The Lure of the Mask by Harold MacGrath (good books to read for 12 year olds TXT) 📖

if you please. It is only just that you should know something of the case, considering the manner in which I imposed upon you all."

"I'll punch Worth's head when I run across him." O'Mally clenched his fists.

"That would change nothing. He was a part of destiny; he has served his little turn and has gone. Were we not a happy family together for weeks?" La Signorina smiled wanly. "To-morrow I am going to write Mr. Hillard; I am going to tell him the story. From your point of view you may write me down a silly fool, but one's angle of vision is not immutable."

"You're the finest woman in the world," declared O'Mally; "and whatever you have done has been right, I know."

Then Kitty ran up to La Signorina and embraced her; and the eyes of both of them swam in tears.

"You will be happy, at any rate, Kitty."

"Poor girl!" cried Kitty. Princesses were mortal like other people. "How I love you! Come back with us to America."

"I must live out the puzzle over here."

When Hillard and La Signorina were at length alone, he asked: "When shall I see you again?"

"Who knows? Some day, perhaps, when time has softened the sharp edges of this moment, the second bitterest I have ever known. To-morrow I shall write, or very soon. Now, give me your promise that you will no more seek me till I send for you."

"You will send for me?" with eagerness and hope.

"Why not?" proudly. "There is nothing wrong in our friendship, and I prize it. Promise."

"I promise. Good-by! If I remain any longer I shall be making mad, regrettable proposals. For a little while I have lived in paradise. Wherever I may be, at the world's end, you have but to call me; in a month, in a year, a decade, I shall come. Good-by!" Without looking at her again, he rushed away.

She remained standing there as motionless as a statue. It seemed to her that all animation was suspended, and that she could not have moved if she had tried. By and by she gazed round the room, fast dimming; at the guttering candles, at the empty chairs, at the vacant doors and hollow windows.... He had not asked her if she loved him, and that was well. But there was not at that moment in all the length and breadth of Italy a lonelier woman than her Highness the Principessa di Monte Bianca.

Meanwhile the prince, raging and out of joint with the world, mounted his horse. He would have revenge for this empty scabbard, or he would resign his commission. His throat still ached and pointed lights danced before his eyes. Eh, well! This time to-morrow night the American should pay dearly for it. His short laugh had an ugly sound. This American was just the kind of chivalric fool to accept a challenge. But could he handle foils? Could he fight? Could any of these damned American heretics fight, save with their fists? It was the other man's lookout, not his. He put the duel out of his mind as a thing accomplished. Shortly he would have compensation commensurate for all these five years' chagrin. To elude him all this time, to laugh in his face, to defy him, and then to step deliberately into his power! He never could understand this woman. The little prude! But for her fool's conscience he would not have been riding the beggar's horse to-day. She was now too self-reliant, too intelligent, too cunning; she was her father over again, soldier and diplomat. Well, the mystery of her actions remained, but he was no longer the broken noble. So why should he puzzle over the whys and wherefores of her motives? Ah! and would he not dig his hands deep into the dusty sacks of gold and silver? Life again, such as he craved; good cigars and good wine and pretty women who were no ardent followers of Minerva. To jam part of this money down the throats of his yelping creditors, to tear up his paper and fling it into the faces of the greedy Jews! Ha, this would be to live! Paris, or Vienna, or London, where he willed; for what hold had the army now?

He was an expert horseman, but, like all Italians, he was by nature cruel. As he passed the gates the horse slid and stumbled to his knees; he was up instantly, only to receive a hard stroke between the ears. This unexpected treatment caused the animal to rear and waltz. This was not the stolid-going campaign mount, but his best Irish hunter, on which he had won prizes in many a gymkhana. There was a brief struggle, during which the man became master both of himself and the horse. They were just passing the confines of the villa when a man darted out suddenly from the shadows and seized the bridle.

"At last, my prince!"

"Giovanni?"

Instinctively the prince reached for his saber, knowing that he had need of it, but the scabbard was empty. He cursed the folly which had made him lose it. This encounter promised to be a bad one. What mouth of hell had opened to cast this beggar, of all men, in his path? Oddly enough his thought ran swiftly back to the little casa in the Sabine Hills.... Bah! Full of courage, knowing that one or the other would not leave this spot alive, he struck his horse with purpose this time, to run his man down. But Giovanni did not lose his hold; hate and the nearness of revenge made him strong.

"No, no!" he laughed. "She is dead, my prince. And I, I was not going to seek you; I was going to let hell claim you in its own time. But you rode by me to-night. This is the end."

"Let go, fool!" roared the prince, slashing Giovanni across the face with the heavy crop.

Giovanni laughed again and drew his knife. "I shall not miss you this time!"

The prince, a trained soldier, shifted the reins to his teeth, buried his knees in the barrel of the horse, unhooked his scabbard and swung it aloft, deftly catching the reins again in his left hand. But Giovanni was fully prepared. He released the bridle, his arm went back and the knife spun through the air. Yet in that instant in which Giovanni's arm was poised for the cast, the prince lifted his horse on its haunches. The knife gashed the animal deeply in the neck. Still on its haunches it backed, wild with the unaccustomed pain. The lip of the road, at this spot rotten and unprotected, gave way. The prince saw the danger and tried to urge the horse forward. It was too late. The hind-quarters sank, the horse whinnied in terror, and the prince tried in vain to slip from the saddle. There came a grating crash, a muffled cry, and horse and rider went pounding down the rock-bound gorge.

Giovanni listened. He heard the light, metallic clatter of the empty scabbard as it struck projecting boulders; he heard it strangely above the duller, heavier sound. Then the hush of silence out of which came the faint mutter of the stream. Giovanni trembled and the sweat on his body grew cold: less from reaction than from the thought that actual murder had been snatched from his hands. For several minutes he waited, dreading, but there was no further sound. He searched mechanically for his knife, recovered it, and then crept down the abrupt side of the gorge till he found them. They were both dead. A cloud swept over the benign moon.

"Holy Father, thou hast waited seven years too long!" Giovanni crossed himself.

He gazed up at the ledge where the tragedy had begun. The cloud passed and revealed the shining muskets of two carabinieri, doubtless attracted by the untoward sounds. Giovanni, agile and muscular as a wolf, stole over the stream and disappeared into the blackness beyond. But there was an expression of horror on his face which could not have been intensified had Dante and Vergil and all the shades of the Inferno trooped at his heels.


CHAPTER XXV

FREE


It was Merrihew who woke the sleeping cabby, pushed Hillard into a seat, and gave the final orders which were to take them out of the Villa Ariadne for ever. He was genuinely moved over the visible misery of his friend. He readily believed that Hillard's hurt was of the incurable kind, and so long as memory lasted the full stab of the pain would recur. So to get him away from the scene at once was the best possible thing he could do. Merrihew noticed the little group of men collected at the edge of the road, but he was too deeply absorbed in his own affairs to stop and make inquiries. The principal thing was to reach Florence without delay. He smoked two cigars and offered scarcely a dozen words to Hillard. When they arrived at the white hotel in the Borgognissanti and the night watchman drew the great bolts to admit them, Merrihew was glad. And all this to evolve from an unknown woman singing under Hillard's window but six months ago! And a princess! Truly the world was full of surprises.

He went to bed, advising Hillard to do the same. Mental repose was needed before they could sit down and discuss the affair rationally.

At nine in the morning Hillard heard a fist banging on the panels of the door.

"Open, Jack; hurry!" cried Merrihew outside. There was great agitation in his voice.

Hillard opened the door. "What's the trouble, Dan?" he asked.

Merrihew closed the door and whispered: "Dead!" As the light from the window fell upon his face it disclosed pale cheeks and widely opened eyes.

"Who?" Hillard's heart contracted. "In God's name, who?"

"The prince. They found him and his horse at the bottom of the gorge. There was a broken place in the road, and over this they had gone. The concierge says that there has been foul play. Tracks in the dust, a strange cut in the neck of the horse, and a scabbard minus its saber. Now, what the devil shall I do with the blamed sword?"

Dead! Hillard sat down on the edge of the bed. Dead! Then she was free, free.

"What shall I do with it?" demanded Merrihew a second time.

"The sword? You really brought it?"

"Yes. And if they find us with it-"

"Put it in the bottom of the trunk and leave it there till you land in New York. But the prince dead? You are sure?"

"All Florence is ringing with the story of the ball, the wind-up, and the tragedy. He's dead, no doubt of it. Shall we go up to the villa this morning?"

"No, Dan;" but all the weariness went out of Hillard's eyes.

And then Merrihew noticed. Hillard still wore his evening clothes and the bed was untouched.

"That's very foolish."

"Why? I couldn't have closed my eyes," replied Hillard.

"But won't she need you up there?" Merrihew was obviously troubled.

"If she needs me she'll send for me. But I am not needed, and she will not send for me. I shall remain here and wait."

"He's dead. Things work out queerly, don't they?"

"She is free. Thank God!"

"You are not sorry, are you?"

"Sorry? In a way, yes. He was a blackleg, but it isn't pleasant to contemplate the manner of his end."

"Well,