Penny Dreadful Multipack Vol. 1 (Illustrated. Annotated. 'Wagner The Wehr-Wolf,' 'Varney The Vampire,' 'The Mysteries of London Vol. 1' + Bonus Features) (Penny Dreadful Multipacks) (5 page)

A crimson glow instantly suffused
the face, neck, shoulders, and bosom of Nisida; but instantly compressing her
lips—as was her wont when under the influence of her boiling passions, she
turned her flashing eyes once more upon the paper, to ascertain which leaf of
the manuscript it was.

That rapid glance revealed to her
the import, the dread, but profoundly mysterious import of the four first lines
on that page; and, again darting her soul-searching looks upon the trembling
Flora, she demanded, by the rapid play of her delicate taper fingers “Will you
swear that you read no more?”

“As I hope for salvation!” was
Flora’s symbolic answer.

The penetrating, imperious glance
of Nisida dwelt long upon the maiden’s countenance; but no sinister
expression—no suspicious change on that fair and candid face contradicted the
assertion which she had made.

“I believe you; but beware how
you breathe to a living soul a word of what you did read!”

Such was the injunction which
Nisida now conveyed by her usual means of communication; and Flora signified
implicit obedience.

Nisida then secured the page of
writing in her jewel casket; and the details of the toilet were resumed.

THE FUNERAL—THE INTERRUPTION OF THE CEREMONY

Eight
 
days after the death of the Count
of Riverola, the funeral took place.

The obsequies were celebrated at
night, with all the pomp observed amongst noble families on such occasions. The
church in which the corpse was buried, was hung with black cloth; and even the
innumerable wax tapers which burned upon the altar and around the coffin failed
to diminish the lugubrious aspect of the scene.

At the head of the bier stood the
youthful heir of Riverola; his pale countenance of even feminine beauty
contrasting strangely with the mourning garments which he wore, and his eyes
bent upon the dark chasm that formed the family vault into which the remains of
his sire were about to be lowered.

 Around the coffin stood Dr.
Duras and other male friends of the deceased: for the females of the family
were not permitted, by the custom of the age and the religion, to be present on
occasions of this kind.

It was eleven o’clock at night:
and the weather without was stormy and tempestuous.

The wind moaned through the long
aisles, raising strange and ominous echoes, and making the vast folds of sable
drapery wave slowly backward and forward, as if agitated by unseen hands. A few
spectators, standing in the background, appeared like grim figures on a black
tapestry; and the gleam of the wax tapers, oscillating on their countenances,
made them seem death-like and ghastly.

From time to time the shrill wail
of the shriek-owl, and the flapping of its wings against the diamond-paned
windows of the church, added to the awful gloom of the funeral scene.

And now suddenly arose the chant
of the priests—the parting hymn for the dead!

Francisco wept, for though his
father had never manifested toward him an affection of the slightest endearing
nature, yet the disposition of the young count was excellent; and, when he
gazed upon the coffin, he remembered not the coldness with which its inmate in
his lifetime had treated him—he thought only of a parent whom he had lost, and
whose remains were there!

And truly, on the brink of the
tomb no animosity should ever find a resting-place in the human heart. Though
elsewhere men yield to the influence of their passions and their feelings, in
pursuing each his separate interests—though, in the great world, we push and
jostle each other, as if the earth were not large enough to allow us to follow
our separate ways—yet, when we meet around the grave, to consign a fellow
creature to his last resting-place, let peace and holy forgiveness occupy our
souls. There let the clash of interests and the war of jealousies be forgotten;
and let us endeavor to persuade ourselves that, as all the conflicting pursuits
of life must terminate at this point at last, so should our feelings converge
to the one focus of amenity and Christian love. And, after all, how many who
have considered themselves to be antagonists must, during a moment of solemn
reflection, become convinced that, when toiling in the great workshop of the
world, they have been engaged, in unconscious fraternity, in building up the
same fabric!

The priests were in the midst of
their solemn chant—a deathlike silence and complete immovability prevailed
among the mourners and the spectators—and the wind was moaning beneath the
vaulted roofs, awaking those strange and tomb-like sounds which are only heard
in large churches,—when light but rushing footsteps were heard on the marble
pavement; and in another minute a female, not clothed in a mourning garb, but splendidly
as for a festival, precipitated herself toward the bier.

There her strength suddenly
seemed to be exhausted; and, with a piercing scream, she sank senseless on the
cold stones.

 The chant of the priest was
immediately stilled; and Francisco hurrying forward, raised the female in his
arms, while Dr. Duras asked for water to sprinkle on her countenance.

Over her head the stranger wore a
white veil of rich material, which was fastened above her brow by a single
diamond of unusual size and brilliant luster. When the veil was drawn aside,
shining auburn tresses were seen depending in wanton luxuriance over shoulders
of alabaster whiteness: a beautiful but deadly pale countenance was revealed;
and a splendid purple velvet dress delineated the soft and flowing outlines of
a form modeled to the most perfect symmetry.

She seemed to be about twenty
years of age,—in the full splendor of loveliness, and endowed with charms which
presented to the gaze of those around a very incarnation of the ideal beauty
which forms the theme of raptured poets.

And now, as the vacillating and
uncertain light of the wax-candles beamed upon her, as she lay senseless in the
arms of the Count Riverola, her pale, placid face appeared that of a classic
marble statue; but nothing could surpass the splendid effects which the funeral
tapers produced on the rich redundancy of her hair, which seemed dark where the
shadows rested on it, but glittering as with a bright glory where the luster
played on its shining masses.

In spite of the solemnity of the
place and the occasion, the mourners were struck by the dazzling beauty of that
young female, who had thus appeared so strangely amongst them; but respect
still retained at a distance those persons who were merely present from
curiosity to witness the obsequies of one of the proudest nobles of Florence.

At length the lady opened her
large hazel eyes, and glanced wildly around, a quick spasm passing like an
electric shock over her frame at the same instant; for the funeral scene burst
upon her view, and reminded her where she was, and why she was there.

Recovering herself almost as
rapidly as she had succumbed beneath physical and mental exhaustion, she
started from Francisco’s arms; and turning upon him a beseeching, inquiring
glance, exclaimed in a voice which ineffable anguish could not rob of its
melody: “Is it true—oh, tell me is it true that the Count Riverola is no more?”

“It is, alas! too true, lady,”
answered Francisco, in a tone of the deepest melancholy.

The heart of the fair stranger rebounded
at the words which thus seemed to destroy a last hope that lingered in her
soul; and a hysterical shriek burst from her lips as she threw her snow-white
arms, bare to the shoulders, around the head of the pall-covered coffin.

“Oh! my much-loved—my noble
Andrea!” she exclaimed, a torrent of tears now gushing from her eyes.

“That voice!—is it possible?”
cried one of the spectators who had been hitherto standing, as before said, at
a respectful distance: and the speaker—a man of tall, commanding form, graceful
demeanor, wondrously handsome countenance, and rich
 
 attire—immediately hurried
toward the spot where the young female still clung to the coffin, no one having
the heart to remove her.

The individual who had thus
stepped forward, gave one rapid but searching glance at the lady’s countenance;
and, yielding to the surprise and joy which suddenly animated him, he
exclaimed: “Yes—it is, indeed, the lost Agnes!”

The young female started when she
heard her name thus pronounced in a place where she believed herself to be
entirely unknown; and astonishment for an instant triumphed over the anguish of
her heart.

Hastily withdrawing her
snow-white arms from the head of the coffin, she turned toward the individual
who had uttered her name, and he instantly clasped her in his arms, murmuring,
“Dearest—dearest Agnes, art thou restored——”

But the lady shrieked, and
struggled to escape from that tender embrace, exclaiming, “What means this
insolence? will no one protect me?”

“That will I,” said Francisco,
darting forward, and tearing her away from the stranger’s arms. “But, in the
name of Heaven! let this misunderstanding be cleared up elsewhere. Lady—and
you, signor—I call on you to remember where you are, and how solemn a ceremony
you have both aided to interrupt.”

“I know not that man!” ejaculated
Agnes, indicating the stranger. “I come hither, because I heard—but an hour
ago—that my noble Andrea was no more. And I would not believe those who told
me. Oh! no—I could not think that Heaven had thus deprived me of all I loved on
earth!”

“Lady, you are speaking of my
father,” said Francisco, in a somewhat severe tone.

“Your father!” cried Agnes, now
surveying the young count with interest and curiosity. “Oh! then, my lord, you
can pity—you can feel for me, who in losing your father have lost all that
could render existence sweet!”

“No—you have not lost all!”
exclaimed the handsome stranger, advancing toward Agnes, and speaking in a
profoundly impressive tone. “Have you not one single relative left in the
world? Consider, lady—an old, old man—a shepherd in the Black Forest of
Germany——”

“Speak not of him!” cried Agnes,
wildly. “Did he know all, he would curse me—he would spurn me from him—he would
discard me forever! Oh! when I think of that poor old man, with his venerable
white hair,—that aged, helpless man, who was so kind to me, who loved me so
well, and whom I so cruelly abandoned. But tell me, signor,” she exclaimed, in
suddenly altered tone, while her breath came with the difficulty of acute
suspense,—“tell me, signor, does that old man still live?”

“He lives, Agnes,” was the reply.
“I know him well; at this moment he is in Florence!”

“In Florence!” repeated Agnes;
and so unexpectedly came this announcement, that her limbs seemed to give way
under
 
 her, and she would
have fallen on the marble pavement, had not the stranger caught her in his
arms.

“I will bear her away,” he said;
“she has a true friend in me.”

And he was moving off with his
senseless burden, when Francisco, struck by a sudden idea, caught him by the elegantly
slashed sleeve of his doublet, and whispered thus, in a rapid tone: “From the
few, but significant words which fell from that lady’s lips, and from her still
more impressive conduct, it would appear, alas! that my deceased father had
wronged her. If so, signor, it will be my duty to make her all the reparation
that can be afforded in such a case.”

“’Tis well, my lord,” answered
the stranger, in a cold and haughty tone. “To-morrow evening I will call upon
you at your palace.”

He then hurried on with the still
senseless Agnes in his arms; and the Count of Riverola retraced his steps to
the immediate vicinity of the coffin.

This scene, which so strangely
interrupted the funeral ceremony, and which has taken so much space to
describe, did not actually occupy ten minutes from the moment when the young
lady first appeared in the church, until that when she was borne away by the
handsome stranger. The funeral obsequies were completed; the coffin was lowered
into the family vault; the spectators dispersed, and the mourners, headed by
the young count, returned in procession to the Riverola mansion, which was
situated at no great distance.

THE READING OF THE WILL

When
 
the mourners reached the palace,
Francisco led the way to an apartment where Nisida was awaiting their coming.

Francisco kissed her
affectionately upon the forehead; and then took his seat at the head of the
table, his sister placing herself on his right hand.

Dressed in deep mourning, and
with her countenance unusually pale, Nisida’s appearance inspired a feeling of
profound interest in the minds of those who did not perceive that, beneath her
calm and mournful demeanor, feelings of painful intensity agitated within her
breast. But Dr. Duras, who knew her well—better, far better than even her own
brother—noticed an occasional wild flashing of the eye, a nervous motion of the
lips, and a degree of forced tranquility of mien, which proved how acute was
the suspense she in reality endured.

On Francisco’s left hand the
notary-general, who had acted as one of the chief mourners, took a seat. He was
a short, thin, middle-aged man, with a pale complexion, twinkling gray eyes,
and a sharp expression of countenance. Before him lay a sealed packet, on which
the eyes of Nisida darted, at short intervals, looks, the burning impatience of
which were comprehended by Dr. Duras alone; for next to Signor Vivaldi, the
notary-general—and consequently opposite to Nisida—sat the physician.

The remainder of the company
consisted of Father Marco and
 
 those
most intimate friends of the family who had been invited to the funeral; but
whom it is unnecessary to describe more particularly.

Father Marco having recited a
short prayer, in obedience to the custom of the age, and the occasion, the
notary-general proceeded to break the seals of the large packet which lay
before him: then, in a precise and methodical manner, he drew forth a sheet of
parchment, closely written on.

Nisida leaned her right arm upon
the table, and half-buried her countenance in the snowy cambric handkerchief
which she held.

The notary-general commenced the
reading of the will.

After bestowing a few legacies,
one of which was in favor of Dr. Duras, and another in that of Signor Vivaldi
himself, the testamentary document ordained that the estates of the late
Andrea, Count of Riverola, should be held in trust by the notary-general and
the physician, for the benefit of Francisco, who was merely to enjoy the
revenues produced by the same until the age of thirty, at which period the
guardianship was to cease, and Francisco was then to enter into full and
uncontrolled possession of those immense estates.

But to this clause there was an
important condition attached; for the testamentary document ordained that
should the Lady Nisida—either by medical skill, or the interposition of
Heaven—recover the faculties of hearing and speaking at any time during the
interval which was to elapse ere Francisco would attain the age of thirty, then
the whole of the estates, with the exception of a very small one in the northern
part of Tuscany, were to be immediately made over to her; but without the power
of alienation on her part.

It must be observed that, in the
middle ages many titles of nobility depended only on the feudal possession of a
particular property. This was the case with the Riverola estates; and the title
of Count of Riverola was conferred simply by the fact of the ownership of the
landed property. Thus, supposing that Nisida became possessed of the estates,
she would have enjoyed the title of countess, while her brother Francisco would
have lost that of count.

We may also remind our readers
that Francisco was now nineteen; and eleven years must consequently elapse ere
he could become the lord and master of the vast territorial possessions of
Riverola.

Great was the astonishment
experienced by all who heard the provisions of this strange will—with the
exception of the notary-general and Father Marco, the former of whom had drawn
it up, and the latter of whom was privy to its contents (though under a vow of
secrecy) in his capacity of father-confessor to the late count.

Francisco was himself surprised,
and, in one sense, hurt; because the nature of the testamentary document seemed
to imply that the property would have been inevitably left to his sister, with
but a very small provision for himself, had she not been so sorely afflicted as
she was; and this fact forced upon him the
 
 painful
conviction that even when contemplating his departure to another world, his
father had not softened toward his son!

But, on the other hand, Francisco
was pleased that such consideration had been shown toward a sister whom he so
devotedly loved; and he hastened, as soon as he could conquer his first
emotions, to request the notary-general to permit Nisida to peruse the will,
adding, in a mournful tone, “For all that your excellency has read has been,
alas! unavailing in respect to her.”

Signor Vivaldi handed the
document to the young count, who gently touched his sister’s shoulder and
placed the parchment before her.

Nisida started as if
convulsively, and raised from her handkerchief a countenance so pale, so deadly
pale, that Francisco shrank back in alarm.

But instantly reflecting that the
process of reading aloud a paper had been as it were a kind of mockery in
respect to his afflicted sister, he pressed her hand tenderly, and made a sign
for her to peruse the document.

She mechanically addressed
herself to the task; but ere her eyes—now of burning, unearthly brilliancy—fell
upon the parchment, they darted one rapid, electric glance of ineffable anguish
toward Dr. Duras, adown whose cheeks large tears were trickling.

In a few minutes Nisida appeared
to be absorbed in the perusal of the will; and the most solemn silence
prevailed throughout the apartment!

At length she started violently,
tossed the paper indignantly to the notary-general, and hastily wrote on a slip
of paper these words:

“Should medical skill or the
mercy of Heaven restore my speech and faculty of hearing, I will abandon all
claim to the estates and title of Riverola to my dear brother Francisco.”

She then handed the slip of paper
to the notary-general, who read the contents aloud.

Francisco darted upon his sister
a look of ineffable gratitude and love, but shook his head, as much as to imply
that he could not accept the boon even if circumstances enabled her to confer
it!

She returned the look with
another, expressive of impatience at his refusal: and her eyes seemed to say,
as eyes never yet spoke, “Oh, that I had the power to give verbal utterance to
my feelings!”

Meantime the notary-general had
written a few words beneath those penned by Nisida, to whom he had handed back
the slip; and she hastened to read them, thus: “Your ladyship has no power to
alienate the estates, should they come into your possession.”

Nisida burst into an agony of
tears and rushed from the room.

Her brother immediately followed
to console her; and the company retired, each individual to his own abode.

But of all that company who had
been present at the reading
 
 of
the will, none experienced such painful emotions as Dr. Duras.