CHAPTER VII.
GRIEF AT GEROME'S ABSENCE--TURCHI'S HYPOCRISY.
Mary Van De Werve was in her own apartment, kneeling before a silvercrucifix; she seemed bowed down by a weight of woe. Her head rested uponher clasped hands. She had been weeping bitterly; for there were traces oftears upon the _prie-Dieu_.
Had a stranger surprised the young girl in this attitude, he might havethought that sleep had overpowered her during prayer; but the gaspingbreath and heaving chest sufficiently attested that she had not sunk insleep, but that she was plunged in an expressible sorrow.
Behind her was seated an old woman, her duenna, with a rosary in her hand.She gazed upon the young girl with deep compassion; from time to time sheshook her head, and wiped away the tears which dimmed her eyes wheneverMary's sighs became heavier.
For some time the silence was unbroken; Mary even appeared somewhatcalmer, when suddenly, influenced by some peculiarly painful thought, sheextended her arms to heaven and cried out;
"My God and my Saviour! through thy precious blood spare his life! Havemercy on him! reject not the prayer of my broken heart!"
Again her head fell on her hands, as if this burning petition hadexhausted her strength. The duenna approached her, took her arm,endeavored to lift her, and said, authoritatively:
"My lady, you must rise and cease your prayer. God may be displeased withyou for thus deliberately endangering your health. Come, obey me."
Mary arose without reply, and took the seat offered her by the duenna. Shewas very pale, and her eyes were swollen from weeping.
The duenna looked upon her with an eye of pity; she took her hand, andsaid, gently:
"Mary, my child, you cannot continue this; such an excess of sorrow wouldshorten your days. And what pain to the poor Geronimo on his return, tofind you condemned to a short and suffering life! Through love for him, Ibeg you to control yourself."
"On his return?" repeated Mary, raising her tearful eyes to heaven.
"Why not?" replied the duenna. "Why despair before being certain of theevil you dread? More extraordinary things have happened."
"Already five days--five centuries of suspense and fear! Ah! Petronilla,what a frightful night I passed! I saw Geronimo extended on the ground,the pallor of death on his face, a large wound was in his breast, and hislifeless eyes were fixed on me as if with his last breath he had bade meadieu."
"These are illusions caused by grief, Mary."
"More than twenty times I saw him thus; in vain I strove to shut out thehorrible vision; day alone brought me relief."
The duenna took her hand, and said, tenderly:
"You are wrong, Mary, to cherish your grief in this manner. Your dreams atnight were but the reflection of your thoughts by day. I, too, sawGeronimo in sleep more than once."
"You, too, Petronilla, you saw Geronimo?" exclaimed the young girl, withemotion, as though she feared the confirmation of her own terrific dream.
"Why not, Mary; do I think of him less than you?"
"You saw him dying, did you not?"
"On the contrary, I saw him return joyfully and cast himself into the armsof his uncle and embrace your father. And you, my child, I saw youkneeling on this same _prie-Dieu_, thanking God that your dreams werefalse and deceiving."
Mary smiled as she listened to the duenna's consoling words, but scarcelyhad Petronilla ceased speaking than she suspected the artifice.
"You deceive me through friendship and compassion," she said, sadly. "I amgrateful to you, my good Petronilla; but tell me to what cause you canattribute Geronimo's absence. Come, call upon your imagination; find apossible, probable explanation."
Disconcerted by this direct interrogation, the duenna shook her head.
"There is no plausible reason," said Mary.
The old Petronilla, in the greatest embarrassment, stammered out a fewwords as to an unexpected journey, secrets he might be unable to divulge;she even suggested that his friends might have prevailed upon him to joinin a party of pleasure; but all these were such vague suppositions thatMary plainly saw in them an acknowledgment that she could find noreasonable explanation of Geronimo's absence.
Mary's tears flowed faster.
"Oh, Petronilla!" she exclaimed, in heart-rending tones; "the light of mylife is forever extinguished. Geronimo, so young, so good, so noble, sogifted, the unfortunate victim of a mysterious murderer! Frightfulthought! and no room for hope! Mercy, my God, mercy! My heart is breaking;never more will I see him in this world."
And uttering a cry of anguish, she covered her face with her hands.
"I acknowledge, Mary," said the duenna, dejectedly, "that Geronimo'sabsence is inexplicable; but why look on the worst side and accept it astruth? You know that during the last four days every possible effort hasbeen made to discover Geronimo. Mr. Van Schoonhoven, the bailiff, haspledged his honor to find him dead, or alive."
Mary wept in silence, and heeded not the words of the duenna.
"Perhaps, my child," the old woman resumed, "this very day the doubt whichhas caused you so much suffering for five days may be cleared up. Do notclose your heart against all hope. I remember that once an individual wassought for weeks, and found alive when there seemed almost a certainty ofhis death. The bailiff was speaking of it this morning to your father, andI recollect having heard my parents relate it. It happened to a banker,Liefmans, who was considered very wealthy."
The young girl regarded the duenna with an air of doubt.
"They found him after several weeks of absence? Had he gone on a journeywithout giving notice to any one?"
"No; he was discovered in the cellar of a house in the little by-street ofSureau. Robbers had laid in wait for him in the darkness of night, andcast him bound into a subterranean cave, in order to obtain a heavyransom. The agents of the bailiff discovered him and liberated himunharmed. If God has so decreed, why may not the same have happened to theSignor Geronimo? You are silent, Mary. You cannot deny that a similartrain of circumstances may have been the cause of his disappearance. Is itnot so? but you yield to despair, and even in the act of beggingconsolation from Almighty God, you reject obstinately every motive ofconsolation."
"Pity me, dear Petronilla," answered the young girl; "your kind words area solace to me, but I dare not open my heart to the whisperings of hope.If I accepted your explanations, and afterwards heard of Geronimo's death,it would be double suffering to me. No, no, rather let me encourage thefeeling that there is no room for hope."
"It is impossible to make any impression upon her," said the duenna, in adisappointed manner, and as if she were resolved to cease her efforts andto abandon the young girl to her grief.
The silence was broken by the sound of voices in the hall.
"I hear the voice of the Signor Deodati," said the duenna; "perhaps hebrings tidings."
Mary rose quickly to descend; but Petronilla wished to detain her, saying:
"My child, in pity to a sorrowing old man, restrain your grief. Controlyourself, Mary, for yesterday each word you uttered pierced the heart ofthe poor Deodati like a dagger. It would be cruel and guilty in you tocause his tears to flow anew; at his age such affliction wears down thestrength and shortens life."
"No, Petronilla, I will hide my feelings, and I will appear hopeful. I sawthat the old man was overpowered by anxiety and trouble. Trust me,Petronilla, and let me go; I must know from the Signor Deodati if he hasreceived any information."
The duenna accompanied the young girl to the door of the room where Mr.Van de Werve and Signor Deodati were conversing together, but she let herenter alone.
As soon as Mary's eye fell on the old man, and she read in his face thesorrow of his soul, she uttered a stifled cry of anguish. She cast herarms around his neck, and rested her head on his shoulder.
The Signor Deodati, deeply moved, seated her by his side, and said, withtender compassion:
"My poor Mary, we have no tidings yet of our Geronimo. Are we not unhappy?Why did not God recall me to himse
lf ere this? Did I leave Italy and comehither to drink the bitter dregs in my chalice of life? Could I weep likeyou, Mary, I might find some relief, but old age has dried up my tears.Alas! alas! where is my poor Geronimo, the child whom God gave me, toclose my eyes on the bed of death? I would give my fortune to save him,and the little that remains to me of life to know that he still lives."
Tears filled Mr. Van de Werve's eyes as he contemplated his daughter andthe desolate old man; but he controlled his emotion, and said:
"Mary, I requested you to stay in your own apartment, because you cannotmoderate the expression of your sorrow. You have disregarded my desire. Iwillingly pardon you, my child; but if you wish to remain longer withSignor Deodati, you must exercise some self-control; otherwise I shallsend for your duenna to take you away."
He then added, in a more gentle manner:
"Now, Mary, I beg, I supplicate you, comprehend the duty devolving uponyou. Be courageous, and do your best to console our unhappy friend."
With a heroic effort Mary raised her head, and although still weeping,said:
"You are right, father. We grieve as though there were no room for hope;but--but--"
So great was the violence she was doing herself that she could scarcelydraw her breath; but conquering this emotion, she resumed:
"Ah! signor, we cannot know. God is so good, and Geronimo has so pure aheart!"
"God is indeed good, my child; but his designs are impenetrable. If Icould only imagine some probable cause to explain my nephew's absence. Butnothing--nothing!"
"The bailiff gave us, this morning, a reason for supposing that Geronimomay yet return to us unharmed."
"You speak of the banker Liefmans, do you not, father?"
"Yes, my child. He disappeared suddenly. A fortnight had passed in uselessinquiry; his parents had the service for the dead offered for him, and hewas found alive and well in a cellar, where some robbers had imprisonedhim, in order by it to obtain a large sum of money."
"And the same may happen, to Geronimo!" said Mary, with a confidence shedid not feel, in order to aid her father in his kind intentions.
Signor Deodati shook his head incredulously.
Mary took his hand tenderly, and said, cheerfully:
"We must hope, signor. Perhaps the Lord in his mercy will grant that ourfears may not be realized. Would we not for the remainder of our livesoffer our grateful prayers to heaven?"
"Yes, yes; during our whole lives. And I would go in my old age to OurLady of Loretto to express my boundless gratitude to the Madonna. Butsuppose he has fallen under the assassin's sword?"
Mary shuddered at the thought, but she interrupted the old man.
"Signor, Geronimo possessed an amulet which had rested on the tomb of ourLord. He was convinced that it would preserve him from a violent death,and he always wore it around his neck."
"I know the circumstances under which the amulet was given him," repliedDeodati. "I myself had some faith in this talisman, because it was therecompense of a good action; but we have no proof that the woman who gaveit to Geronimo had any certain knowledge of its efficacy. However, Mary,we will still hope. Your sweet voice has mitigated my sorrow. May my poornephew be restored to me. The happiness I expected in my old age may yetbe a reality. You, Mary,--pure image of piety, goodness, and love,--youwill be my child! And when old Deodati will be called to leave this world,he will see you and Geronimo by his dying bed, like two angels, pointingout to his expiring goal the path to heaven. Oh! no, no; this would be toomuch happiness. My mind wanders. And yet, Mary, let us hope!"
The young girl was deeply moved by the picture of that happiness which shehad thought was lost to her forever. Her eyes were suffused with tears;her limbs trembled, and had not a stern look from her father reminded herof her duty, her oppressed heart would have found relief in sobs.
Mr. Van de Werve thought it better to change the conversation, and said toDeodati:
"Let us not forget, signor, that we are men, and that it becomes us tobear up courageously under a painful suspense, and in a manner to which ayoung girl might be unequal. Have you heard nothing since the morning?Have you not seen Signor Turchi?"
"I spoke to Signor Turchi about an hour before 'Change," said the oldgentleman, more calmly. "The good Turchi! he seemed even more dejectedthan we. Within the last five days, he has lost so much flesh that onewould scarcely recognize him. He does not give himself a moment's repose.From morning until night he is running about from place to place, seekingGeronimo as though he were a beloved brother."
"Truly," said Mary, "his is a generous heart. Poor Simon! I have sometimesbeen unjust to him; but it is in affliction that we learn who are our truefriends. For the rest of my life I will respect and esteem him."
"He will meet me here, presently," replied Deodati. "He may have someparticular communication to make to me, for he seemed to desire a privateconversation. The arrival of some merchants of his acquaintance preventedhim from speaking to me. I almost quarrelled with Signor Turchi."
"Quarrelled!" said Mr. Van de Werve, in astonishment.
"Yes; but it was to his praise, at least. He told me that it was hisintention to offer a large reward to the first person who would bringcertain tidings of Geronimo."
"How grateful I am for his generous friendship!" said Mary.
"Of course," continued the old man, "I would not permit it. Whilstthanking him for his kindness, I told him that I would offer the rewardmyself. I left Signor Turchi in company with the merchants, and went tothe town-hall for the purpose; but when I arrived there, I found a decreeof the burgomaster already issued, promising three hundred florins for anyinformation of Geronimo.[21] I spoke with the bailiff at noon. He told methat, notwithstanding the most active search, no trace had yet beendiscovered of Bufferio's wife, nor of his companions. All of them musthave left the country immediately after the ruffian's death. But thisafternoon the bailiff expects to hear the result of several importantresearches ordered by him this morning. If he receives any communicationof consequence he will come himself to impart it to us. I hear the clockstrike five. Signor Turchi will soon be here."
During this explanation Mary remained immovable--her eyes cast down. Shehad probably heard only confusedly what had just been said, for herthoughts were evidently far away.
It was only when the servant threw open the door and announced SignorTurchi that the young girl, aroused from her reverie, rose hastily andwent eagerly to meet him, as though she expected him to be the bearer ofimportant news.
Mr. Van de Werve and Deodati also met him at the door; Mary involuntarilytook both his hands in hers, and all three regarded him inquiringly.
"Alas! my friends, I know nothing," said Turchi, in a voice which seemedbut the echo of a bruised and broken heart. "All my efforts have provedunsuccessful. I have vowed before God to spare no expense or trouble inorder to discover what has become of my unfortunate friend; but so farimpenetrable darkness covers the terrible secret. What shall we do? Let ushope that the bailiff and his officers may be more fortunate than myself,who have only my anxiety and affection to guide me."
The words of Simon Turchi effaced the last lingering hope from Mary'sheart, and she seated herself, exhausted from previous emotion.
Turchi drew a chair beside her, regarded her with an expression ofprofound compassion, and said:
"My poor Mary, your affliction is intense! I know by my own sorrow howyour loving heart is suffering from this terrible suspense!"
The young girl lifted her eyes to his face, and she saw the tears runningdown his cheeks. Then she began to weep bitterly, and sobbing, she said:
"Thanks, thanks, Simon! I will beg Almighty God to recompense youraffection and generosity."
Simon's countenance at this moment presented a singular appearance, fromthe remarkable contrast between the pallor of his cheeks and the deepscarlet which marked the margin of the scar on his face. The hypocritecould shed tears at pleasure and assume an expression of extreme sorrow,but the scar
was not submissive to his will, and in spite of him itsdeepening red betrayed the wicked joy of his heart at the gentle andaffectionate words of the young girl.
These words encouraged him to hope that he might fully attain the prizefor which he strove. He had, it is true, taken from his murdered friendthe proof of the debt of ten thousand crowns; true he had, as he supposed,buried all evidence of his crime in the subterranean vault; but this didnot satisfy him. In order to feel that he had received the price of thefrightful assassination, in order to remain rich, powerful, and honored,he required the hand of the beautiful Mary Van de Werve. He well knew thata long time must elapse before the consummation of his hopes; still, fromthe very day that he had committed the murder, he commenced to lay hisschemes, weigh his words, and so direct his plans that sooner or later hewould certainly take Geronimo's place in Mary's heart. He felt secure ofthe consent of the young girl's father. It was on this account that hefeigned excessive sorrow, and gazed upon Mary with tearful eyes, as thoughthe sight of her grief pierced him to the heart.
He took Mary's hands in his, and said:
"Do not yield, to despair, Mary; all hope is not lost. Last night athought--a strange thought--occurred to my mind. And if I be correct,there are still well-founded reasons for expecting Geronimo's return."
"Speak, Simon," said Mary, anxiously. "Tell us this thought."
Signor Turchi cast down his eyes in feigned embarrassment.
"Impossible, Mary; it is a secret which I have no right to divulge."
"Alas! is even this consolation refused me?" she exclaimed, despairingly.
"This is unkind, Simon," said Mr. Van de Werve. "Why do you cheer us upand awaken our curiosity only to cast us down by your silence? Give nonames; but at least give us some idea of the reasons we have for hope."
Simon Turchi shrugged his shoulders.
"Ah, signor," said Deodati, reproachfully, "you are ungenerous. Thismorning before 'Change you were about to confide the secret to me, whenyou were interrupted by the approach of friends. Tell it to me now."
Simon glanced expressively at Mary, as if to convey the idea that herpresence prevented him from complying with the old man's request.
"Mary," said Mr. Van de Werve, "I beg you to go to your room. Thesevarying emotions are more than you can bear; if I learn anything ofinterest, I will, my child, communicate it to you at once."
The young girl rose without reply, but she glanced reproachfully at SimonTurchi.
"Do not blame me, Mary," he said; "I am deeply grieved to cause you pain;only rest assured that what I do is caused by affection for Geronimo andyourself."
Without noticing this excuse the young girl obeyed her father, and slowlyleft the room.
"Now," said Mr. Van de Werve, "what is the secret you wish to impart tous?"
"I am greatly embarrassed," replied Simon Turchi, shaking his headdoubtfully; "my intention was to speak only to Signor Deodati of theaffair; perhaps it would be indiscreet in me to reveal to you also, Mr.Van de Werve, a secret which, under different circumstances--"
"For the love of God, abandon these useless evasions!" said SignorDeodati, roused to a high pitch of excitement by his impatience. "Whyshould not Mr. Van de Werve know that which, in your opinion, would giveus a clue to my nephew?"
"Since I am forced to speak," said Turchi, with a sigh, "approach andlisten."
As soon as Deodati and Mr. Van de Werve had drawn their chairs nearer tohim, Simon said in an undertone, as if he feared his words might beoverheard:
"Have you not remarked, Mr. Van de Werve, that for some time past Geronimohas been disturbed and anxious; that even in the midst of cheerfulconversation he appeared absent-minded; in a word, that some great troubleseemed weighing upon him?"
"I have noticed it," said Mr. Van de Werve.
"And you, Signor Deodati?"
"I have also remarked it. But what do you infer from this?"
"About a month ago I interrogated Geronimo as to the cause of hismelancholy, and he informed me in confused, vague terms, that he had losta considerable sum at play_."
"At play!" exclaimed Mr. Van de Werve, overpowered by astonishment.
"Was Geronimo a gambler?" exclaimed Deodati, with ill-suppressedindignation.
"It is the custom at Antwerp to play for money, and often for considerablesums of money," continued Simon Turchi. "I never remarked that my friendGeronimo had a passion for play. However that may be, I could neverdiscover to whom he had lost the amount, nor would he tell me how much itwas. His melancholy and agitation were caused by the circumstance I havejust mentioned. He was tortured by the certainty that his uncle woulddiscover, upon examination, the loss of a large amount, which was notaccounted for on the books. I proposed to advance him the deficit, but heabsolutely refused, because he preferred to meet his uncle's just angerrather than deceive him."
This revelation was stunning to the old Deodati. Nothing could have morekeenly wounded the honorable, high-toned nobleman than the thought thatGeronimo had been so dishonest and ungrateful as to use the funds of theestablishment in gambling.
Trembling with emotion, he asked:
"You say the sum is considerable. What is the amount?"
"I have no idea, signor. Perhaps you might discover it by an examinationof the books."
There was a short silence. Mr. Van de Werve's eyes were fixed upon theground. Signor Deodati passed his hand across his brow, and was absorbedin painful thoughts.
Simon watched for a few moments, with an inquisitive eye, the effect ofthis revelation upon his two companions, trying to penetrate their verysouls. Then he said to Deodati:
"You look on the bad side of the affair, signor. If there were not abrighter, reverse side, I would have considered the confidence of myfriend sacred, and guarded his secret until death. Up to this time we allfeared, nay, considered it certain, that Geronimo had fallen under theassassin's steel. Now I begin to think that, in order to escape hisuncle's anger, he has left the city and country."
"Impossible!" exclaimed Mr. Van de Werve.
"Impossible?" repeated Turchi, "he would have gone ere this, had I notpersuaded him that he would obtain his uncle's pardon. Even on the day ofyour arrival, Signor Deodati, when Geronimo met me in the dock-yard on thebank of the Scheldt, he begged me to inquire for an English vessel whichwould leave on that or the next day, and secretly to engage his passage onboard. You may well know that I combated this foolish project, and I lefthim only when he promised me to abandon the idea."
"Could he so lightly sacrifice my daughter's love?" said Mr. Van de Werve."Were his expressions of affection for her only hypocrisy? No, no; nothingcan induce me to believe that."
"His love was real," replied Turchi, "and its very depth, perhaps, blindedhis judgment. He thought that the discovery of his losses at thegaming-table would inevitably deprive him of all hope of Mary's hand. Mypoor friend! he wished to fly from the fate which threatened him, that hemight not witness the affliction of his beloved uncle."
No one replied to Simon's remarks, and he said, with hypocriticalsurprise:
"How sad you both are! You should rather rejoice at my revelation. Is itnot a happiness to think that Geronimo, although guilty of a fault, isstill alive, and not to be forced to believe that he is forever lost toour affection by a frightful death?"
Old Deodati arose and said:
"My friends, I must leave you; my mind is troubled; I am ill. Besides, Iwish to discover by the books the truth or falsity of Signor Turchi'sstatement. Do not attempt to detain me, I beg you. Adieu! May God guardyou!"
Simon Turchi prepared to accompany the old man; but whilst they werespeaking together the bailiff, Messire John Van Schoonhoven, suddenlyentered, and without the formality of a salutation, he exclaimed:
"Gentlemen, I have news!"
Turchi trembled and turned pale; but as the unexpected announcement of thebailiff had startled the others, his emotion was not attributed to terror.
"For the love of God be calm, gentl
emen, and do not anticipate too much. Ido not know what has become of the unfortunate Geronimo, but I have justcause to hope that we will soon find him--at least we have a clue.' I havelearned, beyond doubt, that on the day of his disappearance, about fiveo'clock in the evening, he was seen beyond the Square of Meir. A monk fromthe Dominican Convent, who knows him well, saluted him and noticed thedirection he went. Acting upon this information, one of my mostintelligent subordinates has been tracing him. A banker saw him passthrough the quarter of the Jews. This is all I know at present, but thesefacts are sufficient to determine the direction of our researches, and mayperhaps lead to a fortunate issue. By early dawn to-morrow I will collectall the agents at my disposal; I will divide them into small bands, and Iwill order them to search every house, cellar, and garden in a certainpart of the city, and that in the most thorough manner, without leaving aspot unexamined.[22] I myself will superintend the work, and will visit inperson each hand of workmen to see that my commands are properlyexecuted."
Simon Turchi had covered his face with his hands, in order to conceal histerror.
Surprised by his emotion, the bailiff said:
"What have I said, Signor Turchi, to excite so much feeling?"
"Ah, you know not how much suffering you cause me," replied Simon. "Ithought I was about to learn from your lips that my friend was safe, andwhat do you promise me if your search proves successful? Only his deadbody!"
"It is true," said the bailiff. "It is no use to deceive you. My opinionis that he has been assassinated in some by-street near the hospitalgrounds, or in one of the dark alleys between the parishes of Saint Georgeand Saint Andrew. But I am determined to discover the truth. Dead oralive, I will find him, even if it be necessary to tear up the pavementsof all the cellars, and dig up all the gardens to the depth of ten feet.The whole city is in a state of excitement; the people complain of theauthorities of Antwerp as though we were accomplices in the crime. Thisaffair shall be brought to light, I pledge my honor and my name."
"I thank you for your zeal and solicitude," stammered Turchi. "May Goddirect your steps! How we will all bless you, if you restore Geronimoalive to us."[23]
"I have little hope, little hope, signor; but all things are possible,"said the bailiff, shaking his head.
Deodati took his hand, and said:
"Messire Van Schoonhoven, I am most grateful to you. Excuse me for theremaining longer in your honorable company; but I am indisposed, and Imust return home. May God protect you, signor."
"And are you going also, Signor Turchi?" asked the bailiff.
When Simon gave him to understand, by a glance of the eye, that he couldnot let the old man go alone, he took his hand affectionately, and said:
"I understand, signor; you are right. Adieu, until to-morrow."
Turchi offered his arm to Deodati, and supported his tottering steps. Theytook leave of Mr. Van de Werve, who accompanied them to the door, andadmiring Simon Turchi's kindness, he followed them with his eyes as longas they were in sight.