where she hoped to recover from the nervous prostration caused by this painful fatality. When she ended the letter Cristina

was deeply stirred by pity for the life so

abruptly closed, and full of sympathy for Iligel. She felt .a repugnance to read the other letters, which doubtless all referred to her marriage. It seemed ill-omened that news so sorrowful should come to her at such a time.

Her mind was willing to harbour melancholy impressions rather than to receive the congratulations of her friends; and she felt a marked satisfaction, quite foreign to her nature, in dwelling on the uncertainty of life. ‘My dear,’ her father said, interrupting her thoughts, ‘if you don’t hurry you will not he ready when Xeroni calls; he may he here at any moment. Finish your breakfast.’ ‘ I am not going out to-day,’ she answered. ‘ You forget he is to present yea >,u his uncle, the cardinal, at three o’clock,’ said the count, in a tone of reproof. ‘ I have not forgotten ; hut I don’t feel well enough for the visit.’ ‘My dear child, it may be of great importance. His eminence ’ ‘I cannot go,’ she interrupted. I My

dear father, make what excuses you please for me, hut I cannot meet Luigi to-day. This news has upset me.’ ‘ Consider, Cristina, how displeased he will be.’

She shrugged her shoulders and rose fiM.ii (he 1, hie. As she did a loud ring was heard at the outer door, and she had s" mv,Gy left the room when Xeroni enicred. a triumphant look on his handsome face, a smile lighting his dark eves. A glance showed him Cristina Avas absent.

* She has finished breakfast already?’ he -aid, qiiestioningly. 1 she has eaten none, poor child; she it unwell.’

The prince cast a suspicious glance at the bread crumbs, the traces of fruit, half-empty wine glass where she had feat.

<1 am sorry,’ he said, lighting a cigarette. ‘ She is preparing I suppose for the visit? ’

1 She has gone to lie down—it is possibly the heat.’ ‘ iiut there is not much time to lose,’ Xeroni remarked.

1 She hopes you Avill excuse her, hut her head is so "had she cannot venture out to-day,’ the count replied, apologetically.

‘ She forgets the cardinal has made the appointment lor o o clocks lemaiked the prince, a flash of anger replacing the smile in his eyes.

1 She much regrets being unable to keen it.’

Xeroni flung aAvay his cigarette, and muttered a curse.

‘ Ah it is always the same,’ he said, passionately. ‘ One day she is fatigued, another she is unwell, a third she in tears. ' Nothing Ido pleases her. She shrinks from me,’

■ < Xo, no,’ her father protested. ‘You know she does,’the prince continued, wrathfully. ‘.Every day she hates me more and more. I can see it in her eyes.’ ‘ I assure you that you mistake,’ the count replied, blandly. ‘ You are not speaking to a boy. I know women too well to make mistakes,’ Xeroni said, walking up and down. ‘ What would please her best is that I should break off this marriage.’

The eouut grew pale, and held up his bauds in protest. ‘You need not fear. I will not do that,’ the prince said, a smile more terrible than his anger once more returning to his eyes. ‘ I will marry her, hut believe me, when she is my wife, she shall have her lesson. You have spoiled your daughter, by allowing her a will of her own. That sheshall have to surrender to me. She needs training, and she will he better when she feels the rein. .My hands are strong. It will be a pleasure to guide her.’

The count looked in astonishment at the cruelly sensuous, face before him, dark with auger, and distorted by an evil suavity. It was a . glimpse of INoroni he had not obtained before, and he began to doubt his own wisdoifi in forcing Cristina to this marriage. It was now, however, too late for indecision ou that point. Probably this was but a passing phase in the man’s nature, brought up from the depths by the storm that shook him.

In the silence that followed his last words Yeroni began to fear he had displayed himself recklessly. He had yet his part to play before the bride was irrevocably his.’ Therefore with a politeness that from its constraint seemed like mockery, he said, preparatory to leaving. ‘ Present my compliments to Cristina, and say I shall do - myself the pleasure of calling on her this time to-morrow.’

'Plie door by which Cristina left-the apartment had remained half open, so that Yeroni’s voice, unconsciously raised in his passion, had penetrated to her room, earn ing words that filled her with terror of her future husband.

She had accepted him at a moment when happiness seemed i-npossible to be attained, when indifference to her future possessed her. Moreover, her consent had been gained by her father on behalf of a man concerning whom she bad slight knowledge, and who at the time was absent, so that as a husband he had seemed a shadowy idea relegated to the future. His arrival soon after the irrevocable word was spoken brought home to her the reality of her bond, and made hew bitterly regret her decision.. This morning Lady Trentham’s letter brought back to Cristina a thousand memories which she was now free to welcome. So long as Hi gel was married she had resolutely turned from the fender thoughts of him that would have crowded her mind, and that now thronged it with startling vividness. She welcomed them as release from misery. The first moment of their meeting was lived over again; she recalled certain tones of his voice and expressions of his face; above all she. remembered that hour on the terrace with the purple of the night around and the light of stars above them. And once again came that questioning, haunting idea so often turned from, so impossible to repress. Had he loved her, or had her hopes deceived her ? Reason told her they had; but in woman’s heart a voice sometimes is heard defying reason and whispering truth, and that voice assured her he had loved her. Had he been free she never svould have consented to marry another; now that he was, she was hound, and her bondage was abhorrent.

From such thoughts she was roused to hear Xeroni’s voice, rising louder and louder until his brutal threats smute Her like blows. Chou with a shrinking heart she iully realised her fate, and with all the strength of her nature cried out, ‘Oh, Cod, save me—save me from this man !’

The prince drove to the cardinal’s palace and explained to his uncle that a slight attack of malaria had prevented Cristina from accompanying him. He would, however, present his future wife to his eminence the first day she was sufficiently well to appear abroad. On leaving- the cardinal, Ncroni drove to his club, where he spent a couple of hours, and then returned to his own palace that he might dress for the dinner to be given that evening by the Hue di Xorvi to some bachelor friends.

As he entered the vestibule the prince was met hv a gomn of the chambers,

Avhn said a lady had called to sec his master, and staling that her business avus important, had requested permission to await his return. The servant hud yielded to her urgent entreaty and had shown her into the Apollo room. On being asked her name she had declared it Avas unkuoAvu to the prince. Xo mention avus made of the couple of gold pieces Avhich had bought her admission, The prince avus not displeased by an occurrence so surrounded by mystery. It Avas possible this visit; might lead to adventure, for Avhich he was always prepared. Passing through the hall with an eager step he sought the apartment named from the antique statue it contained, and opening the door found himself in the presence.of a Avoman Avhose loose black cloak' concealed her figure, Avhose face Avas, covered by a thick veil. Closing the door ho advanced, bowed graciously, and declared herself as being unaware of having merited the honour done him by his unknown visitor. At this she rose, and with shaking hands put aside her A r eil,

‘ Marchesn,’ he said quickly, as he started hack in surprise, a look of anger succeeding his urbane expression of a second before.

‘ Luigi,’ she called out, her hands extended imploringly. ‘ Why have you come here ?’ he asked shortly, looking round, as if considering the advisability of a retreat. ‘To see you. It may Jpe for the last time,’ she answered. ‘l.heard you were ill,’he remarked eonciliatingly. ‘ Ah, so I have been. Everyone thought I should die. As for me, I had no desire to live,’ she replied, sighjug profoundly, A glance showed him she had changed since their last meeting ; her figure had grown thinner, her great black eyes seemed sunken, hut above all there was a restraint in her manner, as if she held in subjection the fiery temper before which he had so often quailed. ‘ I am sorry,’ he said, his voice failing to bring conviction of his grief. . . ‘ You did not come to inquire for mo, to see me,’ she said reproachfully. ‘ I heard you were in Florence.’ ‘ Once you would not have thought the distance too great to part us.’ ‘ That was long. ago. Besides, at present, I must be careful,’ he remarked. Her smile disconcertedhim. ' 1 Are you becoming conventional ? ’ she asked. ‘ You have heard I am to marry in a Gourde of weeks ?’

‘ Yes, yes,’ she answered quickly, her eyes beginning to flash ; tell me, do you love this girl ?’

‘ I have been in love with her for years,’ he answered brutally. The marchesa drew a sharp breath like one who had been stabbed.

‘ And does she love you ?’ she asked, eagerly.

‘ She is very fond of me,’ he replied. The silence that 7 followed seemed dismal. After this he imagined there was. uothiug more to be said. ‘ I have seen her,’ the marchesa stated. ‘ She is a mere child. She is cold; she cannot love you with such passion as I have. She would not make the sacrifices I have made for you.’ ‘ Why refer to the past ?’ he asked, irritably.

‘ What you had in the past you may have in the present, and in the future. My love for you remains unchanged?’ she said gently.

She advanced towards him with outstretched, arms, hut ho retreated before her, a look of disdain ou his handsome face.

‘ When I firsf met you I was younger than'she is now. f had jmt been sold to a husband old enough to he my grandfather, and I had never known what luve was until I saw you. It was you who taught me, who woke my heart,’ the marchesa said. 1 If I hadn’t someone else would,’ he remarked, cynically.

A flush came into her face and her eyes flashed. ‘You wrong me there; you wrong me,’ She exclaimed. Then striving to calm herself, she continued: ‘ I was the faithful wife of a husband who ador.ed me. I went away from you, but you followed; I begged of you to leave me, but you refused. I loved you as no other man has been loved before, as I have never loved another. The straggle between my affection and my conscience almost killed me; yet I would not accept you for my lover until you swore you would marry me whenever I was free, and that so long as I lived you would many no other woman. You swore it on this cross, which has never since left my breast. See,’ she said, taking out a large gold cross attached to a chain.

‘ I was a fool,’ he replied, with a laugh. She gave a cry of pain, as if he had dealt her a blow. When she recovered, she said, ‘ I considered myself yours, I sacrificed every thing for your sake—the affection of parents who were dear to mo and who disowned me, the esteem of friends, position, reputation; hut I did not care so long as your love was left to me ; it compensated for all else. I gloried in being humiliated for your sake. Then my -devotion satiated you and you Hung me aside.’ Xeroni took out his watch and looked at it wearily. ‘ When my husband died I asked you to keep your oath and restore to me the position I had lost for your sake. You fled from me, and the agony I suffered brought me a fever of; the brain that almost killed me.’

‘ What have you come here for ? ’ he asked, abruptly, seeing- her Increasing excitement.

‘ To ask you to marry me,’ she replied, resolutely.

‘ You must be mad! ’ ‘ Why ? I love you now as much as I did years ago. lam not old. I am not poor,’ she said, trembling from suppressed emotion,

‘ You know I am engaged to be married,’ he said, angrily. 1 Your lath to me was made before

your engagement to her —it was taken on the cross, you called Christ to wit-, ness your promise to marry mo. Keep it now; keep it; keep it,’ she almost shrieked, her wild eyes fixed on him imploringly. ‘ Xo; I will not,’ he replied doggedly. < Then 1 swear you shall marry no other woman,’ she cried out. He turned from her with a mocking laugh. As he did so she quickly drew a revolver from under her cloak and tired at him. The bullet pierced his back above the region of his heart, and he instantly fell. She rushed forward and flung herself on her knees beside him, looking down into his eyes, that were glowing with agony. She shrieked as a spasm contracted his face, and left it fixed for ever. Then, before the steps heard hurrying through the hall could enter, she turned - the pistol to her heart, and in the frenzy of that passionate excitement that had wrecked her life, she fired again and again. Those who rushed into the room heard a quivering moan —the last sound that eyer came from her lips.

CHAPTER XXX. A Meeting.

1 The tragedy that freed Cristina from a future she dreaded had given her a shock that for a time prostrated her. When able to move she was taken by her father to his palace on the hills above Perugia. All idea of continuing her profession was abandoned for the present. She shrank from facing audiences, from living in great cities. She felt unlit for the strain her inspirational plaving had always entailed, and longed for perfect quiet. Her wish to retire was not opposed by her father, who had become seriously alarmed at her illness, and who now, when his plans had failed, began to realise they were likely to have brought her unhappiness, and that his ambition for her and for himself might have cost more than he was willing to pay. Here in this ancient palace, frowning grimly down on the gray-walled mediaeval town with its massive ram-' parts, its Gothic cathedral, its timeworn gates, overlooking the sun-steeped valleys and facing the mountains, she found the healing peace she needed, the 1 health she lacked. As she became accustomed to the quiet of this oldworld place, whose slumbrous silence is broken but by the ringing of church hells and the cries of the goatherd, she found it difficult to believe that the scenes she had moved in during the past few years were not mere dreams. To , think that she, whose days were un- ' broken by one event, had stirred vast crowds to enthusiasm, had been honoured at courts, sought after, written about, landed, seemed passing strange. The hooks in which her father had collected criticisms of her performances and notices of her social successes / alone remained to prove the reality of the past.

She remembered it as one might a play that had interested. The incident that alone seemed real had no connection with her triumphs, hut was concerned with her grief. It had impressed itselLon her heart never'to be forgotten. The memory of the man / she loved was 1 continually with her, and in the silence of her lonely days the sight of his (ace and the sound of his voice occasionally flashed on her with strange and startling vividness. At such times she wondered if he were thinking of her, and with all her strength she sent her mind forward to him, calling him back to her entreatingly. The only link now binding her to the past was her correspondence with Lady Trentham, whose letters made continual mention of people Cristina had known, and gave information regarding Rigel and’his movements. From these she learned that soon after the death of his wife ho had left England and gone for a yachting J cruise in the Mediterranean, that he had spent the following winter in Egypt and Palestine, and the' succeeding summer in the island of Capri. The letter containing this last item of information had .been written from England in June, and Cristina had answered it in due time, but for many weeks received no reply. September had now arrived, and she began to feel anxious lest Lady Trentham’s silence was caused by her illness, • and was about to write again when a letter readied her from the countess, hearing the postmark of Fiesole, where she had taken a villa for the autumn.

She had not been well, she was very lonely, and she greatly desu'ed to see Cristina again.

‘ The distance between us is comparatively short,’ she wrote, ‘ and you, who are young, can travel with less fatigue than an old woman like me. So I hope, dear child, you will, as soon as convenient, come and pass a couple of weeks with me. I am quite alone and shall be delighted to see for myself the improvement you assure me has taken place in your health.’ As Cristina finished the letter, she remarkedjt was the first of Lady i’rentham’s in which no mention was made of Hi gel. Though this disappointed Cristina it did not prevent her from desiring to accept the invitation, and she looked forward to her visit with a strange quivering of heart. Her father was glad that she should, have this change and meet her kind old friend once more.

Now Lady Trentham had seen that her nephew ou first meeting Cristina had fallen in love with her, and believed that his affection had been returned. His engagement to Oriaua

had therefore come upon her with a surprise that had something mysterious in its suddenness. Why he had married her neither she nor anyone else was ever destined to learn ; hut the countess had come to believe he had been rejected by Cristina, acting in obedience to her father, and in pique had immediately proposed to Oriana, a conjecture lligel had no desire to disturb. Concluding that Cristina had been forced to refuse him that she might accept Neroni, and that the death of the latter had removed all objection to her marrying lligel, Lady Trentham now conceived the idea of bringing them together once more. From the manner in which they spoke of each

other in their letters to her, this woman of the world could not doubt that their love was mutual. She regarded him as a son, whilst Cristina was dear to her as a, daughter, and the greatest desire of her life waste secure their happiness. Therefore when towards the end of August Kigel announced his intention of returning home through Italy, Lady Trentham believed the time had arrived for the realisation of plans she had already made. Hurrying to Florence, she had taken a villa in Fiosole, where she had no sooner settled than she invited Cristina to visit her, and on the girl accepting, the countess had telegraphed to Kigel, then at Sorrento, asking him to stay with her on his homeward way. On the first day of her arrival it had been mentioned to Cristina that whilst on his way to England lligel would probably visit his aunt, and the sudden light that shone in the girl’s eyes assured Lady Trentham the news was welcome.

Three days later, they sat at their noontide meal in a frescoed room whose green blinds were drawn to exclude a glaring sun, whose air was laden with the scent of orange trees. Cristina thought that the sweet calm face of her hostess in its frame of silver curls and rich lace had never seemed so beautiful, brightened as it was with an inward light of contentment. Her manner, however, had lost some of its usual placidity, and at times she appeared absent, pausing in the middle of a sentence as if interrupted by expected sounds.

Suddenly, she laid down her knife and fork as her quick ears caught sounds of voices in the hall, and then rose as the door opened and Rigel entered. Cristina looked up and saw before her the face seldom absent from her memory. She was unable to speak. Her hand was held firmly in his, her eyes were fixed on him, whilst her heart beat so loud that its throbbing almost deafened her. In a moment he was seated at the table helping himself. His naturally olive-tinted skin had darkened under eastern suns, the blue black of his hair was heavily mixed with gray, but his light eyes, large and luminous, had lost nothing of their fascination, and his smile was as beautiful as before.

Ho hoped his aunt had received the telegram sent her yesterday. He had reached Florence late the previous night, and lest he might disturb her, had stayed at an hotel and overslept himself.

Cn’stina would have slipped from the room when the meal ended, had nol her hostess said ;

‘ When I am in Italy I always follow the ways of the country and take a siesta after lunch. But whilst I am having my twenty winks, Cristina will show you the grounds, which are really beautiful. And remember, dear,’ she continued, archly, ‘ that you point out the view of Florence. It is perfect,’

He fetched his hut and her crimson parasol from the hall, and they went out through an open window, on to the plateau, and down to a terrace sheltered by rows of lemon trees. Tleru they remained, a glorious valley, steeped in sun, stretching before them, a chain of mountains around them, and beyond, seen in a haze, the fair city of Florence, with her crowded roofs, red, gray, and yellow, the great dome of Our Lady of the Flowers rising grandly in their midst. They looked forward without seeing, then turned their eyes upon each other and saw what thev desired.

Some two hours later when they entered the villa, they found Lady Trentham reading an English nev ~ paper. She laid it down quickly on hearing their footsteps, looked anxiously at them, and then smiled. ‘ Have you remembered to point out the view, dear ?’ she asked. Cristina, who was trembling from happiness, went forward quickly, flung her arms around the dear old lady’s neck, kissed her, and then hurried from the room.

Rigel also bent down and kissed his aunt affectionatelv.

‘ We are engaged,’ he said simply.

‘ That has long been the desire of my heart,’ the countess replied. ‘ May God give you both every happiness.’ ‘ Amen,’ he answered to her prayer. [the end.]