CHAPTER XXV
The day had advanced to evening. Lord Montbarry and the bridal partyhad gone to the Opera. Agnes alone, pleading the excuse of fatigue,remained at the hotel. Having kept up appearances by accompanying hisfriends to the theatre, Henry Westwick slipped away after the firstact, and joined Agnes in the drawing-room.
'Have you thought of what I said to you earlier in the day?' he asked,taking a chair at her side. 'Do you agree with me that the onedreadful doubt which oppressed us both is at least set at rest?'
Agnes shook her head sadly. 'I wish I could agree with you, Henry--Iwish I could honestly say that my mind is at ease.'
The answer would have discouraged most men. Henry's patience (whereAgnes was concerned) was equal to any demands on it.
'If you will only look back at the events of the day,' he said, 'youmust surely admit that we have not been completely baffled. Rememberhow Dr. Bruno disposed of our doubts:--"After thirty years of medicalpractice, do you think I am likely to mistake the symptoms of death bybronchitis?" If ever there was an unanswerable question, there it is!Was the consul's testimony doubtful in any part of it? He called atthe palace to offer his services, after hearing of Lord Montbarry'sdeath; he arrived at the time when the coffin was in the house; hehimself saw the corpse placed in it, and the lid screwed down. Theevidence of the priest is equally beyond dispute. He remained in theroom with the coffin, reciting the prayers for the dead, until thefuneral left the palace. Bear all these statements in mind, Agnes; andhow can you deny that the question of Montbarry's death and burial is aquestion set at rest? We have really but one doubt left: we havestill to ask ourselves whether the remains which I discovered are theremains of the lost courier, or not. There is the case, as Iunderstand it. Have I stated it fairly?'
Agnes could not deny that he had stated it fairly.
"Then what prevents you from experiencing the same sense of relief thatI feel?' Henry asked.
'What I saw last night prevents me,' Agnes answered. 'When we spoke ofthis subject, after our inquiries were over, you reproached me withtaking what you called the superstitious view. I don't quite admitthat--but I do acknowledge that I should find the superstitious viewintelligible if I heard it expressed by some other person. Rememberingwhat your brother and I once were to each other in the bygone time, Ican understand the apparition making itself visible to me, to claim themercy of Christian burial, and the vengeance due to a crime. I caneven perceive some faint possibility of truth in the explanation whichyou described as the mesmeric theory--that what I saw might be theresult of magnetic influence communicated to me, as I lay between theremains of the murdered husband above me and the guilty wife sufferingthe tortures of remorse at my bedside. But what I do not understandis, that I should have passed through that dreadful ordeal; having noprevious knowledge of the murdered man in his lifetime, or only knowinghim (if you suppose that I saw the apparition of Ferrari) through theinterest which I took in his wife. I can't dispute your reasoning,Henry. But I feel in my heart of hearts that you are deceived.Nothing will shake my belief that we are still as far from havingdiscovered the dreadful truth as ever.'
Henry made no further attempt to dispute with her. She had impressedhim with a certain reluctant respect for her own opinion, in spite ofhimself.
'Have you thought of any better way of arriving at the truth?' heasked. 'Who is to help us? No doubt there is the Countess, who hasthe clue to the mystery in her own hands. But, in the present state ofher mind, is her testimony to be trusted--even if she were willing tospeak? Judging by my own experience, I should say decidedly not.'
'You don't mean that you have seen her again?' Agnes eagerlyinterposed.
'Yes. I disturbed her once more over her endless writing; and Iinsisted on her speaking out plainly.'
'Then you told her what you found when you opened the hiding-place?'
'Of course I did!' Henry replied. 'I said that I held her responsiblefor the discovery, though I had not mentioned her connection with it tothe authorities as yet. She went on with her writing as if I hadspoken in an unknown tongue! I was equally obstinate, on my side. Itold her plainly that the head had been placed under the care of thepolice, and that the manager and I had signed our declarations andgiven our evidence. She paid not the slightest heed to me. By way oftempting her to speak, I added that the whole investigation was to bekept a secret, and that she might depend on my discretion. For themoment I thought I had succeeded. She looked up from her writing witha passing flash of curiosity, and said, "What are they going to do withit?"--meaning, I suppose, the head. I answered that it was to beprivately buried, after photographs of it had first been taken. I evenwent the length of communicating the opinion of the surgeon consulted,that some chemical means of arresting decomposition had been used andhad only partially succeeded--and I asked her point-blank if thesurgeon was right? The trap was not a bad one--but it completelyfailed. She said in the coolest manner, "Now you are here, I shouldlike to consult you about my play; I am at a loss for some newincidents." Mind! there was nothing satirical in this. She was reallyeager to read her wonderful work to me--evidently supposing that I tooka special interest in such things, because my brother is the manager ofa theatre! I left her, making the first excuse that occurred to me.So far as I am concerned, I can do nothing with her. But it ispossible that your influence may succeed with her again, as it hassucceeded already. Will you make the attempt, to satisfy your ownmind? She is still upstairs; and I am quite ready to accompany you.'
Agnes shuddered at the bare suggestion of another interview with theCountess.
'I can't! I daren't!' she exclaimed. 'After what has happened in thathorrible room, she is more repellent to me than ever. Don't ask me todo it, Henry! Feel my hand--you have turned me as cold as death onlywith talking of it!'
She was not exaggerating the terror that possessed her. Henry hastenedto change the subject.
'Let us talk of something more interesting,' he said. 'I have aquestion to ask you about yourself. Am I right in believing that thesooner you get away from Venice the happier you will be?'
'Right?' she repeated excitedly. 'You are more than right! No wordscan say how I long to be away from this horrible place. But you knowhow I am situated--you heard what Lord Montbarry said at dinner-time?'
'Suppose he has altered his plans, since dinner-time?' Henry suggested.
Agnes looked surprised. 'I thought he had received letters fromEngland which obliged him to leave Venice to-morrow,' she said.
'Quite true,' Henry admitted. 'He had arranged to start for Englandto-morrow, and to leave you and Lady Montbarry and the children toenjoy your holiday in Venice, under my care. Circumstances haveoccurred, however, which have forced him to alter his plans. He musttake you all back with him to-morrow because I am not able to assumethe charge of you. I am obliged to give up my holiday in Italy, andreturn to England too.'
Agnes looked at him in some little perplexity: she was not quite surewhether she understood him or not.
'Are you really obliged to go back?' she asked.
Henry smiled as he answered her. 'Keep the secret,' he said, 'orMontbarry will never forgive me!'
She read the rest in his face. 'Oh!' she exclaimed, blushing brightly,'you have not given up your pleasant holiday in Italy on my account?'
'I shall go back with you to England, Agnes. That will be holidayenough for me.'
She took his hand in an irrepressible outburst of gratitude. 'How goodyou are to me!' she murmured tenderly. 'What should I have done in thetroubles that have come to me, without your sympathy? I can't tellyou, Henry, how I feel your kindness.'
She tried impulsively to lift his hand to her lips. He gently stoppedher. 'Agnes,' he said, 'are you beginning to understand how truly Ilove you?'
That simple question found its own way to her heart. She owned thewhole truth, without saying a word. She looked at him--and then lookedaway again.
He drew her nearer to him. 'My own darling!' he whispered--and ki
ssedher. Softly and tremulously, the sweet lips lingered, and touched hislips in return. Then her head drooped. She put her arms round hisneck, and hid her face on his bosom. They spoke no more.