Wagner, the Wehr-Wolf (page 8)

CHAPTER LVI.

It was night—and Fernand was pacing the sand with even greater agitation than he had manifested during the cruel scene of the evening. He was alone on the seashore; and Nisida slept in the hut. Terrible thoughts warred in the breast of Wagner. Nisida’s language had astonished and alarmed him: he was convinced that Satan himself had inspired her with those ideas, the utterance of which had nearly goaded him to madness. She had insisted on the belief that he was acquainted with the means  of enabling her to return to Italy; and yet Nisida was not a mere girl—a silly, whimsical being, who would assert the wildest physical impossibilities just as caprice might prompt her. No—she really entertained that belief—but without having any ostensible grounds to establish it.

“Such an impression could only have been made upon her mind by the fiend who seeks to entangle me in his meshes!” murmured Wagner to himself, as he paced the strand. “The demon has failed to tempt me as yet—thrice has he failed;—and now he musters all his force to assail me,—to assail me, too, in the most vulnerable points! But, O Heaven, give me strength to resist the dread influence thus brought to bear upon me! What course can I adopt? what plan pursue? If to-morrow must witness a renewal of that scene which occurred this evening, I shall succumb—I shall yield; in a moment of despair I shall exclaim, ‘Yes, Nisida—I will sacrifice everything to acquire the power to transport thee back to Italy;’—and I shall hurry to yon mountains, and seeking their wildest defile, shall evoke the enemy of mankind, and say, ‘Come, Satan, I give thee my soul in exchange for the illimitable power thou offerest.’ And thus will be the terrible result—the fearful catastrophe.”

Big drops of agony stood upon Fernand’s brow as he uttered these words. He saw that he was hovering on the verge of a fearful abyss—and he trembled lest he should fall, so intense was his love for Nisida. At one moment he thought of the soothing vision, full of hope and promise, which had occupied his slumber in the morning; at another he pondered on the tears, the prayers, and the threats of Nisida. The conflicting thoughts were, indeed, sufficient to urge him on to a state of utter despair:—his eternal salvation and the happiness of her whom he loved so tenderly were placed in such antagonistic position that they raised a fierce—a painful—an agonizing warfare in his breast. Now he would fall upon his knees and pray—and pray fervently for strength to continue in the right path: then he would again give way to all the maddening influences of his bitter reflections; and, while in this mood, had Satan suddenly stood before him, he would have succumbed—yes, he would have succumbed. But the fiend had no longer any power to offer direct temptation to the wretched Wagner. Oh! if he could die that moment, how gladly would he release himself from an existence fraught with so much misery; but death was not yet within the reach of him who bore the doom of a Wehr-Wolf! The morning dawned, and Fernand Wagner was still pacing the sand—dreading to meet Nisida again, and not daring to seek to avoid her. Were he to fly to the mountains or to the forests, she would search after him; and thus he would only be leading her into perils amidst yawning precipices, or where she might become the prey of the terrible anaconda. To remain were anguish—to fly were madness!

“Oh, wretch, miserable wretch that I am!” exclaimed Wagner, as he beheld the twilight—so short in the tropics—growing more powerful, and knew that Nisida would soon come forth from  the hut. In a few minutes the orb of day appeared above the Orient wave—and almost at the same time the lady made her appearance on the shore.

“Fernand, thou hast not sought repose throughout the night just past!” she said, advancing toward him, and endeavoring to read upon his countenance the thoughts which filled his brain.

“Nisida,” he replied, in a rapid and excited tone, “I have gone through so much during the last few hours that ’tis a marvel reason has maintained its seat. If thou lovest me, let us forget all those topics which have so strongly excited us both: and let us unite our prayers that Heaven will send thee means to quit this isle and return to thy native land.”

“Fernand,” said Nisida, in a tone of deep disappointment and reproach, “I was not prepared for this. Your words imply that you possess the power to aid my departure hence, but that you have resolved not to use it. Is that your decision?”

“I scorn to deceive thee, Nisida, by a direct falsehood in so serious a matter as this,” exclaimed Wagner. “Knowest thou, my beloved, at what price must be purchased the power which alone can enable me to effect thy return to Italy? canst thou divine the immeasurable sacrifice which I must make to gratify thy wishes?”

“Fernand,” answered Nisida, in a reproachful and yet resolute tone, “there is no price that I would not pay to obtain the means of pleasing thee!—there is no sacrifice that I should shrink from were your happiness at stake!”

“Nisida,” ejaculated Wagner, in a tone of fearful excitement, “you drive me to despair! Have mercy upon me, Nisida, have mercy upon me! My God! if you taunt me—if you reproach me—thus I will do all that you command; but force me not to believe, Nisida—my well beloved Nisida—that, in espousing thee in the sight of Heaven, I took to my bosom a fiend instead of a woman, a relentless demon in the most charming female shape that evil spirit ever wore. Oh! if you knew all, you would pity me as it is. So wretched on earth you would not compel me to renounce every hope of salvation; for, know, Nisida,” he added, his countenance wearing an expression of indescribable horror, “know that in demanding of me this last sacrifice, you ordain that I should sell my immortal soul to Satan!”

For a moment Nisida appeared shocked and appalled at the words which met her ears; but she rather recoiled from the manner of fearful excitement in which they were uttered, than from the intelligence which they conveyed.

“He who truly loves,” she said coldly, as she recovered her equanimity, “would make even that sacrifice! and now listen—Fernand,” she continued, her eyes flashing fire, and her naked bosom heaving convulsively as she spoke, while her splendid form was drawn up to its full height, and her whole aspect sublimely terrible and wondrously beautiful, even in that fit of agitated passion—“listen, Fernand!” she cried, in her musical, flute-like voice, which, however, assumed the imperious accent and tone of command: “thou art a coward, and unworthy such  an earnest—such a profound, such a devoted love as mine, if thou refusest to consummate a sacrifice which will make us both powerful and great as long as we live! Consider, my Fernand—the spirit with whom thou wouldst league thyself can endow us with an existence running over centuries to come, can invest us with eternal youth, can place countless treasures at our disposal, can elevate us to the proudest thrones of Christendom! Oh! wilt thou spurn advantages like those? wilt thou refuse to avail thyself of gifts that must render us so supremely happy? No, no: and we can return together to my native city, we can enter Florence in triumph, thou no longer fearing the terror of the law, I no longer compelled to simulate the doom of the deaf and dumb! Our enemies shall lick the dust at our feet, and we shall triumph wherever success may be desirable. Oh! I understand that beseeching, appealing look, Fernand: thou thinkest that I shall love thee less if this immense sacrifice be consummated, that I shall look upon thee with loathing. No, not so: and to convince thee that mine is a soul endowed with an iron will, that mine is an energy which can grapple even with remorse, I will reveal to thee a secret which thou hast perhaps never even suspected. Fernand!” she exclaimed, now becoming absolutely terrible with the excitement that animated her; “Fernand!” she repeated, “’twas I who murdered the girl Agnes, in the garden of thy mansion at Florence!”

“Thou, thou, Nisida?” almost shrieked Wagner wildly; “oh, no, no! Recall that dreadful avowal! And yet—oh! yes—I see it all—my former suspicions are confirmed. Wretched woman. What harm did the unfortunate Agnes do to thee?”

“I saw in her a rival, Fernand—or fancied that she was so,” answered Nisida; “I overheard your conversation with her that morning in the garden—I saw her embrace thee tenderly—mine ears drank in her words; oh, I remember them even now! She said, ‘Oh, what a night of uneasiness have I passed! But at length thou art restored to me; thou whom I have ever loved so fondly; although I abandoned thee for so long a time!’ Were not those her very words? And thou didst speak to her in a tone equally tender. Ah! I have ever suspected that she was thy mistress; although thou didst swear upon the cross, in thy dungeon, that she was not. But so great was my love for thee, that I smothered the dread suspicion——”

“Suspicion,” repeated Wagner, in the penetrating tone of heart-rending anguish,—an anguish so intense that his brain whirled, and he knew not what he said or did. “Oh, wretched woman, and thou didst slay Agnes on a mere suspicion?”

“I hated her—even before I entertained that suspicion,” exclaimed Nisida, impatiently; “for she was the mistress of my father! Thinkest thou that my quick ears had not gleaned the mysterious whisperings which frequently passed between my sire and his valet Antonio, relative to the lady who dwelt in seclusion at the abode of that menial’s mother? or thinkest thou that when I once obtained a clew to my father’s degrading passion, I scrupled to watch him, to follow him, to learn all his  proceedings? No; for it was the more easily to enact the spy upon my own father that originally simulated the doom of the deaf and dumb. A purse of gold induced Dame Margaretha, Antonio’s mother, to give me admission into her house; though she also believed that I was really deprived of the faculties of hearing and of speech. But often and often was I concealed in the chamber adjacent to that where my father passed hours with his mistress; and it was not without advantage that I so acted. For I discovered that amongst the presents which he had given her, were the jewels which had belonged to my sainted mother—that mother whose wrongs were so manifold, and whose sufferings were so great. Yes: and I possessed myself of those jewels, leaving the girl the other gifts which she had received from my sire.

“And now, since I am involved in relations of such import, I shall do well to inform thee, Fernand, that I had seen and loved thee before thou didst come as a visitor to our mansion in Florence. For it was my habit to proceed occasionally to the dwelling of the good Dr. Duras, the depositary of my grand secret of the feigned loss of faculties; and while wandering alone in his garden I once beheld thee! And the moment I beheld I loved thee. Often—often after that would I visit the kind physician’s grounds, whereof I possessed a pass-key; and my admiration of thee led me to pass the slight boundary which separated his garden from thine. Then I would approach the windows of thy dwelling and contemplate thee as thou wast seated in thy favorite apartment. On the night of my father’s funeral, although so very late when all the subsequent business connected with the reading of the will was concluded, my mind was so perturbed and restless that I could not sleep; and quitting the Riverola mansion by a private door, I sought the fresh air with the hope that it would calm me. Some vague and indescribable sentiment of curiosity, or else something that I heard on the return of the mourners, relative to the strange scene enacted in the church, I know not which, led me to the vicinity of your abode; and there, in your favorite room, I beheld you seated, listening attentively to some sweet words, doubtless, which Agnes was breathing into your ear. But she caught a glimpse of my countenance by the light of the lamps——”

“Enough! enough!” exclaimed Wagner; “thou hast indeed cleared up innumerable mysteries! But, oh! Nisida—would that thou hadst remained silent—that thou hadst not drawn aside the veil which my elevated opinion of thee had thrown over the suspicions that, I admit, from time to time——”

“And if I have told thee all this, Fernand,” interrupted Nisida, impatiently, “it is that thou may’st be convinced not only of the natural energy of my mind, but also of the deep love which I bear thee. And now, now that thou seest me in my true character, a murderess if thou wilt,” she added with an emphasis of bitter scorn, “now canst thou refuse that sacrifice——”

“Nisida! Nisida! enough crime has been perpetrated by both us, Heaven knows!” ejaculated Wagner, still writhing with  the anguish produced by the avowal which had so lately met his ears. “Oh! accursed be the day, blotted from the annals of Time be the hour, Nisida, when thy hand struck the fatal dagger into the heart of Agnes.”

“What! this to my face?” said Nisida, her countenance becoming crimson with indignation, and not her face only, but her swan-like neck, her shoulders, and her bosom. “Then she was thy mistress, Fernand! And thou didst love her, while I fancied, false one that thou art, thine affections to be wholly and solely mine.”

“Nisida,” exclaimed Fernand, cruelly bewildered, “you drive me to despair. I know not whether to loathe thee for this avowal which thou hast made, or to snatch thee to my arms, abandon all hope of salvation, and sacrifice myself entirely for one so transcendently beautiful as thou art. But thy suspicions relative to Agnes are ridiculous, monstrous, absurd. For, as surely as thou art there, Nisida—as the heaven is above us and the earth beneath us—as surely as that I love thee so well as to be unable to reproach thee more for the deed which thou hast confessed—so surely, Nisida, was Agnes my own granddaughter, and I—I, Fernand Wagner—young, strong, and healthy as thou beholdest me, am fourscore and fifteen years of age.”

Nisida started in affright, and then fixed a scrutinizing glance upon Fernand’s countenance; for she feared that his reason was abandoning him—that he was raving.

“Ah! Nisida, I see that you do not credit my words,” he exclaimed; “and yet I have told thee the solemn, sacred truth. But mine is a sad history and a dreadful fate; and if I thought that thou would’st soothe my wounded spirit, console, and not revile me, pity, and not loathe me, I would tell thee all.”

“Speak, Fernand, speak!” she cried; “and do me not so much wrong as to suppose that I could forget my love for thee—that love which made me the murderer of Agnes. Besides,” she added, enthusiastically, “I see that we are destined for each other; that the dark mysteries attached to both our lives engender the closest sympathies; that we shall flourish in power, and glory, and love, and happiness together.”

Wagner threw his arms around Nisida’s neck, and clasped her to his breast. He saw not in her the woman who had dealt death to his granddaughter; he beheld in her only a being of ravishing beauty and wondrous mind, so intoxicated was he with his passion, and so great was the magic influence which she wielded o’er his yielding spirit. Then, as her head reclined upon his breast, he whispered to her, in a few hurried, but awfully significant words, the nature of his doom, the dread conditions on which he had obtained resuscitated youth, an almost superhuman beauty, a glorious intellect, and power of converting the very clods of the earth into gold and precious stones at will.

“And now, dearest,” he added, in a plaintive and appealing tone, “and now thou may’st divine wherefore on the last day of every month I have crossed these mountains; thou may’st divine,  too, how my escape from the prison of Florence was accomplished; and, though no mortal power can abridge my days—though the sword of the executioner would fall harmless on my neck, and the deadly poison curdle not in my veins—still, man can bind me in chains, and my disgrace is known to all Florence.”

“But thou shalt return thither, Fernand,” exclaimed Nisida, raising her countenance and gazing upon him, not with horror and amazement, but in pride and triumph; “thou shalt return thither, Fernand, armed with a power that may crush all thine enemies, and blast with destructive lightning the wretches who would look slightingly on thee. Already thou art dearer, far dearer to me than ever thou wast before; for I love the marvelous—I glory in the supernatural—and thou art a being whom such women as myself can worship and adore. And thou repinest at thy destiny? thou shudderest at the idea of that monthly transformation which makes thy fate so grand, because it is so terrible? Oh, thou art wrong, thou art wrong, my Fernand. Consider all thou hast gained, how many, many years of glorious youth and magnificent beauty await thee! Think of the power with which thy boundless command of wealth may invest thee. Oh, thou art happy, enviable, blest. But I—I,” she added, the impassioned excitement of her tone suddenly sinking into subdued plaintiveness as her charming head once more fell upon his breast—“I am doomed to fade and wither like the other human flowers of the earth. Oh, that thought is now maddening. While thou remainest as thou art now, vested with that fine, manly beauty which won my heart when first I saw thee, and before I knew thee: I shall grow old, wrinkled, and thou wilt loathe me. I shall be like a corpse by the side of one endowed with vigorous life. Oh, Fernand; this may not be; and thou canst purchase the power to bestow unperishing youth, unchanging beauty upon me; the power, moreover, to transport us hence, and render us happy in inseparable companionship for long, long years to come.”

“Merciful heavens! Nisida,” exclaimed Fernand, profoundly touched by the urgent, earnest appeal of the lovely siren whose persuasive eloquence besought him to seal his own eternal damnation—“would’st thou have me yield up my soul to the enemy of mankind?”

“Do you hesitate? Can you even pause to reflect?” cried Nisida, with whose tongue the demon himself was as it were speaking. “Oh, Fernand, you love me not, you have never, never loved me.” And she burst into a flood of tears. Wagner was painfully moved by this spectacle, which constituted so powerful an argument to support the persuasive eloquence of her late appeal. His resolution gave way rapidly—the more agonizing became her sobs the weaker grew his self-command; and his lips were about to murmur the fatal assent to her prayer—about to announce his readiness to summon the enemy of mankind and conclude the awful compact—when suddenly there passed before his eyes the image of the guardian angel whom he had seen in his vision, dim and transparent as the  thinnest vapor, yet still perceptible and with an expression of countenance profoundly mournful. The apparition vanished in a moment; but its evanescent presence was fraught with salvation. Tearing himself wildly and abruptly from Nisida’s embrace, Wagner exclaimed in a tone indicative of the horror produced by the revulsion of feeling in his mind, “No—never—never!” and, fleet as the startled deer he ran—he flew toward the mountains. Frightened and amazed by his sudden cry and simultaneous flight, Nisida cast her eyes rapidly around to ascertain the cause of his alarm, thinking that some dreadful spectacle had stricken terror to his soul. But ah—what sees she? Why do her glances settle fixedly in one direction? What beholds she in the horizon? For a few moments she is motionless, speechless, she cannot believe her eyes. Then her countenance, which has already experienced the transition from an expression of grief and alarm to one of suspense and mingled hope and fear, becomes animated with the wildest joy; and forgetting the late exciting scene as completely as if it had never taken place, but with all her thoughts and feelings absorbed in the new—the one idea which now engrosses her—she turns her eyes rapidly round toward the mountains, exclaiming, “Fernand, dearest Fernand! a sail—a sail.”

But Wagner hears her not: she stamps her foot with impatient rage upon the sand; and in another moment the groves conceal her lover from view.

Yes; Wagner looked not round; heard not the voice of Nisida invoking him to return, but continued his rapid flight toward the mountains, as if hurrying in anguish and in horror from the meshes which had been spread to ensnare his mortal soul. And now Nisida became all selfishness; there was at length a hope, a sudden hope that she should be speedily enabled to quit the hated monotonous island, and her fine, large dark eyes were fixed intently upon the white sails which gradually grew more and more palpable in the azure horizon. She was not deceived; there was no doubt, no uncertainty, as to the nature of the object which now engrossed all her thoughts, and filled her heart with the wildest joy. It was indeed a ship, and its course was toward the island; for, as she gazed with fixed and longing eyes, it by degrees assumed a more defined shape; and that which had at first appeared to be but one small white piece of canvas, gradually developed the outlines of many sails, and showed the tapering spars, until at last the black hull appeared, completing the form of a large and noble vessel. Joy! joy—she should yet be saved from the island. And, ah—do the chances of that hoped-for safety multiply? Is it indeed another ship which has caught her eye in the far-off horizon? Yes; and not one only, but another, and another, and another, until she can count seven vessels, all emerging from the mighty distance, and spreading their snow-white canvas to the breeze which wafts them toward the isle.

Crowds of conflicting thoughts now rush to the mind of Nisida; and she seats herself upon the strand to deliberate as calmly as she may upon the course which she should adopt.  Alas, Fernand: thou wast not then uppermost in the imagination of thy Nisida, although she had not entirely forgotten thee. But the principal topic of her meditations, the grand question which demanded the most serious weighing and balancing in her mind, was whether she should again simulate the deafness and dumbness which she had now for many months been accustomed to affect. Grave and important interests and a deeply-rooted attachment to her brother on the one side urged the necessity of so doing; but on the other, a fearful disinclination to resume that awful duplicity—that dreadful self-sacrifice, an apprehension lest the enjoyment of the faculties of hearing and speech for so long a period should have unfitted her for the successful revival and efficient maintenance of the deceit; these were the arguments on the negative side. But Nisida’s was not a mind to shrink from any peril or revolt from any sacrifice which her interests or her aims might urge her to encounter; and it was with fire-flashing eyes and a neck proudly arching, that she raised her head in a determined manner, exclaiming aloud, “Yes, it must be so. But the period of this renewed self-martyrdom will not last long. So soon as thine interests shall have been duly cared for, Francisco, I will quit Florence forever, I will return to this island, and here will I pass the remainder of my days with thee, my beloved Fernand! And that I do love thee still, Fernand, although thou hast fled from my presence as if I were suddenly transformed into a loathsome monster, that I must ever continue to love thee, Fernand, and that I shall anxiously long to return to thine arms, are truths as firmly based as the foundations of the island. Thine, then, shall be the last name, thy name shall be the last word that I will suffer my lips to pronounce ere I once more place the seal upon them. Yes, I love thee, Fernand; oh! would to God that thou could’st hear me proclaim how much I love thee, my beauteous, my strangely-fated Fernand!”

It was almost in a despairing tone that Nisida gave utterance to these last words; for as the chance of escape from the island grew every moment less equivocal, by the nearer approach of the fleet, which was, however, still far from the shore, the intensity of her sensual passion for Wagner, that passion which she believed to be the purest and most firmly rooted love, revived; and her heart smote her for her readiness to abandon him to the solitude of that island. But as she was now acquainted with all the mysteries of his fate, as she knew that he could not die for many, many years to come, nor lose that glorious beauty which had proved alike her pleasure and her pride, her remorse and her alarms were to a considerable degree mitigated: for she thought within herself, although she now spoke aloud no more; “Death will not snatch him from me, disease will not impair his godlike features and elegant form, and he loves me too well not to receive me with open arms when I shall be enabled to return to him.” These were her thoughts: and starting upon her feet, she compressed her lips tightly, as if to remind herself that she had once more placed a seal there, a seal not to be broken for some time. An hour had now passed since Fernand Wagner  and Nisida separated on the seashore; and he did not come back. Meantime the fleet of ships had drawn nearer, and though she more than once entertained the idea of hastening after Wagner to implore him to accompany her whithersoever those vessels were bound, or at least to part with the embrace of tenderness, yet her fear lest the ships might sail past without touching at the island, predominated over her softer feelings. And now, having settled in her mind the course she was to adopt, she hastened to the stores which she had saved from the wreck of the corsair vessel, and which had been piled up on the strand the day after she was first thrown on that Mediterranean isle.

It will be remembered that amongst the articles thus saved were changes of apparel, which Stephano Verrina had procured for her use at Leghorn ere the corsair-bark set sail on that voyage from which it never returned, and during Nisida’s long sojourn on the island, she had frequently examined those garments, and had been careful to secure them from the effects of rain or damp, in the hope that the day would sooner or later come when she might assume them for the purpose of bidding adieu to that lovely but monotonous island. And now that day has come; and the moment so anxiously longed for appeared to be rapidly approaching. Nisida accordingly commenced her toilet, as if she had only just risen from her couch and was preparing to dress to go abroad amongst the busy haunts of human beings.

Her dark luxuriant hair, which so long had floated negligently upon her ivory shoulders, was now gathered up in broad massive bands at the sides, and artistically plaited and confined at the back of her well-shaped head. The tight bodice was next laced over the swelling bosom: hose and light boots imprisoned the limbs which had so often borne her glancing along in their nudity to the soft music of the stream in the vale or of the wavelets of the sea; broidery set off the fine form of Nisida in all the advantage of its glowing, full and voluptuous proportions. Then the large black veil was fastened to the plaits of her hair, whence its ample folds swept over that admirable symmetry of person, endowing her once more with the queen-like air which became so well her splendid, yet haughty style of beauty! Yes: no longer subdued by simplicity of attire—no longer tender and soft, was the loveliness of Nisida; but grand, imperious, and dazzling did she now seem again, as erst she seemed ere her foot trod that island-shore.

Appareled in handsome garments, and with the rich carnation glow of health and animation on her cheeks, and with her eyes flashing the fires of hope, but with the vermilion lips compressed, Nisida now stood on the strand where so oft she had wandered like a naiad, feeling no shame at her semi-nudity.

During the time occupied by her toilet, the fleet of seven ships had approached much nearer to the island, and now they were not more than three miles distant. The hulls, which at first had seemed quite black, shone, as they drew closer, with the gay colors in which they were painted, the gorgeous sunlight playing vividly on the gilding of the prows, the streaks of  red and white along the sides, and the splendid decorations of the poop lanterns. Noble and mighty ships they were—ships of size such as Nisida had never seen before, and in comparison with which all the merchant-vessels she had beheld at Leghorn were but mere boats. There was no need to raise a signal to invite them to approach—for that fleet was evidently steering toward the island. Whence did this fleet come? whither was it bound? to what nation did it belong? and would those on board treat her with attention and respect?

Such were the thoughts which flashed across her brain—and her heart beat with anxiety for the arrival of the moment which should solve those questions. Absorbed as she was in the contemplation of the noble ships—those mighty but graceful swans of the ocean—she did not forget to cast, from time to time, a rapid glance around, to see if Fernand were retracing his way toward her. Alas! no—he came not—and she must quit the isle without embracing him—without assuring him of her constant love—without renewing her oft-repeated promise to return. Ah! a thought struck her: she would leave a note for him in the hut! No sooner was the project determined on than she set about its execution; for there were writing materials amidst the stores saved from the corsair-wreck. A brief but tender letter was hastily penned, and then secured in a place where she knew he must find it should he revisit the rude tenement in which they had so often slept in each other’s arms. And that he would revisit it she both fondly hoped and firmly believed—revisit it so soon as the excitement and the terror, under the influence of which he had parted from her, should have subsided. Her mind was now much easier, and her beauty was wonderfully enhanced by the glow of animation which suffused itself over her countenance, giving additional light to her ever brilliant eyes, and rendering her noble aquiline face resplendent to gaze upon.

The ships came to anchor at a distance of about two miles from the shore: and though the banners of each were fluttering in the breeze, yet Nisida was not well skilled enough in discriminating the flags of different nations to be able immediately to satisfy herself to which country that fleet belonged. But as she stood with her eyes fixed on the foremost vessel, which was also the largest, she observed that there was a gilt crescent in the middle of the blood-red standard that floated over her central poop-lantern; and a chill struck to her heart—for the thought of African pirates flashed to her mind! This alarm was, however, as evanescent as it was poignant; for another moment’s reflection convinced her that none of the princes of Africa could send so proud a fleet to sea. Following up the chain of reasoning thus suggested, and calling to her aid all the accounts she had read of naval fights between the Christians and the Moslems, she at length remembered that the blood-red banner, with the gilt crescent in the middle, denoted the presence of the Kapitan-Pasha, or Lord High Admiral of the Ottoman Empire. Confidently believing that peace existed between Italy and Turkey, she had now no longer any fears as to the treatment  she was likely to experience at the hands of the Mohammedans; and it was with unfeigned joy that she beheld a boat, which had put off from the admiral’s ship, at length approaching the shore.

As the magnificently painted and gorgeously gilt barge, which twenty-four white-turbaned rowers urged along with almost horse-race speed, neared the strand, Nisida observed, beneath a velvet canopy in the stern, a personage, who by his splendid apparel, his commanding demeanor, and the respect paid to him by the slaves accompanying him, was evidently of exalted rank. She accordingly conceived that this must be the kapitan-pasha himself. But she was mistaken. Her delight at the approach of the barge, which she fondly hoped would prove the means of her deliverance from the island, was only equaled by the surprise of those on board at beholding a beautiful and elegantly dressed lady, unattended and alone, on the seashore, as if awaiting their arrival. And, during the few minutes which now elapsed ere the barge touched the strand, it was evident that the high functionary seated beneath the canopy surveyed Nisida with increasing wonder and admiration; while she, on her side, could not help noticing that he was remarkably handsome, very young, and possessing a countenance rather of an Italian than a Turkish cast of features.

Meantime a profound silence, broken only by the slight and uniform sounds produced by the oars, prevailed: and when the boat touched the strand, a long and wide plank, covered with velvet, was so placed as to enable the high functionary before alluded to to land conveniently. Attended by two slaves, who followed at a respectful distance, the Mussulman chief advanced toward Nisida, whom he saluted in a manner which strengthened her suspicion that he was not of Turkish origin, although habited in the richest Oriental costume she had ever seen, and evidently holding some very superior office among the Ottomans. She returned his salutation with a graceful bow and a sweet smile: and he immediately addressed her in the Italian tongue—her own dear and delightful language, saying, “Lady, art thou the queen of this land? or art thou, as appearances would almost lead one to conjecture, a solitary inhabitant here?”

For he saw that she was alone—beheld no traces of culture; and there was but one miserable dwelling, and that such as she might have built up with her own hands. Nisida shook her head mournfully, making signs that she was deaf and dumb. The Mussulman chief uttered an ejaculation of mingled surprise and grief, and surveyed the lady with additional interest and admiration. But in a few moments his countenance assumed a sudden expression of astonishment, as if a light had broken in upon him, suggesting something more than a mere suspicion—nay, indeed, a positive conviction; and having examined her features with the most earnest attention, he abruptly took his tablets from the folds of his garment, and wrote something on them. He then handed them to Nisida; and it was now her turn to experience the wildest surprise—for on the page opened to  her view were these words, traced in a beautiful style of calligraphy, and in the Italian language: “Is it possible that your ladyship can be the Donna Nisida of Riverola?”

Nisida’s eyes wandered in astonishment from the tablets to the countenance of him who had penciled that question; but his features were certainly not familiar to her—and yet she thought that there was something in the general expression of that handsome face not altogether unknown to her. As soon as she had partially recovered from the surprise and bewilderment produced by finding that she at least was known to the Ottoman functionary, she wrote beneath his question the following reply: “I am indeed Nisida of Riverola, who for seven long months have been the only inhabitant of this island, whereon I was shipwrecked, and I am now anxious to return to Italy—or at all events to the first Christian port at which your fleet may touch. Have mercy upon me, then; and take me hence! But who are you, signor, that I should prove no stranger to you?”

The Ottoman chief read these words, and hastened to reply in the following manner: “I have the honor to be the grand vizier of his imperial highness the glorious Sultan Solyman, and my name is Ibrahim. A few months ago I encountered your brother Francisco, Count of Riverola, who was then in command of a body of Tuscan auxiliaries, raised to assist in defending Rhodes against the invading arms of the mighty Solyman. Your brother became my prisoner, but I treated him worthily. He informed me with bitter tears of the strange and mysterious disappearance of his well-beloved sister, who had the misfortune to be deprived of the faculties of hearing and speech. Your brother was soon set free, after the fall of Rhodes, and he returned to his native city. But from all he told me of thee, lady, it was natural that I should ere now conjecture who thou must be.”

Ibrahim did not choose to add that he had remembered to have seen Nisida occasionally in their native city of Florence, and that he was indeed the brother of her late dependent, Flora Francatelli. But the explanation which he did give was quite sufficient to renew her deepest surprise, as she now learnt for the first time that during her absence her brother had been engaged in the perils of warfare. The grand vizier gently withdrew from Nisida’s hand the tablets on which her eyes were positively riveted; but it was only to trace a few lines to afford her additional explanations. When he returned the tablets to her again she read as follows: “By a strange coincidence the glorious fleet which has wafted me hither to deliver you from this lonely isle, and which is under the command of the kapitan-pasha in person, is bound for the western coast of Italy. Its mission is at present known only to myself and a faithful Greek dependent; but your ladyship shall receive worthy attention and be duly conveyed to Leghorn. The squadron has been driven from its course by a tempest which assailed us off the island of Candia; our pilot lost his reckonings, and when land was descried this morning, it was believed to be the coast of  Sicily. Hast thou, lady, any means of enlightening us as to the geographical position of this island?”

Nisida answered in the ensuing manner: “I have not the least notion of the geographical position of the island. An eternal summer appears to prevail in this clime, which would be a terrestrial paradise were not the forests infested by hideous serpents of an enormous size.”

Ibrahim Pasha, having read this reply, summoned from the barge the officer in command: and to him he communicated the intelligence which he had just received from Nisida. That officer’s countenance immediately underwent a dreadful change; and, falling on his knees at Ibrahim’s feet, he made some strong appeal, the nature of which Nisida could only divine by its emphatic delivery and the terrified manner of the individual. Ibrahim smiled contemptuously, and motioned the officer with an imperious gesture to rise and return to the barge. Then, again, having recourse to the tablets, he conveyed the following information to Nisida: “Lady, it appears that this is the Isle of Snakes, situated in the Gulf of Sictra, on the African coast. Horrible superstitions are attached to this clime: and I dare not remain longer on its shore, lest I should seriously offend the prejudices of those ignorant sailors. Come, then, lady, you shall receive treatment due to your rank, your beauty, and your misfortunes.”

In the meantime the officer had returned to the barge, where whispers speedily circulated in respect to the land on which that boat had touched; and the reader may imagine the extent of the loathing which the mere name of the isle was calculated to inspire in the breasts of the superstitious Mussulmans, when we observe that the existence of that island was well known to the Turks and also to the Africans, but was left uninhabited, and was never visited knowingly by any of their ships. Nisida saw that the grand vizier was in haste to depart, not through any ridiculous fears on his part, because he was too enlightened to believe in the fearful tales of mermaids, genii, ghouls, vampires, and other evil spirits by which the island was said to be haunted, but because his renegadism had been of so recent a date that he dared not, powerful and altered as he was, afford the least ground for suspecting that the light of Christianity triumphed in his soul over the dark barbarism of his assumed creed. Seeing, then, that Ibrahim Pasha was anxious to yield to the superstitious feelings of the sailors, Nisida intimated, with a graceful bend of the head, her readiness to accompany him. But, as she advanced toward the boat, she cast a rapid and searching glance behind her. Alas! Wagner appeared not.

A feeling of uneasiness, amounting almost to a pang of remorse, took possession of her, as she placed her foot upon the velvet-covered plank; and for an instant she hesitated to proceed.

Could she abandon Fernand to the solitude of that isle? Could she renounce the joys which his love had taught her to experience? And might she not be enabled to persuade him to make that sacrifice which would invest him with a power that she  herself would direct and wield according to her own pleasure and suitably to her own interests? But, oh! that hesitation lasted not more than a moment; for her feet were on the plank leading to the barge, and at a short distance floated the ship that would bear her away from the isle.

One longing, lingering look upon the shore of that island where she had enjoyed so much happiness, even if she had experienced so much anxiety; one longing, lingering look, and she hesitated no more. Ibrahim escorted her to a seat beneath the velvet canopy; the officer in command gave the signal, the barge was shoved off, the rowers plied their oars, and the island was already far behind, ere Nisida had the courage to glance toward it again!

CHAPTER LVII.

Let us now return to Fernand Wagner, whom we left flying from his Nisida, flying in horror and alarm from her whom he nevertheless loved so tenderly and devotedly. He fled as if from the brink of the yawning pit of hell, into which the malignant fiend who coveted his soul was about to plunge him. Nor once did he look back. Absorbed as his feelings were in the full conviction of the tremendous peril from which he had just escaped, he still found room for the reflection that were he to turn and catch but one glimpse of the beauteous, oh! too beauteous creature from whom he had torn himself away, he should be lost. His mind was bent upon the salvation of his immortal soul; and he knew that the enemy of mankind was assailing him with a power and with an energy which nothing save the assistance of Heaven could enable him to resist. He knew also that Heaven helps only those who are willing and anxious to help themselves; and of this doctrine he had received a striking and triumphant proof in the sudden and evanescent appearance of his guardian angel at the instant when, overpowered by the strong, the earnest, and the pathetic pleading of the siren Nisida, he was about to proclaim his readiness to effect the crowning sacrifice. And it was to avoid the chance of that direful yielding—to fly from a temptation which became irresistible when embellished with all the eloquence of a woman on whom he doted, that Wagner sped with lightning rapidity toward the mountains.

But the beauteous form of Nisida met not now his eyes; and deeply, profoundly, ardently as he still loved her, and felt that he must ever love her, yet, to speak soothly, he deplored not that she was no longer there. The vision of the previous night had so firmly established hope in his soul, that he had prepared and tutored himself, during his journey across the mountains, to sacrifice all his happiness on earth to insure the eternal felicity of heaven.

No. Nisida was not there. But as he drew closer to the shore, he beheld, to his ineffable joy, the dark spot gradually assume that defined shape which left no room to doubt the truth of his vision, even were he inclined to be skeptical. For there, indeed,  touching the strand, but still so far in the water that a slight exertion would send it completely afloat, was a large boat, curiously shaped, and painted in a variety of fantastic colors. It had a mast standing, but the sail was lowered and, on a closer inspection, the boat proved to be altogether unimpaired.

“Heaven delights to effect its wise intentions by natural means,” thought Wagner within himself. “But surely it could not have been through the agency of Nisida that this boat was left upon the shore? No,” he added aloud, after a still closer inspection; “the rope fastened to the prow has been snapped asunder! Doubtless the boat became detached from one of the ships which appeared off the island yesterday, and which,” he said in a low murmuring voice, and with an ill-subdued sigh, “have afforded Nisida the means of departure hence.”

He sat down, exhausted; and as he found leisure for recollection—as his thoughts composed themselves and settled down into something like collected calmness—he felt a sensation of indescribable joy at having triumphed over the appalling temptations which had beset him. And in his soul a voice seemed to be singing an anthem of delight and gratitude; and he soon experienced a serenity of mind such as he had not known for many hours past! When man, having yielded to temptation, succeeds in escaping the perils of the consequences, he beholds a strong motive for self-gratulation;—but how ineffably more sweet is it to be able to reflect that the temptation itself has been avoided in the first instance, and that the dangers of the results have never even been risked.

Thus thought Wagner:—but not for a moment did he attribute to any strength of mind on his own part, the escape which had just been effected from the snares set by the evil one. No; he acknowledged within himself, and with all due humility, that the hand of the Almighty had sustained him in his most trying moments of peril; and ere he thought of resuming his journey to that side of the island on which Nisida was not, he knelt in fervent prayer. Rising from his knees, his eyes accidentally swept the sea:—and he was riveted to the spot from which he was about to turn away—for the white sails of the Ottoman fleet met his astonished view. He remained gazing on those objects for some time, until he was convinced they were nearing the island. For a few moments a deep regret took possession of him:—he should lose his Nisida irrevocably! But his next impulse was to wrestle with this feeling—to combat this weakness. How could he have hoped ever to rejoin her without rendering himself again liable to the witchery of her siren tongue—the eloquence of her silver-toned voice—the persuasiveness of her graceful manners? No; it were better that she should depart; it were preferable that he should lose her and preserve his immortal soul. Thus reasoned he;—and that reasoning was effectual. He waited only long enough to assure himself that the fleet was positively approaching the island:—he then knew that she would depart;—and, without permitting himself to yield again to the weakness which had for a few moments threatened to send him back within the sphere of Nisida’s fatal influence, he tore himself  away from that point amongst the heights which commanded the view of the side of the island where she was. Hastening around the base of the volcano, he reached the defiles leading to that part of the isle where he had periodically fulfilled his dreadful destiny as a Wehr-Wolf. Carefully avoiding the outskirts of the forest and the knots of large trees, he proceeded toward the shore; and his heart was rent with feelings of deep anguish as he everywhere beheld the traces of destruction left behind him by his recent run in the horrible form of a savage monster. Then, too, when melancholy thoughts had once again entered his soul, the image of Nisida appeared to flit before him in the most tempting manner; and the more he endeavored to banish from his memory the recollection of her charms, the more vividly delineated did they become.

At length jealousy took possession of him;—and suddenly stopping short in his progress toward the shore, he exclaimed aloud, “What if she should be wooed and won by another? If she return to her native land, as assuredly she now will, she may meet some handsome and elegant cavalier who will succeed in winning her passions:—and I—I, who love her so well—shall be forgotten! Oh! this is madness! To think that another may possess her, clasp her in his arms, press his lips to hers, feel her fragrant breath fan his cheek, play with the rich tresses of her beauteous hair, oh! no, no, the bare thought is enough to goad me to despair! She must not depart thus, we have separated, if not in anger at least abruptly, too abruptly, considering how we have loved, and that we have wedded each other in the sight of Heaven! Heaven!” repeated Wagner, his tone changing from despair to a deep solemnity; “heaven! Oh! I rejoice that I gave utterance to the word;—for it reminds me that to regain my Nisida I must lose heaven!”

And, as if to fly from his own reflections, he rushed on toward the sea; and there he stopped to gaze, as oft before he had gazed, on the mighty expanse, seeming, in the liquid sunlight, as it stretched away from the yellow sand, a resplendent lake of molten silver bounded by a golden shore.

“How like to the human countenance art thou, oh mighty sea!” thought Wagner, as he stood with folded arms on the brink of the eternal waters. “Now thou hast smiles as soft and dimples as beautiful as ever appeared in the face of innocence and youth, while the joyous sunlight is on thee. But if the dark clouds gather in the heaven above thee, thou straightway assumed a mournful and a gloomy aspect, and thou growest threatening and somber. And in how many varied voices dost thou speak. Oh, treacherous and changeful sea! Now thou whisperest softly as if thy ripples conveyed faint murmurs of love;—but, if the gale arise, thou canst burst forth into notes of laughter as thy waters leap to the shore with bounding mirth;—and, if the wind grow higher, thou canst speak louder and more menacingly; till, when the storm comes on, thou lashest thyself into a fury,—thou boilest with rage, and thy wrathful voice vies with the rush of the tempest and the roar of the thunder! Deceitful sea—imaging the beauties,  thoughts, and passions of the earth! Within thy mighty depths, too, thou hast gems to deck the crowns of kings and the brows of loveliness; and yet thou cravest for more—more—and engulfest rich argosies with all their treasures—thou insatiate sea! And in thy dark caverns are the skeletons of the myriads of human beings whom thou hast swallowed up in thy fury; and whose bones are trophies which thou retainest in thy fathomless depths, as the heart of man enshrineth the relics of those hopes which have wasted away and perished!”

Thus thought Wagner, as he stood gazing upon the sea, then so calm and beautiful, but which he knew to be so treacherous. When wearied of the reflections which that scene inspired, and not daring to allow his mind to dwell upon the image of Nisida, he repaired to the nearest grove and refreshed himself with the cooling fruits which he plucked. Then he extended his rambles amongst the verdant plains, and strove strenuously to divert his thoughts as much as possible from the one grand and mournful idea—the departure of Nisida from the island! But vainly did he endeavor to fix his attention upon the enchanting characteristics of that clime;—the flowers appeared to him less brilliant in hue than they were wont to be—the fruits were less inviting—the verdure was of a less lively green—and the plumage of the birds seemed to have lost the bright gloss that rendered its colors so gorgeous in the sunlight. For, oh! the powers of his vision were almost completely absorbed in his mind; and that mind was a mirror wherein was now reflected with a painful vividness all the incidents of the last few hours.

But still he was sustained in his determination not to retrace his way to the spot where he had left Nisida; and when several hours had passed, and the sun was drawing near the western horizon, he exclaimed, in a moment of holy triumph, “She has doubtless by this time quitted the island, and I have been enabled to resist those anxious longings which prompted me to return and clasp her in my arms! O God! I thank thee that thou hast given me this strength!”

Wagner now felt so overcome with weariness after his wanderings and roamings of so many hours, especially as the two preceding nights had been sleepless for him—that he sat down upon a piece of low rock near the shore. A quiet, dreamy repose insensibly stole over him: in a few minutes his slumber was profound. And now he beheld a strange vision. Gradually the darkness which appeared to surround him grew less intense; and a gauzy vapor that rose in the midst, at first of the palest bluish tint possible, by degrees obtained more consistency, when its nature began to undergo a sudden change, assuming the semblance of a luminous mist. Wagner’s heart seemed to flutter and leap in his breast, as if with a presentiment of coming joy; for the luminous mist became a glorious halo, surrounding the beauteous and holy form of a protecting angel, clad in white and shining garments, and with snowy wings drooping slowly from her shoulders! And ineffably—supernally benign and reassuring was the look which the angel bent upon the sleeping Wagner, as she said in the softest, most melodious tones,  “The choir of the heavenly host has hymned thanks for thy salvation! After thou hadst resisted the temptations of the enemy of mankind when he spoke to thee with his own lips, an angel came to thee in a dream to give thee assurance that thou hadst already done much in atonement for the crime that endangered thy soul; but he warned thee then that much more remained to be done ere that atonement would be complete. And the rest is now accomplished; for thou hast resisted the temptations of the evil one when urged by the tongue and in the melodious voice of lovely woman! This was thy crowning triumph: and the day when thou shalt reap thy reward is near at hand; for the bonds which connect thee with the destiny of a Wehr-Wolf shall be broken, and thy name shall be inscribed in Heaven’s own Book of Life! And I will give thee a sign, that what thou seest and hearest now in thy slumber is no idle and delusive vision conjured up by a fevered brain. The sign shall be this: On awaking from thy sleep, retrace thy way to the spot where this morning thou didst separate from her whom thou lovest; and there shalt thou find a boat upon the sand. The boat will waft thee to Sicily; and there, in the town of Syracuse, thou must inquire for a man whose years have numbered one hundred and sixty-two; for that man it is who will teach thee how the spell which has made thee a Wehr-Wolf may be broken.”

Scarcely had the angel finished speaking, when a dark form rose suddenly near that heavenly being; and Wagner had no difficulty in recognizing the demon. But the enemy of mankind appeared not armed with terrors of countenance, nor with the withering scorn of infernal triumph; for a moment his features denoted ineffable rage—and then that expression yielded to one of the profoundest melancholy, as if he were saying within himself, “There is salvation for repentant man, but none for me!” A cloud now seemed to sweep before Wagner’s eyes; denser and more dense it grew—first absorbing in its increasing obscurity the form of the demon, and then enveloping the radiant being who still continued to smile sweetly and benignly upon the sleeping mortal until the glorious countenance and the shining garments were no longer visible, but all was black darkness around. And Fernand Wagner continued to sleep profoundly.

Many hours elapsed ere he woke; and his slumber was serene and soothing. At length when he opened his eyes and slowly raised his head from the hard pillow which a mass of rock had formed, he beheld the rich red streaks in the eastern horizon, heralding the advent of the sun; and as the various features of the island gradually developed themselves to his view, as if breaking slowly from a mist, he collected and rearranged in his mind all the details of the strange vision which he had seen. For a few minutes he was oppressed with a fear that his vision would indeed prove the delusive sport of his fevered brain; for there seemed to be in its component parts a wild admixture of the sublime and the fantastic. The solemn language of the angel appeared strangely diversified by the intimation that he would find a boat upon the shore, that this boat would convey him to a place where he was to inquire for a man whose age was  one hundred and sixty-two years, and that this man was the being destined to save him from the doom of a Wehr-Wolf.

Then, again, he thought that heaven worked out its designs by means often inscrutable to human comprehension: and he blamed himself for having doubted the truth of the vision. Feelings of joy therefore accompanied the reassurance of his soul; and, having poured forth his thanksgivings for the merciful intervention of Providence in his behalf, he tarried not even to break his fast with the fruits clustering at a short distance from him, but hastened to retrace his way across the mountains, no longer doubting to find the sign fulfilled and the boat upon the shore. And now these thoughts rose within him. Should he again behold Nisida? Was the fleet, which he had seen on the previous day, still off the island? Or had it departed, bearing Nisida away to another clime?

He expected not to behold either the fleet or his loved one; for he felt convinced that the angel would not send him back within the influence of her temptations. Nor was he mistaken, for having traversed the volcanic range of heights, he beheld naught to break the uniform and monotonous aspect of the sunlit sea. But, on drawing nearer to the shore, he saw a dark spot almost immediately in front of the little hut which Nisida and himself had constructed, and wherein they had passed so many, many happy hours.

He now advanced with a beating heart to the hut. The door was closed. Was it possible that Nisida might be within? Oh, how weak in purpose is the strongest minded of mortals. For an instant a pleasing hope filled Wagner’s breast; and then, again summoning all his resolutions to his aid, he opened the door, resolved, should she indeed be there, to remain proof against all the appeals she might make to induce him to sacrifice to their mundane prosperity his immortal soul. But the hut was empty. He lingered in it for a few moments; and the reminiscences of happy hours passed therein swept across his brain. Suddenly the note which Nisida had left for him met his eyes; and it would be representing him as something far more or else far less than human, were we to declare he did not experience a feeling of intense pleasure at beholding the memorial of her love. The tears flowed down his cheeks as he read the following lines:

“The hour approaches, dearest Fernand, when, in all probability, I shall quit the island. But think not that this hope is unaccompanied by severe pangs. Oh, thou knowest that I love thee, and I will return to thee, my own adored Fernand, so soon as my presence shall be no longer needed at Florence. Yes, I will come back to thee, and we will not part until death shall deprive thee of me—for I must perish first, and while thou still remainest in all the glory of regenerated youth. Alas, thou hast fled from me this morning in anger—perhaps in disgust. But thou wilt forgive me, Fernand, if, yielding to some strange influence which I could not control, I urged an appeal so well calculated to strike terror into thy soul. Oh, that I could embrace thee ere I leave this isle; but alas! thou comest not back—thou  hast fled to the mountains. It is, however, in the ardent hope of thy return to this spot, that I leave these few lines to assure thee of my undying affection, to pledge to thee my intention to hasten back to thine arms as soon as possible, and to implore thee not to nourish anger against thy devoted Nisida.”

Wagner placed the letter to his lips, exclaiming, “Oh, wherefore did an evil influence ever prove its power on thee, thou loving, loved, and beauteous being. Why was thy hand raised against the hapless Agnes? wherefore did fate make thee a murderess—and why, oh, why didst thou assail me with prayers, tears, reproaches, menaces, to induce me to consign my soul to Satan? Nisida, may Heaven manifest its merciful goodness unto thee, even as that same benign care has been extended to me.”

Fernand then placed the letter in his bosom, next to his heart, and dashing away the tears from his long lashes, began to turn his attention toward the preparation for his own departure from the island. As he approached the pile of stores, he beheld the light drapery which Nisida had lately worn, but which she had laid aside previous to leaving the island; and he also observed that the rich dress, which he had often seen her examine with care, was no longer there.

“How beautiful she must have appeared in the garb!” he murmured to himself. “But, alas! she returns to the great world to resume her former character of the deaf and dumb.”

Nisida and himself had often employed themselves in gathering quantities of those fruits which form an excellent aliment when dried in the sun; and there was a large supply of these comestibles now at his disposal. He accordingly transferred them to the boat; then he procured a quantity of fresh fruits; and lastly he filled with pure water a cask which had been saved by Nisida from the corsair-wreck. His preparations were speedily completed; and he was about to depart, when it struck him that he might never behold Nisida again, and that she might perform her promise of returning to the island sooner or later. He accordingly availed himself of the writing materials left amongst the stores, to pen a brief but affectionate note, couched in the following terms:

“Dearest Nisida,—I have found, read, and wept over thy letter. Thou hast my sincerest forgiveness, because I love thee more than man ever before loved woman. Heaven has sent me the means of escape from this island—and the doom at which my regenerated existence was purchased, will shortly lose its spell. But perhaps my life may be surrendered up at the same time; at all events, everything is dark and mysterious in respect to means by which that spell is to be broken. Should we never meet again, but shouldst thou return hither and find this note, receive it as a proof of the unchanging affection of thy

“Fernand.”

The letter was placed in the hut, in precisely the same spot where the one written by Nisida had been left; and Wagner then hastened to the boat, which he had no difficulty in pushing away  from the shore. Without being able to form any idea of the direction in which the island of Sicily lay, but trusting entirely to the aid of Heaven to guide him to the coast whither his destiny now required him to proceed, he hoisted the sail and abandoned the boat to the gentle breeze which swept the surface of the Mediterranean.

*****

The state-cabins—they might more properly be called spacious apartments—occupied by the Grand Vizier Ibrahim Pasha, on board the ship of the lord high admiral, were fitted up in a most sumptuous and luxurious manner. They consisted of two large saloons in a suit, and from each of which opened, on either side, a number of small cabins, tenanted by the officers immediately attached to the grand vizier’s person, and the page and slaves in attendance on him.

The first of the two large saloons was lighted by a handsome conical skylight on the deck: the innermost had the advantage of the stern windows. The drapery—the curtains, the carpets, the sofas, and the hangings were all of the richest materials; the sides and ceilings of the cabin were beautifully painted and elaborately gilded, and the wood-work of the windows was incrusted with thin slabs of variously-colored marbles, on which were engraved the ciphers of the different lord high admirals who had hoisted their flags at any time on board that ship. For the state-apartments which we are describing properly belonged to the kapitan-pasha himself; but they had been surrendered to the grand vizier, as a mark of respect to the superior rank of this minister, during his stay on board.

The little cabins communicating with the large saloons were in reality intended to accomodate the ladies of the kapitan-pasha’s harem; but Ibrahim did not turn them to a similar use, because it was contrary to Ottoman usage for the Princess Aischa, being the sultan’s sister, to accompany her husband on any expedition; and he had received so menacing a warning in the fate of Calanthe not to provoke the jealousy of Aischa or the vengeance of her mother, the Sultana Valida, that he had brought none of the ladies of his own harem with him. Indeed, since the violent death of Calanthe the harem had been maintained at Constantinople rather as an appendage of high rank than as a source of sensual enjoyment.

Nisida of Riverola was treated with the utmost deference and attention by the Grand Vizier, Ibrahim Pasha; and on reaching the lord high admiral’s ship, she was instantly conducted to the innermost saloon, which she was given to understand by signs would be exclusively appropriated to her own use. The slaves occupying the small cabins opening therefrom were removed to another part of the ship; and the key of the door connecting the two saloons was handed by the polite Ibrahim to the lady as a guaranty, or at least an apparent one, of the respect with which she should be treated and the security she might hope to enjoy.

The fleet weighed anchor and set sail again almost immediately after the return of the grand vizier to the admiral’s ship;  and as she was wafted away from the Island of Snakes, Nisida sat at the window of her splendid saloon gazing at the receding shores, and so strangely balancing between her anxiety to revisit Florence and her regrets at abandoning Fernand Wagner, that while smiles were on her lips, tears were in her eyes, and if her bosom palpitated with joy at one moment it would heave with profound sighs at the next.

In the afternoon four male slaves entered Nisida’s cabin, and spread upon the table a magnificent repast, accompanied with the most delicious wines of Cyprus and Greece—and while the lady partook slightly of the banquet, two other slaves appeared and danced in a pleasing style for several minutes. They retired, but shortly returned, carrying in their hands massive silver censers, in which burnt aloes, cinnamon and other odoriferous woods diffused a delicious perfume around. The four slaves who attended at table removed the dishes on splendid silver salvers, and then served sherbet and a variety of delicious fruits; and when the repast was terminated, they all withdrew, leaving Nisida once more alone. The Island of Snakes had been lost sight of for some hours, and the fresh breeze of evening was playing upon the cheeks of the Lady Nisida as she sat at the open casement of her splendid saloon, watching the ships that followed in the wake of that in which she was, when the sounds of voices in the adjacent cabin attracted her attention; and as the partition was but slight, and the persons discoursing spoke Italian, she could not help overhearing the conversation which there look place, even if she had possessed any punctilious feelings to have prevented her from becoming a willing listener.

“The Lady Nisida is a magnificent woman, Demetrius,” observed a voice which our heroine immediately recognized to be that of the grand vizier. “Such a splendid aquiline countenance I never before beheld! Such eyes, too, such a delicious mouth, and such brilliant teeth! What a pity ’tis that she has not the use of her tongue! The voice of such a glorious creature, speaking mine own dear Italian language, would be music itself. And how admirably is she formed—upon somewhat too large a scale, perhaps, to precisely suit my taste, and yet the contours of her shape are so well rounded—so perfectly proportioned in the most harmonious symmetry, that were she less of the Hebe she would be less charming.”

“Is your highness already enamored of Donna Nisida?” asked the person to whom the grand vizier had addressed the preceding observations.

“I must confess that I am, Demetrius,” replied Ibrahim; “I would give a year of my life to become her favored lover for one day. But considering that I hope to see my sister Flora become the wife of Donna Nisida’s brother Francisco, I must restrain this passion of mine within due bounds. But wherefore do you sigh thus heavily, Demetrius?”

“Alas! my lord, the mention you make of your sister reminded me that I once possessed a sister also,” returned the Greek in a plaintive tone. “But when I returned to Constantinople, I sought vainly for her, and Heaven knows what has become  of her, and whether I shall ever see her more. Poor Calanthe! some treachery has doubtless been practiced toward thee!”

“Don’t give way to despair, Demetrius,” said the grand vizier. “Who knows but Calanthe may have espoused some youth on whom her affections were set——”

“Ah! my lord!” interrupted the Greek, “it is considerate—it is kind on the part of your highness to suggest such a consolatory belief; but Calanthe would not keep an honorable bridal secret. Yet better were it that she should be dead—that she should have been basely murdered by some ruthless robber, than that she should live dishonored. However, I will not intrude my griefs upon your highness, although the friendship and the condescension which your highness manifests toward me, emboldens me to mention these sorrows in your presence.”

“Would that I could really console thee, Demetrius,” answered Ibrahim, with well-affected sincerity; “for thou hast shown thyself a sincere friend to my poor sister Flora. And now that we are alone together, Demetrius, for almost the first time since this hastily undertaken voyage began, let us recapitulate in detail all the occurrences which have led me to enter upon the present expedition the real nature of which you alone know, save my imperial master. And, moreover, let us continue to discourse in Italian; for thou canst speak that language more fluently than I can express myself in thy native Greek; besides, it rejoices my heart,” he added with a sigh, “to converse in a tongue so dear as that of the land which gave me birth. And, if Donna Nisida only knew that in the representative of the mighty Solyman she had beholden the brother of her late menial, Flora, how surprised would she be!”

“And it were not prudent that she should learn that fact, my lord!” observed Demetrius, “for more reasons than one; since from sundry hints which the Signora Francatelli, your lordship’s worthy aunt, dropped to me, it is easy to believe that the Donna Nisida was averse to the attachment which her brother Francisco had formed, and that her ladyship indeed was the means of consigning your highness’ sister to the convent of the Carmelites.”

“Albeit I shall not treat Count Francisco’s sister the less worthily, now that she is in my power,” said Ibrahim Pasha; “indeed, her matchless beauty would command my forbearance, were I inclined to be vindictive. Moreover, deaf and dumb as she is, she could not obtain the least insight into my plans; and therefore she is unable to thwart them.”

The reader may suppose that not one single word of all this conversation was lost upon Nisida, who had indeed learnt, with the most unbounded wonderment, that the high and mighty grand vizier of the Ottoman Empire—a man enjoying an almost sovereign rank, and who bore a title which placed him on a level with the greatest princes of Christendom, was the brother of the detested Flora Francatelli! During a short pause which ensued in the dialogue between Ibrahim Pasha and his Greek confidant, Nisida stole gently up to the door in the partitions between  the two saloons, so fearful was she of losing a single word of a discourse that so deeply interested and nearly concerned her.

“But, as I was saying ere now, Demetrius,” resumed the grand vizier, who, young as he was, had acquired all the methodical habits of a wise statesman, “let us examine in detail the whole posture of affairs in Florence, so that I may maturely consider the precise bearings of the case, and finally determine how to act. For, although I have at my disposal a fleet which might cope with even that of enterprising England or imperious France, though twenty thousand well-disciplined soldiers on board these ships are ready to draw the sword at my nod, and though, as the seraskier and sipehsalar of the armies of the sultan, I am responsible for my actions to his majesty alone, yet it is not a small thing, Demetrius, to march an invading force into the heart of Italy, and thereby risk a war with all Christendom. Therefore, let us pause to reflect upon every detail of all those incidents which occurred two months ago at Florence.”

“Good, my lord,” said Demetrius. “I will therefore begin with my arrival in that fair city, to which I repaired with all possible dispatch, as soon as I had received the instructions of your highness. It would appear that the Lord Count of Riverola reached Florence the same day as myself, he having been detained at the outset of his voyage home from Rhodes by contrary winds and a severe storm. It was somewhat late in the evening when I called at the cottage of the Signora Francatelli, your highness’ worthy aunt; for I previously passed a few hours in instituting by indirect means as many inquiries concerning her circumstances and welfare as could be prudently made. To my grief, however, I could not ascertain any tidings concerning your highness’ sister; and I therefore came to the mournful conclusion that her disappearance still remained unaccounted for. Pondering upon the sad tidings which, in this respect, I should have to forward to your highness, and having already devised a fitting tale whereby to introduce myself to your lordship’s aunt, I went to the cottage, which, as I heard in the course of a subsequent conversation, Don Francisco of Riverola had just quitted. Your highness’ aunt received me with as much cordiality as she could well show toward a stranger. Then, in accordance with my pre-arranged method of procedure, I stated I was sent by a son of a debtor to the estate of the late Signor Francatelli, to repay to any of his surviving relations a large sum of money which had been so long—so very long owing, and the loss of which at the time had mainly contributed to plunge Signor Francatelli into embarrassment. I added that the son of the debtor having grown rich, had deemed it an act of duty and honor to liquidate this liability on the part of his deceased father. My tale was believed; the case of jewels, which I had previously caused to be estimated by a goldsmith in Florence, was received as the means of settling the fictitious debt; and I was forthwith a welcome friend at the worthy lady’s table.”

“The stratagem was a good one, Demetrius,” observed the  grand vizier. “But proceed, and fear not that thou wilt weary me with lengthened details.”

“I stayed to partake of the evening repast,” continued the Greek; “and the Signora Francatelli grew confiding and communicative, as was nothing more than natural, inasmuch as I necessarily appeared in the light of the agent of a worthy and honorable man who had not forgotten the obligation to a family that had suffered by his father’s conduct. I assured the signora that the person by whom I was employed to liquidate that debt, would be rejoiced to hear of the success of the Francatellis, and I ventured to make inquiries concerning the orphan children of the late merchant.”

“Proceed, Demetrius,” said the grand vizier, “spare not a single detail.”

“Your highness shall be obeyed,” returned the Greek, though now speaking with considerable diffidence. “The worthy lady shook her head mournfully, observing that Alessandro, the son of the late merchant, was in Turkey, she believed; and then she rose hastily, and opening a door leading to a staircase, called her niece to descend, as ‘there was only a friend present.’ I was overjoyed to learn thus unexpectedly, that the Signora Flora had reappeared; and when she entered the room, could scarcely conceal my delight beneath that aspect of mere cold courtesy which it became a stranger to wear. The young lady appeared perfectly happy, and no wonder! For when she had retired, after staying a few minutes in the room, her good aunt, in the fullness of her confidence in me, not only related all the particulars of the Signora Flora’s immurement in the Carmelite Convent, but also explained to me her motives for so long concealing the young lady’s return home, as I have heretofore narrated to your highness. The worthy aunt then informed me that the Count of Riverola had only returned that day from the wars—that he had made honorable proposals to her on behalf of the Signora Flora—and that it was intended to sustain the mystery which veiled the young lady’s existence and safety in the cottage, until the marriage should have been privately effected, when it would be too late for the count’s friends to interfere or renew their persecutions against your lordship’s sister. Your highness’ aunt dropped hints intimating her suspicion that the Lady Nisida was the principal, if not indeed the sole means of those persecutions which had consigned the innocent young maiden to the Carmelite Convent. And the more I reflect on this point, in view of all I know of the affairs, and of Donna Nisida’s strange and resolute character, the more I am convinced that she really perpetrated that diabolical outrage.”

“Were it not for young Francisco’s sake, and that I should bring dishonor into a family with which my sister will, I hope, be soon connected with marriage ties,” exclaimed Ibrahim, “I would avenge myself and my sister’s wrongs by forcing the cruel Nisida to yield herself to my arms. But no, it must not be.”

And Nisida, who overheard every syllable, curled her lips, while her eyes flashed fire at the dark menace which the  renegade had dared to utter, qualified though it were by the avowal of the motive which would prevent him from putting it into execution.

“No, it must not be,” repeated Ibrahim. “And yet, she is so wondrously beautiful that I would risk a great deal to win her love. But proceed, Demetrius—we now come to that portion of the narrative which so nearly concerns my present proceedings.”

“Yes, my lord, and God give your highness success!” exclaimed the young Greek. “Having taken leave of your excellent aunt, who invited me to visit her again, as I had casually observed that business would detain me in Florence for some time, and having promised the strictest secrecy relative to all she had told me, I repaired to the inn at which I had put up, intending to devote the next day to writing the details of all those particulars which I have just related, and which I purposed to send by some special messenger to your highness. But it then struck me that I should only attract undue attention to myself by conducting at a public tavern a correspondence having so important an aspect, and I accordingly rose very early in the morning to sally forth to seek after a secluded but respectable lodging, I eventually obtained suitable apartments in the house of a widow named Dame Margaretha, and there I immediately took up my abode. Having written my letters to your highness, I was anxious to get them expedited to Constantinople, for I was well aware that your highness would be rejoiced to hear that your beloved sister was indeed in the land of the living, that she was in good health, and that a brilliant marriage was in store for her. I accordingly spoke to Dame Margaretha relative to the means of obtaining a trusty messenger who would undertake a journey to Constantinople. The old woman assured me that her son Antonio, who was a valet in the service of the Count of Arestino, would be able to procure me such a messenger as I desired, and in the course of the day that individual was fetched by his mother to speak to me on the subject. Having repeated my wishes to him, he asked me several questions which seemed to indicate a prying disposition, and a curiosity as impertinent as it was inconvenient. In fact, I did not like his manner at all; but conceiving that his conduct might arise from sheer ignorance, and from no sinister motive, I still felt inclined to avail myself of his assistance to procure a messenger. Finding that he could not sift me, he at length said that he had no doubt a friend of his, whom he named Venturo, would undertake my commission, and he promised to return with that individual in the evening. He then left me, and true to his promise, he came back shortly after dusk, accompanied by this same Venturo. The bargain was soon struck between us, and he promised to set off that very night for Rimini, whence vessels were constantly sailing for Constantinople. I gave him a handsome sum in advance, and also a sealed packet, addressed to your highness’ private secretary, but containing an inclosure, also well sealed, directed to your highness, for I did not choose to excite the curiosity of  these Italians by allowing them to discover that I was corresponding with the grand vizier of the Ottoman Empire, Venturo accordingly left me, promising to acquit himself faithfully of his mission.”

“Your plans were all wisely taken,” said the grand vizier, “and no human foresight could have anticipated other than successful results. Proceed, for although you have hastily sketched all these particulars to me before, yet I am anxious to consider them in more attentive detail.”

“Having thus disposed of that important business,” resumed the young Greek, “I went out to saunter through the streets of Florence, and while away an hour or two in viewing the splendid appearance of that charming city, when lighted up with the innumerable lamps of its palaces and casinos. At length I entered a dark and obscure street, which I knew must lead toward the river. I had not proceeded far down the street when I heard the sound of many steps rapidly approaching, as if of a patrol. I stepped aside under a deep archway, but as chance would have it, they stopped short within a few paces of the spot where I was shrouded in the utter obscurity of the arch. I should have immediately passed on my way, but was induced to stop by hearing a voice which I recognized to be that of Venturo, whom I believed to be already some miles away from Florence. I was perfectly astounded at this discovery, and if I had entertained any doubts as to the identity of that voice, they were speedily cleared up by the conversation between the men. ‘We had better separate here,’ said Venturo, ‘and break into at least two parties, as at the bottom of this street we shall come within the blaze of the lights of the casinos on the Arno’s bank.’ ‘Well spoken,’ returned a voice which, to my increasing wonder, I recognized to be that of Antonio, my landlady’s son; ‘you and I, Venturo, will keep together, and our friends can go on first. We will follow them in a few minutes, and then unite again at the angle of the grove nearest to Dame Francatelli’s cottage. What say you, Lomellino?’ ‘Just as you think fit, Antonio,’ returned a third person, whom I naturally concluded to be the individual addressed as Lomellino. ‘You, or rather your master, the Count of Arestino, pays for this business, and so I am bound to obey you.’ ‘Listen, then,’ resumed Antonio, ‘the young Count of Riverola, whom I have traced to the cottage this evening, will no doubt be coming away about the time we shall all meet down there; and therefore we shall have nothing to do but to carry him off to the cave.’ ‘Why is the Count of Arestino so hostile to young Riverola?’ demanded the man who had answered to the name of Lomellino. ‘He cares nothing about young Riverola, either one way or the other,’ replied Antonio, ‘but I have persuaded his lordship that if Francisco be left at large, he will only use his influence to mitigate the vengeance of the law against the Countess Giulia, who is the friend of Flora Francatelli: and so the Count of Arestino has consented to follow my advice and have Francisco locked up until the inquisition has dealt with the countess, her lover, the Marquis of Orsini, and the Francatellis, aunt and  niece.’ ‘Then you have a spite against this man,’ said Lomellino. ‘Truly have I,’ responded Antonio. ‘You remember that night when you, with Stephano Verrina and Piero, got into the Riverola Palace some months ago? Well, I don’t know who discovered the plot, but I was locked in my room, and next morning young Francisco dismissed me in a way that made me his mortal enemy: and I must have vengeance. For this purpose I have urged on the count to cause Flora Francatelli, whom Francisco loves and wishes to marry, to be included in the proceedings taken by the inquisition at his lordship’s instigation against the Countess Giulia and the Marquis d’Orsini; and the old aunt must necessarily be thrown in, into the bargain, for harboring sacrilegious persons.’ ‘And so young Francisco is to lose his mistress, Flora, and be kept a prisoner in the cavern till he has been condemned along with the others?’ said Lomellino. ‘Neither more nor less than what you imagine, and I only wish I had the Lady Nisida also in my power, for I have no doubt she instigated her brother to turn me off suddenly like a common thief, because from all you have since told me, Lomellino, I dare swear it was she who got an inkling of our intentions to plunder the Riverola Palace; though how she could have done so, being deaf and dumb, passes my understanding.’ ‘Well, well,’ growled Lomellino, ‘it is no use to waste time talking of the past: let us only think of the present. Come, my men, we will go on first, as already agreed.’ Three or four armed ruffians then put themselves in motion, passing close by the place where I was concealed, but fortunately without discovering my presence.”

“Oh! those miscreants would have assuredly murdered you, my faithful Demetrius,” said the grand vizier.

“Of that, my lord, there is little doubt,” returned the young Greek; “and I must confess that I shuddered more than once while listening to the discourse of the cold-blooded monsters. But Venturo and Antonio still remained behind for a few minutes, and the discourse which took place between them, gave me a still further insight into the characters of the gang. ‘Well, Venturo,’ said Antonio, after a short pause, ‘have you examined the packet which was intrusted to you?’ ‘I have, and the contents are written in Greek or Arabic, or some such outlandish tongue, for I could not read a word of them,’ answered Venturo; ‘and so I thought the best plan was to destroy them.’ ‘You acted wisely,’ observed Antonio; ‘by the saints! it was a good thought of mine to introduce you to my mother’s lodger as a trustworthy messenger! If he only knew that we had shared his gold, and were laughing at him for his credulity, he would not be over well pleased. His purse appears to be pretty well lined, and when we have got all our present business off our hands we will devote our attention to the lodger. The Arno is deep and a foreigner the less in the city will not be noticed.’ ‘Not at all,’ answered Venturo; ‘but let us now hasten to join our companions. At what time are the officers of the inquisition to visit the cottage?’ ‘They are no doubt already in the neighborhood,’ replied Antonio, ‘and will pounce upon their victims as  soon as young Francisco leaves the place. Another set of officers are after the Marquis of Orsini.’ The two miscreants then departed, continuing their conversation in a low tone as they went along the street, but I overheard no more.”

“The wretches!” exclaimed the grand vizier, in an excited voice. “But vengeance will light upon them yet!”

“Heaven grant that they may not go unpunished!” said Demetrius. “Your highness may imagine the consternation with which I had listened to the development of the damnable plots then in progress; but I nevertheless experienced a material solace in the fact that accident had thus revealed to me the whole extent of the danger which menaced those whom your highness held dear. Without pausing to deliberate, I resolved, at all risks, to proceed at once to the cottage, and, if not too late, warn your aunt and lovely sister of the terrible danger which menaced them. Nay, more—I determined to remove them immediately from Florence—that very night—without an unnecessary moment’s delay. Darting along the streets, as if my speed involved matters of life and death, I succeeded in passing the two villains, Venturo and Antonio, before they had entered the sphere of the brilliant illuminations of the casinos in the vale of Arno; and I beard one say to the other, ‘There’s some cowardly knave who has just done a deed of which he is no doubt afraid.’ Convinced by this remark that they suspected not who the person that passed them so rapidly was, I hurried on with increasing speed, and likewise with augmented hope to be enabled to save not only your lordship’s aunt and sister from the officers of the inquisition, but also the young Count of Riverola from the power of his miscreant enemies. Alas! my anticipations were not to be fulfilled! I lost my way amongst a maze of gardens connected with the villas bordering on the Arno; and much valuable time at such a crisis was wasted in the circuits which I had to make to extricate myself from the labyrinth and reach the bank of the river. At length I drew within sight of the cottage; but my heart beat with terrible alarms as I beheld lights moving rapidly about the house. ‘It is too late,’ I thought: and yet I rushed on toward the place. But suddenly the door opened, and by a glare of light within, I saw three females closely muffled in veils, led forth by several armed men. It instantly struck me that the third must be the Countess Giulia of Arestino to whom I heard the miscreants allude. I stopped short—for I knew that any violent demonstration or interference on my part would be useless, and that measures of another kind must be adopted on behalf of the victims. As the procession now advanced from a cottage, I concealed myself in the adjacent grove, wondering whether Count Francisco had been already arrested or whether he had managed to elude his enemies. The procession, consisting of the officers of the inquisition with their three female prisoners, who were dragged rather than led along, passed by the spot where I lay concealed; and the deep sobs which came from the unfortunate ladies, gagged though they evidently were, filled my heart with horror and anguish. As soon as they had disappeared I struck further  into the grove, knowing by its situation that the outlet on the other side would conduct me to the nearest road to that quarter of the city in which I lodged. But scarcely had I reached the outskirts of the little wood in the direction which I have named, when I saw a party of men moving on in front of me, through the obscurity of the night. It struck me that this party might consist of Antonio, Venturo, and other worthies, and I determined to ascertain whether Count Francisco had fallen into their hands. I accordingly followed them as cautiously as possible, taking care to skirt the grove in such a manner that I was concealed by its deep shade, whereas those whom I was watching proceeded further away from the trees. Thus the party in advance and myself continued our respective paths for nearly a quarter of an hour, during which I ascertained beyond all doubt that the men whom I was following were really the villains of the Antonio gang, and that they had a prisoner with them who could be no other than the Count of Riverola.

“At length the grove terminated, and I was about to abandon further pursuit as dangerous, when it struck me that I should be acting in a cowardly and unworthy manner not to endeavor to ascertain the locality of the cave of which I had heard the miscreants speak, and to which they were most probably conveying him who was so dear to the beautiful Signora Flora. Accordingly I managed to track the party across several fields to a grove of evergreens. But as they advanced without caring how they broke through the crackling thickets, the noise of their movements absorbed the far fainter sounds which accompanied my progress. So successful was my undertaking that I was soon within twenty paces of them. But it was profoundly dark, and I was unable to observe their movements. I computed the distance they were from me, and calculated so as to form an idea of the exact spot where they were standing; for, by an observation which one of the villains let drop, I learnt that they had reached the entrance of their cavern. It also struck me that I heard a bell ring as if in the depths of the earth, and I concluded that this was a signal to obtain admittance. While I was weighing these matters in my mind, Lomellino suddenly exclaimed, ‘Let the prisoner be taken down first; and have a care, Venturo, that the bandage is well fastened.’ ‘All right, captain,’ was the reply; and thus I ascertained that Lomellino was the chief of some band most probably, I thought, of robbers; for I remembered the allusions which had been made that evening by Antonio to a certain predatory visit some months previously to the Riverola mansion. ‘God help Francisco,’ I said within myself, as I reflected upon the desperate character of the men who had him in their power; and then I was consoled by the remembrance that he was merely to be detained as a prisoner for a period, and not harmed.”

“Unfortunately such demons as those Florentine banditti are capable of every atrocity,” observed the grand vizier.

“True, my lord,” observed Demetrius; “but let us hope that all those in whom your highness is interested, will yet be saved.  I shall, however, continue my narrative. Three or four minutes had elapsed since the robbers had come to a full stop, when I knew by the observations made amongst them, that they were descending into some subterranean place. I accordingly waited with the utmost anxiety until I was convinced that they had all disappeared with their prisoner; and then I crept cautiously along to the place at which I had already reckoned them to have paused. I stooped down, and carefully felt upon the ground, until I was enabled to ascertain the precise point at which the marks of their footsteps had ceased. At this moment the moon shone forth with such extreme brilliancy, that its beams penetrated the thick foliage; and I now observed with horror that I had advanced to the very verge of a steep precipice, on the brink of which the grove suddenly ceased. Had not the moon thus providentially appeared at that instant, I should have continued to grope about in the utter darkness, and have assuredly fallen into the abyss. I breathed a fervent prayer for this signal deliverance. But not a trace of any secret entrance to a cavern could I find—no steps, no trap-door! Well aware that it would be dangerous for me to be caught in that spot, should any of the banditti emerge suddenly from their cave, I was reluctantly compelled to depart. But before I quitted the place, I studied it so well that I should have no difficulty in recognizing it again. In fact, just at the precise spot where the footsteps of the banditti ceased, an enormous chestnut tree, which for more than a century must have continued to draw from the earth its nourishment, slopes completely over the precipice, while on the right of this tree, as you face the abyss, is a knot of olives, and on the left an umbrageous lime. These features of the spot I committed to memory, with the idea that such a clew to the robbers’ retreat might not eventually prove useless.

“I will extirpate that nest of vipers—that horde of remorseless banditti!” exclaimed Ibrahim Pasha, in a tone indicative of strong excitement.

“Your highness has the power,” responded Demetrius; “but the Florentine authorities must be completely impotent in respect to such a formidable horde of lawless men. The remainder of my narrative is soon told, my lord,” returned the young Greek. “I returned to my lodgings in safety, but determined not to remain there a single hour longer than necessary. For apart from the resolve which I had formed already, in consequence of the various and unforeseen incidents which had occurred, to return to Constantinople, the murderous designs of Antonio and Venturo in respect to myself, would have hastened my removal at all events to another lodging. That night sleep never visited my eyes—so amazed and grieved was I at the calamities which had befallen those who were so dear to your highness. Very early in the morning I arose from a feverish bed and sallied forth to learn tidings of the Marquis of Orsini. ‘For,’ thought I, ‘if this nobleman has escaped arrest by the officers of the inquisition, he might be enabled to effect somewhat in aiding the female victims.’ But I heard at his dwelling that he had been arrested the previous evening on a charge of sacrilege, perpetrated  with others, in respect to the Carmelite Convent. Frustrated in this quarter, I repaired to the principal clerk of the criminal tribunal, and inquired the name and address of a lawyer of eminence and repute. The clerk complied with my demand, and recommended me to Angelo Duras, the brother of a celebrated Florentine physician.”

“Both of whom are known to me by name,” observed the grand vizier; “and Angelo Duras is a man of unblemished integrity. It delights me much to know you employed him.”

“I found him, too,” continued Demetrius, “a kind-hearted and benevolent man. He received me with affability; and I narrated to him as much as necessary of the particulars which I have detailed to your highness. Without stating by whom I was employed, I merely represented to him that I was deeply interested in the Francatelli family, and that it was of the utmost importance to obtain a delay for two or three months in the criminal proceedings instituted against those innocent females, as, in the meantime, I should undertake a journey to a place at some considerable distance, but the result of which would prove materially beneficial to the cause of the accused. He observed that the interest of the Count of Arestino, who would doubtless endeavor to hasten the proceedings in order to wreak speedy vengeance upon his wife and the Marquis of Orsini, was very powerful to contend against; but that gold could accomplish much. I assured him that there would be no lack of funds to sustain even the most expensive process; and I threw down a heavy purse as an earnest of my ability to bear the cost of the suit. He committed to paper all the particulars that I had thought it prudent to reveal to him, and after some consideration, said, ‘I now see my way clearly. I will undertake that the final hearing of this case, at least so far as it regards the Francatellis, shall be postponed for three months. You may rely upon the fulfillment of this promise, let the Count of Arestino do his worst.’ Thus assured, I quitted the worthy pleader, and proceeded to visit Father Marco, who, as I had happened to learn when in conversation with your highness’ aunt, was the family confessor. I found that excellent man overwhelmed with grief at the calamities which had occurred; and to him I confided, under a solemn promise of inviolable secrecy, who the present grand vizier of the Ottoman Empire really was, and how I had been employed by you to visit Florence for the purpose of watching over the safety of your relatives. I however explained to Father Marco that his vow of secrecy was to cease to be binding at any moment when the lives of the Francatellis should be menaced by circumstances that might possibly arise in spite of all the precautions that I had adopted to postpone the final hearing of their case; and that should imminent peril menace those lives, he was immediately to reveal to the Duke of Florence the fact of the relationship of the Francatellis with one who has power to punish any injury that might be done to them. Though well knowing, my lord, the obstinancy of the Christian states in venturing to beard Ottoman might, I considered this precaution to be at all events  a prudent one; and Father Marco promised to obey my injunctions in all respects.”

“I was not mistaken in thee, Demetrius,” said the grand vizier, “when I chose thee for that mission on account of thy discreetness and foresight.”

“Your highness’ praises are my best reward,” answered the Greek. “I have now done all that I could possibly effect or devise under the circumstances which prompted me to think or act; and it grieved me that I was unable to afford the slightest assistance to the young Count of Riverola. But I dare not wait longer in Italy; and I was convinced that the authorities in Florence were too inefficient to root out the horde of banditti, even had I explained to them the clew which I myself obtained to the stronghold of those miscreants. I accordingly quitted Florence in the afternoon of the day following the numerous arrests which I have mentioned; and had I not been detained so long at Rimini, by adverse winds, your highness would not have been kept for so many weeks without the mournful tidings which it was at length my painful duty to communicate in person to your lordship.”

“That delay, my faithful Demetrius,” said the grand vizier, “was no fault of thine. Fortunately the squadron was already equipped for sea; and, instead of repairing to the African frontier to chastise the daring pirates, it is on its way to the Tuscan coast, where, if need be, it will land twenty thousand soldiers to liberate my relations and the young Count of Riverola. A pretext for making war upon the Italian states has been afforded by their recent conduct in sending auxiliaries to the succor of Rhodes; and of that excuse I shall not hesitate to avail myself to commence hostilities against the proud Florentines should a secret and peaceful negotiation fail. But now that thou hast recapitulated to me all those particulars which thou didst merely sketch forth at first, it seems to me fitting that I anchor the fleet at the mouth of the Arno, and that I send thee, Demetrius, as an envoy in a public capacity, but in reality to stipulate privately for the release of those in whom I am interested.”

Thus terminated the conference between Ibrahim Pasha and his Greek dependent—a conference which had revealed manifold and astounding occurrences to the ears of the Lady Nisida of Riverola. Astounding indeed! Francisco in the hands of the formidable banditti—Flora in the prison of the inquisition—and the Ottoman grand vizier bent upon effecting the marriage which Nisida abhorred—these tidings were sufficient to arouse all the wondrous energies of that mind which was so prompt in combining intrigues and plots, so resolute in carrying them out, and so indomitable when it had formed a will of its own.

Ominous were the fires which flashed in her large dark eyes, and powerful were the workings of those emotions which caused her heaving bosom to swell as if about to burst the bodice which confined it, when, retreating from the partition floor between the two saloons, and resuming her seat at the cabin-windows to permit the evening breeze to fan her fevered cheek, Nisida  thought within herself, “It was indeed time that I should quit that accursed island, and return to Italy!”

CHAPTER LVIII.

The roseate streaks which the departing glories of a Mediterranean sunset left lingering for a few minutes in the western horizon, were yielding to the deeper gloom of evening, a few days after the scene related in the preceding chapter, as Nisida rose from her seat at the open windows of her splendid saloon on board the Ottoman Admiral’s ship, and began to lay aside her apparel, preparatory to retiring to rest. She was already wearied of the monotonous life of ship-board; and the strange revelations which the discourse between Ibrahim Pasha and Demetrius had developed to her ears, rendered her doubly anxious to set foot upon her native soil.

The grand vizier had paid his respects to her every day since she first embarked on board the Turkish ship; and they exchanged a few observations, rather of courtesy than in any deeper interest, by means of the tablets. Ibrahim’s manner toward her was respectful; but when he imagined himself to be unperceived by her, his eyes were suddenly lighted up with the fires of ardent passion; and he devoured her with his burning glances. She failed not to notice the effect which her glorious beauty produced upon him, and she studiously avoided the imprudence of giving him the least encouragement; not from any innate feeling of virtue, but because she detested him as a man who was bent on accomplishing a marriage between her brother and Flora Francatelli. This hatred she concealed, and even the eagle-sighted Ibrahim perceived not that he was in any way displeasing to the lovely Nisida. With the exception of the grand vizier, and the slaves who waited upon her, the lady saw no one on board the ship; for she never quitted the saloon allotted to her, but passed her time chiefly in surveying the broad sea and the other vessels of the fleet from the windows, or in meditating upon the course which she should pursue on her arrival in Florence.

But let us return to the thread of our narrative. The last tints of the sunset were, we said, fading away, when the Lady Nisida commenced her preparations for retiring to rest. She closed the casements, satisfied herself that the partition door between the two saloons was well secured, and then threw herself upon the voluptuous couch spread in one of the smaller cabins opening from her own magnificent apartment. She thought of Fernand, her handsome Fernand, whom she had abandoned on the Isle of Snakes, and profound sighs escaped her. Then she thought of Francisco; and the idea of serving that much-beloved brother’s interests afforded her a consolation for having thus quitted the clime where she had passed so many happy days with Wagner.

At length sleep fell upon her, and closed over the large, dark, brilliant eyes the white lids, beneath the transparent skin of which the blue veins were so delicately traced; and the long,  jetty lashes reposed on the cheeks which the heat of the atmosphere tinged with a rich carnation glow. And when the moon arose that night, its silver rays streamed through the window set in the porthole of that small cabin, upon the beauteous face of the sleeper.

But hark! there is the light sound of a footfall in the saloon from which that cabin opens.

The treacherous Ibrahim possesses a key to the partition door; and having successfully wrestled with his raging desires until this moment, he is at length no longer able to resist the temptation of invading the sanctity of Nisida’s sleeping-place. Already has he set his foot upon the very threshold of the little side-cabin, having traversed the spacious saloon, when a hand is laid upon his shoulder, and a voice behind him says in a low tone, “Your highness has forgotten the fate of the murdered Calanthe.”

Ibrahim started, shook the hand from off him, and exclaimed, “Dog of a negro! what and who has made thee a spy upon my actions?”

At the same instant that Ibrahim felt the hand on his shoulder, and heard the well-known voice uttering the dreadful warning in his ears, Nisida awoke. Her first impulse was to start up; but, checking herself with wondrous presence of mind, as the part of the deaf and dumb person which she had imposed upon herself to play flashed with lightning velocity across her brain—comprehending, too, in an instant, that the grand vizier had violated her privacy, but that some unknown succor was at hand, she remained perfectly motionless, as if still wrapped up in an undisturbed slumber. The grand vizier, and the individual whom he had in his rage addressed as a “dog of a negro,” retreated into the saloon, Nisida holding her very breath so as not to lose a word that might pass between them should their dialogue be resumed.

“Your highness asks me what and who has made me a spy upon your actions,” said the negro in a low, monotonous voice, and speaking with mingled firmness and respect. “Those questions are easily answered. The same authority which ordered me to wrest from thine arms some months past the lady who might be unfortunate enough to please your highness’ fancy, exercises an unceasing supervision over you, even on this ship, and in the middle of the mighty sea. To that authority all your deeds and acts are matters of indifference save those which would render your highness faithless to an adoring wife. Remember, my lord, the fate of Calanthe, the sister of your dependent Demetrius, she who was torn from your arms, and whose beauteous form became food for the fishes of the Bosporus.”

“How knew you who she was?” demanded the grand vizier, in a low, hoarse voice, the power of his utterance having been temporarily suspended by the rage that filled his soul at finding his iniquitous design in respect to Nisida thus suddenly baffled by the chief of the three black slaves, whose attendance in this expedition had been forced upon him by the Sultana Valida; “how knew you who she was?” he again asked.

 “Rather demand, my lord, what can escape the prying eyes of those by whom your highness has been surrounded ever since the seals of office were in your grasp,” returned the slave.

“But you would not betray that secret to Demetrius, who is now devoted to me, who is necessary to me, and who would loathe me were he to learn the dreadful fate of his sister!” said the grand vizier, with rapid and excited utterance.

“I have no eyes and no ears, great pasha,” said the negro, “save in respect to those matters which would render you faithless to the sister of the sultan.”

“Would to Heaven that you had neither eyes nor ears at all—that you did not exist, indeed!” exclaimed Ibrahim, unable to repress his wrath; then, in a different and milder tone, he immediately added, “Slave, I can make thee free—I can give thee wealth—and thou mayest dwell in happy Italy, whither we are going, for the remainder of thy days. Reflect, consider! I love that deaf and dumb Christian woman who sleepeth there—I already love her to distraction! Thwart me not, good slave, and thou mayest command my eternal gratitude.”

“My lord, two other slaves overhear every word that now passes between us,” responded the Ethiopian, his voice remaining calm and monotonous; “and even were we alone in all respects, I would not betray the trust reposed in me. But not on your highness would the effects of your infidelity to the Princess Aischa fall. No, my lord—I have no authority to harm you. Had your highness succeeded in your purpose ere now, the bow-string would have forever stifled the breath in the body of that deaf and dumb Christian lady; and her corpse would have been thrown forth from these windows into the sea. Such are my instructions, my lord; and thus every object of your sated passion must become your victim also.”

“Better—better were it,” exclaimed Ibrahim, in a tone denoting the profoundest mental anguish, “to be the veriest mendicant who implores alms at the gate of the mosque of St. Sophia, than the grand vizier of the Ottoman Empire.”

With these words he rushed into the adjoining saloon, the negro following and fastening the door behind him. Nisida now began to breathe freely once more. From what perils had she escaped! The violation of her couch by the unprincipled Ibrahim would have been followed by her immediate assassination at the hands of the Ethiopian whom the sultana-mother had placed as a spy on the actions of her son-in-law. On the other hand, she felt rejoiced that the incident of this night had occurred; for it had been the means of revealing to her a secret of immense importance in connection with the grand vizier. She remembered the terms of grief and affection in which Demetrius had spoken of the disappearance of Calanthe; and she had heard enough on that occasion to convince her that the Greek would become the implacable enemy of any man who had wronged that much-loved sister. How bitter, then, would be the hatred of Demetrius—how dreadful would be the vengeance which he must crave against him whose lustful passion had led to the murder of Calanthe. Yes, Ibrahim, thy secret  is now in possession of Nisida of Riverola; in the possession of that woman of iron mind and potent energy, and whom thou fondly believest to be deaf and dumb!

Nisida slept no more that night, the occurrences of which furnished her with so much food for profound meditation: and with the earliest gleam of dawn that tinged the eastern heaven, she rose from her couch. Entering the saloon, she opened the windows to admit the gentle breeze of morning; and ere she commenced her toilet, she lingered to gaze upon the stately ships that were plowing the blue sea in the wake of the admiral’s vessel wherein she was. Suddenly her eyes fell upon what appeared to be a small speck at a little distance; but as this object was moving rapidly along on the surface of the Mediterranean, it soon approached sufficiently near to enable her to discern that it was a boat impelled by a single sail. Urged by an undefinable and yet a strong sentiment of curiosity, Nisida remained at the saloon window, watching the progress of the little bark, which bounded over the waves with extraordinary speed, bending gracefully to the breeze that thus wafted it onward. Nearer and nearer toward the vessel it came, though not pursuing the same direction; and in five minutes it passed within a few yards of the stern of the kapitan-pasha’s ship.

But, oh! wondrous and unaccountable fact. There, stretched upon his back in that bounding boat, and evidently buried in deep slumber, with the rays of the rising sun gleaming upon his fine and now slightly flushed countenance, lay he whose image was so indelibly impressed upon the heart of Nisida—her handsome and strangely-fated Fernand Wagner! The moment the conviction that the sleeper was indeed he struck to the mind of Nisida, she would have called him by name—she would have endeavored to awake him, if only to exchange a single word of fondness, for her assumed dumbness was for the moment forgotten; but she was rendered motionless and remained speechless—stupefied, paralyzed, as it were, with mingled wonder and joy; wonder that he should have found the means of escape from the island, and joy that she was thus permitted to behold him at least once again. But the pleasure which this incident excited in her mind was transitory indeed; for the boat swept by, as if urged on by a stronger impulse than that of the gentle breeze of morning—and in another minute Nisida beheld it no more.

The sun was setting behind the western hills of Sicily as Fernand Wagner entered the squalid suburb which at that period stretched from the town of Syracuse to the sea. His step was elastic, and he held his head high—for his heart was full of joyous and burning hope. Hitherto the promises of the angel who had last appeared to him were completely fulfilled. The boat was wafted by a favorable breeze direct from the Island of Snakes to the shores of Sicily; and he had landed in the immediate vicinity of Syracuse—the town in which a further revelation was to be made in respect to the breaking of the spell which had fixed upon him the frightful doom of the Wehr-Wolf! But little suspected Fernand Wagner that one morning, while he  slept, his boat had borne him through the proud fleet of the Ottomans—little wist he that his beloved Nisida had caught sight of him as he was wafted rapidly past the stern of the kapitan-pasha’s ship! For on that occasion he had slept during hours; and when he had awakened, not a bark nor sail save his own was visible on the mighty expanse of water.

And now it was with elastic step and joyous heart that the hero of our tale entered the town of Syracuse. But suddenly he remembered the singular nature of the inquiry that he was there to make—an inquiry concerning a man whose years had numbered one hundred and sixty-two!

“Nevertheless,” thought Wagner, “that good angel who gave me a sign whereby I should become convinced of the reality of her appearance, and whose promises have all been fulfilled up to this point, could not possibly mislead me. No; I will obey the command which I received, even though I should visit every human dwelling in the town of Syracuse! For Heaven works out its wise purposes in wondrous manners; and it is not for me to shrink from yielding obedience to its orders, nor to pause to question their propriety. And oh! if I can but shake off that demon influence which weighs upon my soul—if I can but escape from the shackles which still enchain me to a horrible doom, how sincere will be my thanks to Heaven, how unbounded my rejoicings!”

As Wagner had reached this point in his meditations, he stopped at the door of a barber shop of mean appearance—the pole, with the basin hanging to it, denoting that the occupant of the place combined, as was usual in those times, the functions of shaver and blood-letter or surgeon. Hastily surveying the exterior of the shop, and fancying that it was precisely the one at which his inquiries should commence—barbers in that age being as famous for their gossiping propensities as in this—Fernand entered, and was immediately accosted by a short, sharp-visaged, dark-complexioned old man, who pointed to a seat, saying in a courteous, or rather obsequious tone, “What is your will, signor?”

Fernand desired the barber-surgeon to shave his superfluous beard and trim his hair; and while that individual was preparing his lather and sharpening his razor in the most approved style of the craft, Wagner asked in a seemingly careless tone, “What news have you, good master, in Syracuse?”

“Naught of importance, signor,” was the reply; “mere everyday matters. Syracuse is indeed wretchedly dull. There were only two murders and three attempts at assassination reported to the lieutenant of police this morning, and that is nothing for a town usually so active and bustling as ours. For my part, I don’t know what has come over the people? I stepped as far as the dead-house just now to view the body of a young lady, unclaimed as yet, who had her head nearly severed from her trunk last night; and then I proceeded to the great square to see whether any executions are to take place to-morrow; but really there is nothing of any consequence to induce one to stir abroad in Syracuse just at this moment.”

 “Murders and attempts at assassination are matters of very common occurrence amongst you, then?” said Wagner, inquiringly.

“We get a perfect surfeit of them, signor,” returned the barber, now applying the soap to his customer’s face. “They fail to create any sensation now, I can assure you. Beside, one gets tired of executions.”

“Naturally enough,” said Fernand. “But I have heard that there are some very extraordinary personages in Syracuse; indeed, there is one who has lived to a remarkable age——”

“The oldest person I know of, is the Abbot of St. Mary’s,” interrupted the barber, “and he——”

“And he——” repeated Wagner, with feverish impatience.

“Is ninety-seven and three months, signor; a great age, truly,” responded the barber-surgeon.

Fernand’s hopes were immediately cooled down; but thinking that he ought to put his inquiry in a direct manner, he said: “Then it is not true that you have in Syracuse an individual who has reached the wondrous age of a century three-score and two?”

“Holy Virgin have mercy upon you, signor!” ejaculated the barber, “if you really put faith in the absurd stories that people tell about the Rosicrucians!”

“Ah! then the people of Syracuse do talk on such matters?” said Wagner, conceiving that he had obtained a clew to the aim and object of his inquiry.

“Have you never heard, signor, of the Order of the Rosy Cross?” demanded the barber, who was naturally of a garrulous disposition, and who now appeared to have entered on a favorite subject.

“I have heard, in my travels, vague mention made of such an order,” answered Fernand; “but I never experienced any curiosity to seek to learn more—and, indeed, I may say, that I know nothing of the Rosicrucians save their mere name.”

“Well, signor,” continued the barber, “for common pass-talk, it is as good a subject as any other; but no one shall ever persuade me either that there is really such an order as the Brothers of the Rosy Cross, or that it is possible for human beings to attain the powers attributed to that fraternity.”

“You interest me much by your remarks, good leech,” exclaimed Fernand; “I pray you to give me further explanation.”

“With infinite pleasure, signor, since you appear to desire it,” returned the barber, still pursuing his tonsorial duties. “You must know that there are many wild legends and stories abroad concerning these invisible beings denominated Rosicrucians. But the one which gains most general credence is that the brotherhood was founded by a certain Christianus Rosencrux, a German philosopher, who fancied that the arts and sciences might be developed in such a manner as to confer the greatest possible blessings on the human race.”

“Then the aims of Rosencrux are entirely good and philanthropic?” said Wagner, interrogatively.

“As a matter of course, signor,” said the barber; “and therefore,  if such a man ever did live, he must have been an insane visionary—for who would believe that knowledge could possibly make us richer, happier, or better? All the philosophy in the universe could never convert this shop into a palace.”

“But you are wandering from your subject, my good friend,” gently remonstrated Fernand.

“I crave your pardon, signor. Let me see. Oh, I recollect; we were talking of Christianus Rosencrux. Well, signor, the fabled philosopher was a monk, and a very wise as well as a very good man. I am only telling you the most generally received legend, mind, and would not have you think that I believe it myself. So this Rosencrux, finding that his cloistral existence was inconvenient for the prosecution of his studies, traveled into the East, and spent many years in acquiring the knowledge handed down to the wise men of those climes by the ancient Magi and Chaldeans. He visited Egypt, and learnt many wonderful secrets by studying the hieroglyphics on the Egyptian pyramids. I forget how long he remained in the East; but it is said that he visited every place of interest in the Holy Land, and received heavenly inspirations on the spot where our Saviour was crucified. On his return to Europe, he saw full well that if he revealed all his knowledge at once, he would be put to death by the inquisition as a wizard, and the world would lose the benefit of all the learning he had acquired. So says the legend; and it goes on to recite that Christianus Rosencrux then founded the order of the Rosy Cross, which was nothing more or less than a brotherhood of wise men whom he initiated in all his secrets, with the intention that they should reveal from time to time small portions thereof, and thus give to the world by very slow degrees that immense amount of knowledge which he supposed would have stupefied and astounded everybody if made public all at once.”

“Strange—most strange,” thought Wagner within himself, “that I should never have gleaned all these details before, eager as my inquiries and researches in the pursuit of knowledge have been. But Heaven has willed everything for the best; and it is doubtless intended that my salvation shall proceed from the very quarter which was least known to me, and concerning which I have manifested the most contemptuous indifference, in the sphere of knowledge!”

“You appear to be much interested, signor,” said the barber, “in this same tale of Christianus Rosencrux. But there is too much intelligence depicted on your countenance to allow me to suppose that you will place any reliance on the absurd story. How is it possible, signor, that an order could have existed for so many years without any one member ever having betrayed the secrets which bind them all together? Moreover, their place of abode and study is totally unknown to the world; and if they inhabited the deepest caverns under the earth accident must, sooner or later, have led to its discovery. Believe me, signor, ’tis naught save a ridiculous legend; though a poor, ignorant man myself, I hope I have too much good sense and too much respect for my father-confessor, to suppose for a minute  that there is on earth any set of men more learned than the holy ministers of the church.”

“How long ago is Christianus Rosencrux reported to have lived?” demanded Wagner, suddenly interrupting the garrulous and narrow-minded Sicilian.

“There we are again!” he ejaculated. “The credulous declare that Rosencrux discovered in the East the means of prolonging existence, and though he was born as far back as the year 1359, he is still alive.”

Had not the barber turned aside at that precise instant to fill an ewer and place a towel for his customer’s use, he would have been surprised by the sudden start and the expression of ineffable joy which denoted Fernand’s emotions, as by a rapid calculation mentally made, our hero perceived that if Rosencrux were born in 1359, and alive at that moment—namely, in 1521—his age would be exactly one hundred and sixty-two!

“It is Christianus Rosencrux, then,” he said to himself, “whom I have inquired for—whom I am to see—and who will dissolve the spell that has been placed upon me. But where shall I seek him? whither shall I go to find his secret abode?”

The duties of the barber were completed; and Wagner threw down a piece of gold, saying, “Keep that coin, friend, for your discourse has greatly interested me, and has indeed well deserved it.”

The poor old man had never possessed in all his life so much money at one time; and so vast was his joy that he could only mutter a few broken sentences to express his gratitude.

“I require not thanks, my good friend,” said Wagner. “But one word ere I depart. Knowest thou the spot which rumor indicates as the abode of that sect of whom we have been speaking?”

“Nay, excellent signor,” replied the barber; “there your question masters me; for in this case rumor goes not to such a length as to afford hints for an investigation which would prove its utter fallacy. All that I have heard, signor, concerning the Rosicrucians, you have learnt from my lips; and I know no more.”

Wagner, finding that further inquiry in that quarter was useless, took leave of the old man, and traversing the suburb, entered the town of Syracuse.

CHAPTER LIX.

Fernand was now at a loss how to act. He felt convinced that it was useless to institute any further inquiries relative to the whereabouts of the secret Order of the Rosy Cross; because, had popular rumor ever hinted at any clew in that respect, the garrulous and inquisitive barber would have been sure to hear of it. He was not, however, disheartened. No—very far from that; for he was confident that the same supernal power that had hitherto directed him, and which was rapidly clearing away all obstacles in his path toward perfect emancipation from the influence of the evil one, would carry him to a successful and  triumphant issue. Throwing himself, therefore, entirely on the wisdom and mercy of Heaven, he roamed about the town of Syracuse, without any settled object in view, until he was much wearied and it was very late. He then entered a miserable hostel, or inn—the best, however, that he could discover; and there, having partaken of some refreshment, he retired to the chamber allotted to him. Sleep soon visited his eyes; but he had not long enjoyed the sweets of slumber, when that balmy repose was interrupted either by a touch or sound, he knew not which. Starting up in his couch, he perceived a tall figure, muffled in a huge dark mantle, and wearing a slouched broad-brimmed hat, standing by the side of the bed.

“Rise, Fernand Wagner,” said a mild but masculine voice, “and follow me. He whom thou seekest has sent me to lead thee to him.”

Wagner did not hesitate to obey this mandate, which he felt certain was connected with the important business that had borne him to Syracuse. His apparel was speedily assumed; and he said, “I am ready to follow thee, stranger, whoever thou art, and whithersoever thou mayst lead; for my faith is in Heaven.”

“Those who have faith shall prosper,” observed the stranger, in a solemn tone.

He then led the way noiselessly down the steep staircase of the inn, and issued forth by the front gate, closely followed by Wagner. In deep silence did they proceed through the dark, narrow, and tortuous streets, leaving at length the town behind them, and then entering upon a barren and uneven waste. By degrees an object, at first dimly seen in the distance, and by the uncertain moonlight, which was constantly struggling with the dark clouds of a somewhat tempestuous night, assumed a more defined appearance, until a mass of gigantic ruins at length stood out from the somber obscurity. In a few moments the moon shone forth purely and brightly; and its beams, falling on decayed buttresses, broken Gothic arches, deep entrance-ways, remnants of pinnacles and spires, massive walls of ruined towers, gave a wildly romantic and yet not unpicturesque aspect to the remains of what was evidently once a vast monastic institution. The muffled stranger led the way amongst the ruins, and at last stopped at a gate opening into a small square inclosure formed by strong iron railings, seven feet high and shaped at the points like javelins. Passing through the gateway, the guide conducted Wagner into a cemetery, which was filled with the marble tombs of the mitered abbots who had once held sway over the monastery and the broad lands attached to it.

“You behold around you,” said the muffled stranger, waving his arm toward the ruins, “all that remains of a sanctuary once the most celebrated in Sicily for the piety and wisdom of its inmates. But a horrible crime, a murder perpetrated under circumstances unusually diabolical, the criminal being no less a person than the last lord abbot himself, and the victim a beauteous girl whom he had seduced, rendered this institution  accursed in the eyes of God and man. The monks abandoned it: and the waste over which you have passed is now the unclaimed but once fertile estate belonging to the abbey. The superstition of the Sicilians has not failed to invent terrific tales in connection with these ruins: and the belief that each night at twelve o’clock the soul of the guilty abbot is driven by the scourge of the demon through the scene alike of his episcopal power and his black turpitude, effectually prevents impertinent or inconvenient intrusion.”

The observation with which the muffled stranger concluded his brief narrative, convinced Wagner that it was amongst those ruins the brethren of the Rosy Cross had fixed their secret abode. But he had no time for reflection, inasmuch as his guide hurried him on amidst the tombs, on which the light of the silver moon now streamed with a power and an effect that no dark cloud for the time impaired. Stopping at the base of one of the most splendid monuments in the cemetery, the muffled stranger touched some secret spring, and a large marble block immediately opened like a door, the aperture revealing a narrow flight of stone steps. Wagner was directed to descend first, a command which he obeyed without hesitation, his guide closing the marble entrance ere he followed. For several minutes the two descended in total darkness. At length, a faint, glimmering light met Wagner’s view; and as he proceeded it grew stronger and stronger, until it became of such dazzling brilliancy that his eyes ached with the supernatural splendor. That glorious luster was diffused from a silver lamp, hanging to the arched roof of a long passage, or corridor of masonry, to which the stone steps led.

“Fernand Wagner,” said the guide, in his mild and somewhat monotonous voice, “thou now beholdest the eternal lamp of the Rosicrucians. For a hundred and twenty years has that lamp burnt with as powerful a luster as that which it now sheds forth; and never once—no, not once during that period, has it been replenished. No human hand has touched it since the day when it was first suspended there by the great founder of our sect.”

All doubt was now dispelled from the mind of Wagner—if a doubt he had even for a moment entertained since the muffled stranger had summoned him from the inn:—he was indeed in the secret abode of the holy sect of the Rosy Cross! His guide, too, was a member of that brotherhood—and there, almost too dazzling to gaze upon, burnt the eternal lamp which was the symbol of the knowledge cherished by the order! Wagner turned to gaze in wonder and admiration upon his guide: and beneath the broad brim of the slouched hat, he beheld a countenance venerable with years, imposing with intelligence, and benevolent with every human charity. “Wise and philanthropic Rosicrucian!” exclaimed Wagner, “I offer thee my deepest gratitude for having permitted me to enter this sanctuary. But how camest thou to learn that I sought admittance hither? and unveil to me the great mysteries of this place.”

“We are the servants of holy angels, who reveal to us in visions  the will of the Most High,” answered the Rosicrucian; “and they who commanded me to bring thee hither, will induce thine heart to retain our secret inviolable.”

“Not for worlds,” cried Wagner, with an enthusiasm which denoted sincerity, “would I betray ye!”

“’Tis well,” said the Rosicrucian, with philosophic calmness—as if he put more faith in the protecting influence of Heaven than in the promises of man. “I shall not accompany thee further. Follow that passage: at the extremity there are two corridors branching off in different directions; but thou wilt pursue the one leading to the right. Proceed fearlessly, and stop not till thou shalt stand in the presence of the founder of the sect.”

Fernand hastened to obey these directions, and having threaded the two passages, he entered a large and rudely-hollowed cavern, where the feelings of mingled awe and suspense with which he had approached it were immediately changed into deep veneration and wonder as he found himself in the presence of one who, by his appearance, he knew could he none other than Christianus Rosencrux! Never had Fernand beheld a being of such venerable aspect; and, though old—evidently very old, as indeed Wagner knew him to be—yet the founder of the celebrated Rosicrucians manifested every appearance of possessing a vigorous constitution, as he was assuredly endowed with a magnificent intellect. His beard was long and white as snow; a century and three score years had not dimmed the luster of his eyes; and his form, though somewhat bent, was masculine and well-knit. He was seated at a table covered with an infinite variety of scientific apparatus; and articles of the same nature were strewed upon the ground. To the roof hung an iron lamp, which indeed burnt faintly after the brilliant luster of the eternal flame that Wagner had seen in the passage; but its flickering gleam shone lurid and ominous on a blood-red cross suspended to the wall. Fernand drew near the table, and bowed reverentially to the Rosicrucian chief, who acknowledged his salutation with a benignant smile.

“Wagner,” he said, in a firm but mild tone, “I have been forewarned of thy coming, and am prepared to receive thee. Thy constant and unvarying faith in Heaven has opened to thee the gates of salvation; and it is mine to direct thee how to act, that the dreadful doom which thou hast drawn upon thyself may be annihilated soon and forever.”

The venerable man paused, and Fernand again bowed lowly and with profound respect.

“So soon as the morning’s sun shall have revisited this hemisphere,” continued Rosencrux, “thou must depart for Italy. Start not, Fernand—but prepare to obey that power which will sustain thee. On arriving in Italy, proceed direct to Florence; and fear not to enter that city even in the broad daylight. Thou wilt not be harmed! There await the current of those circumstances that must lead to the grand event which is ordained to break the spell that has cast upon thee the doom of a Wehr-Wolf. For as thou didst voluntarily unite thyself in the face of  heaven with Donna Nisida of Riverola, so it is decreed, for the wisest purposes, that a circumstance intimately connected with her destiny must become a charm and a talisman to change thine own. On thine arrival in Florence, therefore, seek not to avoid Lady Nisida; but rather hasten at once to her presence—and again I say, a supernal power will protect thee from any baneful influence which she might still exercise over thee. For, the spell that the evil one hath cast upon thee, Fernand Wagner, shall be broken only on that day and in that hour when thine eyes shall behold the skeletons of two innocent victims suspended to the same beam!”

Having uttered these words in a louder and hurried, but not the less impressive tone, than he had at first used, Christianus Rosencrux motioned impatiently for Wagner to depart. And Fernand, amazed and horrified at the dreadful words which had met his ears, retreated from the cavern and sped rapidly back to the spot where he had quitted his guide, whom he found waiting his return beneath the undying lamp. The Rosicrucian conducted Wagner in silence from that deep and subterranean abode beneath the tomb; thence through the cemetery amidst the ruins of the monastery—and across the wild waste, back to Syracuse; nor did the muffled brother of the Rosy Cross take leave of Fernand until they had reached the door of the hostel. There they parted, the Rosicrucian invoking a blessing upon the head of Wagner, who regained his chamber without disturbing the other inmates of the house: but with the conflicting emotions of ardent hopes and appalling fears, and holy aspirations, filling his breast. By degrees, however, as he was enabled to reason to himself with increasing calmness, the fears and the doubts became fainter and fainter, while the hopes and the aspirations grew stronger and stronger: and at length, throwing himself upon his knees, he exclaimed fervently, “O Lord, deal with me as thou wilt—thy will be done!”

It was late in the afternoon of a sultry day, toward the close of September, or, to be more particular, on the 25th of that month, that a numerous and brilliant cavalcade, on emerging from a grove which bounded one of the sinuosities of the Arno, came within sight of the towers and pinnacles of Florence.

On the white felt turbans of a hundred and fifty Ottoman soldiers glistened the crescent, the symbol of Islamism; and their steel-sheathed scimiters and the trappings of their horses sent forth a martial din as they were agitated by the rapidity of the march.

Forty-eight slaves, also mounted on steeds procured at Leghorn, followed the soldiers with a short interval between the two corps, and in the space thus left, rode the Greek Demetrius and Lady Nisida of Riverola. The latter wore the garb of her sex, and sat upon her horse with the grace of an amazonian queen.

The moment the cavalcade came in sight of the fair City of Flowers, a flush of joy and triumph suddenly diffused itself over Nisida’s countenance; and her lips were simultaneously compressed to prevent the utterance of that exclamation of gladness which her heart sent up to her tongue.

 Demetrius now commanded a temporary halt; addressing himself to a Turkish youth, who had been attached to his person in the capacity of secretary, he said, “Yakoub, hie thou in advance, with an escort of two soldiers and two slaves, and push on to Florence. There seek an immediate interview with the president of the council of state, and acquaint that high functionary with the tidings of my approach. Thou wilt inform him that I am about to enter Florence in the peaceful capacity of envoy from the puissant and most glorious Ibrahim Pasha, the vizier of the sultan, to treat on divers matters interesting to the honor of the Ottoman Porte and the welfare of all Italy. In the meantime, I shall so check our speed that we may not reach the city until after sunset, which arrangement will afford you two full hours to accomplish the mission which I now trust to thee.”

Yakoub bowed, and hastened to obey the commands which he had received—speeding toward Florence, attended by two soldiers and two slaves. Demetrius then ordered his party to dismount and rest for a short space upon the banks of the Arno. Some of his slaves immediately pitched a tent, into which he conducted Nisida; and refreshments were served to them.

When the repast was concluded, and they were left alone together for a few minutes, Nisida’s manner suddenly changed from calm patrician reserve to a strange agitation—her lips quivered, her eyes flashed fire;—and then, as if desperately resolved to put into execution the idea which she had formed, she seized Demetrius by the hand, bent her head toward him, and murmured in the faintest whisper possible, “Start not to hear the sound of my voice! I am neither deaf nor dumb. But this is not the place for explanations. I have much to tell, you much to hear—for I can speak to thee of Calanthe, and prove that he whom thou servest so zealously is a wretch meriting only thy vengeance.”

“My God! my God!—what marvels are now taking place!” murmured the Greek, surveying Nisida in profound astonishment not unmingled with alarm.

“Silence—silence, I implore you!” continued she, in the rapid, low, and yet distinctly audible whisper, “for your sake—for mine, betray me not! Deaf and dumb must I appear—deaf and dumb must I yet be deemed for a short space. But to-night, at twelve o’clock, you will meet me, Demetrius, in the garden of the Riverola mansion;—and then I will conduct you to an apartment where we may confer without fear of being overheard—without danger of interruption.”

“I will not fail thee, lady,” said the Greek, scarcely able to recover from the amazement into which Nisida’s sudden revelation of her power of speech and hearing had thrown him: then, as an oppressive feeling seized upon his soul, he demanded, “But Calanthe, lady, in the name of heaven! one word more and let that word give me hope that I may see my sister again!”

“Demetrius,” answered Nisida, her countenance becoming ominous and somber, “you will never behold her more. The lust of Ibrahim Pasha—nay, start not so violently—brought destruction and death upon Calanthe!”

 The features of the young Greek were at first distorted with anguish, and tears started from his eyes: but in the next moment their expression changed to one denoting the fiercest rage.

Nisida understood all that was passing in his soul; and she bent upon him a significant glance, which said more eloquently than language could have done—“Yes, vengeance thou shalt have!”

She then rose from the velvet cushions which had been spread upon the ground within the tent, and waving her hand in token of temporary farewell to Demetrius, hastened forth, mounted her horse, and departed, alone and unattended, toward Florence.