A	>>	B	>>	C	>>	D	>>	E
F	>>	G	>>	H	>>	I	>>	J
K	>>	L	>>	M	>>	N	>>	O
P	>>	R	>>	S	>>	T	>>	U
V	>>	W	>>			X	>>	Z

Henry J. Coke - "Tracks of a Rolling Stone"

George Eliot - "Silas Marner"

Henry James - "Daisy Miller, by Henry James"

H. G. Wells - "The New Machiavelli"

AFTER DARK

W >> Wilkie Collins >> AFTER DARK




"It is not for want of perseverance on my part," said D'Arbino,
after a moment of silence, "that we are still left in the dark.
Ever since the extraordinary statement of the coachman who drove
the woman home, I have been inquiring and investigating. I have
offered the reward of two hundred scudi for the discovery of her;
I have myself examined the servants at the palace, the
night-watchman at the Campo Santo, the police-books, the lists of
keepers of hotels and lodging-houses, to hit on some trace of
this woman; and I have failed in all directions. If my poor
friend's perfect recovery does indeed depend on his delusion
being combated by actual proof, I fear we have but little chance
of restoring him. So far as I am concerned, I confess myself at
the end of my resources."

"I hope we are not quite conquered yet," returned the doctor.
"The proofs we want may turn up when we least expect them. It is
certainly a miserable case," he continued, mechanically laying
his fingers on the sleeping man's pulse. "There he lies, wanting
nothing now but to recover the natural elasticity of his mind;
and here we stand at his bedside, unable to relieve him of the
weight that is pressing his faculties down. I repeat it, Signor
Andrea, nothing will rouse him from his delusion that he is the
victim of a supernatural interposition but the production of some
startling, practical proof of his error. At present he is in the
position of a man who has been imprisoned from his birth in a
dark room, and who denies the existence of daylight. If we cannot
open the shutters and show him the sky outside, we shall never
convert him to a knowledge of the truth."

Saying these words, the doctor turned to lead the way out of the
room, and observed Nanina, who had moved from the bedside on his
entrance, standing near the door. He stopped to look at her,
shook his head good-humoredly, and called to Marta, who happened
to be occupied in an adjoining room.

"Signora Marta," said the doctor, "I think you told me some time
ago that your pretty and careful little assistant lives in your
house. Pray, does she take much walking exercise?"

"Very little, Signor Dottore. She goes home to her sister when
she leaves the palace. Very little walking exercise, indeed."

"I thought so! Her pale cheeks and heavy eyes told me as much.
Now, my dear," said the doctor, addressing Nanina, "you are a
very good girl, and I am sure you will attend to what I tell you.
Go out every morning before you come here, and take a walk in the
fresh air. You are too young not to suffer by being shut up in
close rooms every day, unless you get some regular exercise. Take
a good long walk in the morning, or you will fall into my hands
as a patient, and be quite unfit to continue your attendance
here. Now, Signor Andrea, I am ready for you. Mind, my child, a
walk every day in the open air outside the town, or you will fall
ill, take my word for it!"

Nanina promised compliance; but she spoke rather absently, and
seemed scarcely conscious of the kind familiarity which marked
the doctor's manner. The truth was, that all her thoughts were
occupied with what he had been saying by Fabio's bedside. She had
not lost one word of the conversation while the doctor was
talking of his patient, and of the conditions on which his
recovery depended. "Oh, if that proof which would cure him could
only be found!" she thought to herself, as she stole back
anxiously to the bedside when the room was empty.

On getting home that day she found a letter waiting for her, and
was greatly surprised to see that it was written by no less a
person than the master-sculptor, Luca Lomi. It was very short;
simply informing her that he had just returned to Pisa, and that
he was anxious to know when she could sit to him for a new
bust--a commission from a rich foreigner at Naples.

Nanina debated with herself for a moment whether she should
answer the letter in the hardest way, to her, by writing, or, in
the easiest way, in person; and decided on going to the studio
and telling the master-sculptor that it would be impossible for
her to serve him as a model, at least for some time to come. It
would have taken her a long hour to say this with due propriety
on paper; it would only take her a few minutes to say it with her
own lips. So she put on her mantilla again and departed for the
studio.

On, arriving at the gate and ringing the bell, a thought suddenly
occurred to her, which she wondered had not struck her before.
Was it not possible that she might meet Father Rocco in his
brother's work-room? It was too late to retreat now, but not too
late to ask, before she entered, if the priest was in the studio.
Accordingly, when one of the workmen opened the door to her, she
inquired first, very confusedly and anxiously, for Father Rocco.
Hearing that he was not with his brother then, she went
tranquilly enough to make her apologies to the master-sculptor.

She did not think it necessary to tell him more than that she was
now occupied every day by nursing duties in a sick-room, and that
it was consequently out of her power to attend at the studio.
Luca Lomi expressed, and evidently felt, great disappointment at
her failing him as a model, and tried hard to persuade her that
she might find time enough, if she chose, to sit to him, as well
as to nurse the sick person. The more she resisted his arguments
and entreaties, the more obstinately he reiterated them. He was
dusting his favorite busts and statues, after his long absence,
with a feather-brush when she came in; and he continued this
occupation all the while he was talking--urging a fresh plea to
induce Nanina to reconsider her refusal to sit at every fresh
piece of sculpture he came to, and always receiving the same
resolute apology from her as she slowly followed him down the
studio toward the door.

Arriving thus at the lower end of the room, Luca stopped with a
fresh argument on his lips before his statue of Minerva. He had
dusted it already, but he lovingly returned to dust it again. It
was his favorite work--the only good likeness (although it did
assume to represent a classical subject) of his dead daughter
that he possessed. He had refused to part with it for Maddalena's
sake; and, as he now approached it with his brush for the second
time, he absently ceased speaking, and mounted on a stool to look
at the face near and blow some specks of dust off the forehead.
Nanina thought this a good opportunity of escaping from further
importunities. She was on the point of slipping away to the door
with a word of farewell, when a sudden exclamation from Luca Lomi
arrested her.

"Plaster!" cried the master-sculptor, looking intently at that
part of the hair of the statue which lay lowest on the forehead.
"Plaster here!" He took out his penknife as he spoke, and removed
a tiny morsel of some white substance from an interstice between
two folds of the hair where it touched the face. "It _is_
plaster!" he exclaimed, excitedly. "Somebody has been taking a
cast from the face of my statue!"

He jumped off the stool, and looked all round the studio with an
expression of suspicious inquiry. "I must have this cleared up,"
he said. "My statues were left under Rocco's care, and he is
answerable if there has been any stealing of casts from any one
of them. I must question him directly."

Nanina, seeing that he took no notice of her, felt that she might
now easily effect her retreat. She opened the studio door, and
repeated, for the twentieth time at least, that she was sorry she
could not sit to him.

"I am sorry too, child," he said, irritably looking about for his
hat. He found it apparently just as Nanina was going out; for she
heard him call to one of the workmen in the inner studio, and
order the man to say, if anybody wanted him, that he had gone to
Father Rocco's lodgings.

CHAPTER VI.

The next morning, when Nanina rose, a bad attack of headache, and
a sense of languor and depression, reminded her of the necessity
of following the doctor's advice, and preserving her health by
getting a little fresh air and exercise. She had more than two
hours to spare before the usual time when her daily attendance
began at the Ascoli Palace; and she determined to employ the
interval of leisure in taking a morning walk outside the town. La
Biondella would have been glad enough to go too, but she had a
large order for dinner-mats on hand, and was obliged, for that
day, to stop in the house and work. Thus it happened that when
Nanina set forth from home, the learned poodle, Scarammuccia, was
her only companion.

She took the nearest way out of the town; the dog trotting along
in his usual steady, observant way close at her side, pushing his
great rough muzzle, from time to time, affectionately into her
hand, and trying hard to attract her attention at intervals by
barking and capering in front of her. He got but little notice,
however, for his pains. Nanina was thinking again of all that the
physician had said the day before by Fabio's bedside, and these
thoughts brought with them others, equally absorbing, that were
connected with the mysterious story of the young nobleman's
adventure with the Yellow Mask. Thus preoccupied, she had little
attention left for the gambols of the dog. Even the beauty of the
morning appealed to her in vain. She felt the refreshment of the
cool, fragrant air, but she hardly noticed the lovely blue of the
sky, or the bright sunshine that gave a gayety and an interest to
the commonest objects around her.

After walking nearly an hour, she began to feel tired, and looked
about for a shady place to rest in.

Beyond and behind her there was only the high-road and the flat
country; but by her side stood a little wooden building, half
inn, half coffee-house, backed by a large, shady pleasure.
garden, the gates of which stood invitingly open. Some workmen in
the garden were putting up a stage for fireworks, but the place
was otherwise quiet and lonely enough. It was only used at night
as a sort of rustic Ranelagh, to which the citizens of Pisa
resorted for pure air and amusement after the fatigues of the
day. Observing that there were no visitors in the grounds, Nanina
ventured in, intending to take a quarter of an hour's rest in the
coolest place she could find before returning to Pisa.

She had passed the back of a wooden summer-house in a secluded
part of the gardens, when she suddenly missed the dog from her
side; and, looking round after him, saw that he was standing
behind the summer-house with his ears erect and his nose to the
ground, having evidently that instant scented something that
excited his suspicion.

Thinking it possible that he might be meditating an attack on
some unfortunate cat, she turned to see what he was watching. The
carpenters engaged on the firework stage were just then hammering
at it violently. The noise prevented her from hearing that
Scarammuccia was growling, but she could feel that he was the
moment she laid her hand on his back. Her curiosity was excited,
and she stooped down close to him to look through a crack in the
boards before which he stood into the summer-house.

She was startled at seeing a lady and gentleman sitting inside.
The place she was looking through was not high enough up to
enable her to see their faces, but she recognized, or thought she
recognized, the pattern of the lady's dress as one which she had
noticed in former days in the Demoiselle Grifoni's show-room.
Rising quickly, her eye detected a hole in the boards about the
level of her own height, caused by a knot having been forced out
of the wood. She looked through it to ascertain, without being
discovered, if the wearer of the familiar dress was the person
she had taken her to be; and saw, not Brigida only, as she had
expected, but Father Rocco as well. At the same moment the
carpenters left off hammering and began to saw. The new sound
from the firework stage was regular and not loud. The voices of
the occupants of the summer-house reached her through it, and she
heard Brigida pronounce the name of Count Fabio.

Instantly stooping down once more by the dog's side, she caught
his muzzle firmly in both her hands. It was the only way to keep
Scarammuccia from growling again, at a time when there was no din
of hammering to prevent him from being heard. Those two words,
"Count Fabio," in the mouth of another woman, excited a jealous
anxiety in her. What could Brigida have to say in connection with
that name? She never came near the Ascoli Palace--what right or
reason could she have to talk of Fabio?

"Did you hear what I said?" she heard Brigida ask, in her
coolest, hardest tone.

"No," the priest answered. "At least, not all of it."

"I will repeat it, then. I asked what had so suddenly determined
you to give up all idea of making any future experiments on the
superstitious fears of Count Fabio?"

"In the first place, the result of the experiment already tried
has been so much more serious than I had anticipated, that I
believe the end I had in view in making it has been answered
already."

"Well; that is not your only reason?"

"Another shock to his mind might be fatal to him. I can use what
I believe to be a justifiable fraud to prevent his marrying
again; but I cannot burden myself with a crime."

"That is your second reason; but I believe you have another yet.
The suddenness with which you sent to me last night to appoint a
meeting in this lonely place; the emphatic manner in which you
requested--I may almost say ordered--me to bring the wax mask
here, suggest to my mind that something must have happened. What
is it? I am a woman, and my curiosity must be satisfied. After
the secrets you have trusted to me already, you need not
hesitate, I think, to trust me with one more."

"Perhaps not. The secret this time is, moreover, of no great
importance. You know that the wax mask you wore at the ball was
made in a plaster mold taken off the face of my brother's
statue?"

"Yes, I know that."

"My brother has just returned to his studio; has found a morsel
of the plaster I used for the mold sticking in the hair of the
statue; and has asked me, as the person left in charge of his
work-rooms, for an explanation. Such an explanation as I could
offer has not satisfied him, and he talks of making further
inquiries. Considering that it will be used no more, I think it
safest to destroy the wax mask, and I asked you to bring it here,
that I might see it burned or broken up with my own eyes. Now you
know all you wanted to know; and now, therefore, it is my turn to
remind you that I have not yet had a direct answer to the first
question I addressed to you when we met here. Have you brought
the wax mask with you, or have you not?"

"I have not."

"And why?"

Just as that question was put, Nanina felt the dog dragging
himself free of her grasp on his mouth. She had been listening
hitherto with such painful intensity, with such all-absorbing
emotions of suspense, terror, and astonishment, that she had not
noticed his efforts to get away, and had continued mechanically
to hold his mouth shut. But now she was aroused by the violence
of his struggles to the knowledge that, unless she hit upon some
new means of quieting him, he would have his mouth free, and
would betray her by a growl.

In an agony of apprehension lest she should lose a word of the
momentous conversation, she made a desperate attempt to appeal to
the dog's fondness for her, by suddenly flinging both her arms
round his neck, and kissing his rough, hairy cheek. The stratagem
succeeded. Scarammuccia had, for many years past, never received
any greater marks of his mistress's kindness for him than such as
a pat on the head or a present of a lump of sugar might convey.
His dog's nature was utterly confounded by the unexpected warmth
of Nanina's caress, and he struggled up vigorously in her arms to
try and return it by licking her face. She could easily prevent
him from doing this, and could so gain a few minutes more to
listen behind the summer-house without danger of discovery.

She had lost Brigida's answer to Father Rocco's question; but she
was in time to hear her next words.

"We are alone here," said Brigida. "I am a woman, and I don't
know that you may not have come armed. It is only the commonest
precaution on my part not to give you a chance of getting at the
wax mask till I have made my conditions."

"You never said a word about conditions before."

"True. I remember telling you that I wanted nothing but the
novelty of going to the masquerade in the character of my dead
enemy, and the luxury of being able to terrify the man who had
brutally ridiculed me in old days in the studio. That was the
truth. But it is not the less the truth that our experiment on
Count Fabio has detained me in this city much longer than I ever
intended, that I am all but penniless, and that I deserve to be
paid. In plain words, will you buy the mask of me for two hundred
scudi?"

"I have not twenty scudi in the world, at my own free disposal."

"You must find two hundred if you want the wax mask. I don't wish
to threaten--but money I must have. I mention the sum of two
hundred scudi, because that is the exact amount offered in the
public handbills by Count Fabio's friends for the discovery of
the woman who wore the yellow mask at the Marquis Melani's ball.
What have I to do but to earn that money if I please, by going to
the palace, taking the wax mask with me, and telling them that I
am the woman. Suppose I confess in that way; they can do nothing
to hurt me, and I should be two hundred scudi the richer. You
might be injured, to be sure, if they insisted on knowing who
made the wax model, and who suggested the ghastly disguise--"

"Wretch! do you believe that my character could be injured on the
unsupported evidence of any words from your lips?"

"Father Rocco, for the first time since I have enjoyed the
pleasure of your acquaintance, I find you committing a breach of
good manners. I shall leave you until you become more like
yourself. If you wish to apologize for calling me a wretch, and
if you want to secure the wax mask, honor me with a visit before
four o'clock this afternoon, and bring two hundred scudi with
you. Delay till after four, and it will be too late."

An instant of silence followed; and then Nanina judged that
Brigida must be departing, for she heard the rustling of a dress
on the lawn in front of the summer-house. Unfortunately,
Scarammuccia heard it too. He twisted himself round in her arms
and growled.

The noise disturbed Father Rocco. She heard him rise and leave
the summer-house. There would have been time enough, perhaps, for
her to conceal herself among some trees if she could have
recovered her self-possession at once; but she was incapable of
making an effort to regain it. She could neither think nor
move--her breath seemed to die away on her lips--as she saw the
shadow of the priest stealing over the grass slowly from the
front to the back of the summer-house. In another moment they
were face to face.

He stopped a few paces from her, and eyed her steadily in dead
silence. She still crouched against the summer-house, and still
with one hand mechanically kept her hold of the dog. It was well
for the priest that she did so. Scarammuccia's formidable teeth
were in full view, his shaggy coat was bristling, his eyes were
starting, his growl had changed from the surly to the savage
note; he was ready to tear down, not Father Rocco only, but all
the clergy in Pisa, at a moment's notice.

"You have been listening," said the priest, calmly. "I see it in
your face. You have heard all."

She could not answer a word; she could not take her eyes from
him. There was an unnatural stillness in his face, a steady,
unrepentant, unfathomable despair in his eyes that struck her
with horror. She would have given worlds to be able to rise to
her feet and fly from his presence.

"I once distrusted you and watched you in secret," he said,
speaking after a short silence, thoughtfully, and with a strange,
tranquil sadness in his voice. "And now, what I did by you, you
do by me. You put the hope of your life once in my hands. Is it
because they were not worthy of the trust that discovery and ruin
overtake me, and that you are the instrument of the retribution?
Can this be the decree of Heaven--or is it nothing but the blind
justice of chance?"

He looked upward, doubtingly, to the lustrous sky above him, and
sighed. Nanina's eyes still followed his mechanically. He seemed
to feel their influence, for he suddenly looked down at her
again.

"What keeps you silent? Why are you afraid?" he said. "I can do
you no harm, with your dog at your side, and the workmen yonder
within call. I can do you no harm, and I wish to do you none. Go
back to Pisa; tell what you have heard, restore the man you love
to himself, and ruin me. That is your work; do it! I was never
your enemy, even when I distrusted you. I am not your enemy now.
It is no fault of yours that a fatality has been accomplished
through you--no fault of yours that I am rejected as the
instrument of securing a righteous restitution to the Church.
Rise, child, and go your way, while I go mine, and prepare for
what is to come. If we never meet again, remember that I parted
from you without one hard saying or one harsh look--parted from
you so, knowing that the first words you speak in Pisa will be
death to my character, and destruction to the great purpose of my
life."

Speaking these words, always with the same calmness which had
marked his manner from the first, he looked fixedly at her for a
little while, sighed again, and turned away. Just before he
disappeared among the trees, he said "Farewell," but so softly
that she could barely hear it. Some strange confusion clouded her
mind as she lost sight of him. Had she injured him, or had he
injured her? His words bewildered and oppressed her simple heart.
Vague doubts and fears, and a sudden antipathy to remaining any
longer near the summer-house, overcame her. She started to her
feet, and, keeping the dog still at her side, hurried from the
garden to the highroad. There, the wide glow of sunshine, the
sight of the city lying before her, changed the current of her
thoughts, and directed them all to Fabio and to the future.

A burning impatience to be back in Pisa now possessed her. She
hastened toward the city at her utmost speed. The doctor was
reported to be in the palace when she passed the servants
lounging in the courtyard. He saw the moment, she came into his
presence, that something had happened, and led her away from the
sick-room into Fabio's empty study. There she told him all.

"You have saved him," said the doctor, joyfully. "I will answer
for his recovery. Only let that woman come here for the reward;
and leave me to deal with her as she deserves. In the meantime,
my dear, don't go away from the palace on any account until I
give you permission. I am going to send a message immediately to
Signor Andrea D'Arbino to come and hear the extraordinary
disclosure that you have made to me. Go back to read to the
count, as usual, until I want you again; but, remember, you must
not drop a word to him yet of what you have said to me. He must
be carefully prepared for all that we have to tell him; and must
be kept quite in the dark until those preparations are made."

D'Arbino answered the doctor's summons in person; and Nanina
repeated her story to him. He and the doctor remained closeted
together for some time after she had concluded her narrative and
had retired. A little before four o'clock they sent for her again
into the study. The doctor was sitting by the table with a bag of
money before him, and D'Arbino was telling one of the servants
that if a lady called at the palace on the subject of the
handbill which he had circulated, she was to be admitted into the
study immediately.

As the clock struck four Nanina was requested to take possession
of a window-seat, and to wait there until she was summoned. When
she had obeyed, the doctor loosened one of the window-curtains,
to hide her from the view of any one entering the room.

About a quarter of an hour elapsed, and then the door was thrown
open, and Brigida herself was shown into the study. The doctor
bowed, and D'Arbino placed a chair for her. She was perfectly
collected, and thanked them for their politeness with her best
grace.

"I believe I am addressing confidential friends of Count Fabio
d'Ascoli?" Brigida began. "May I ask if you are authorized to act
for the count, in relation to the reward which this handbill
offers?"

The doctor, having examined the handbill, said that the lady was
quite right, and pointed significantly to the bag of money.

"You are prepared, then," pursued Brigida, smiling, "to give a
reward of two hundred scudi to any one able to tell you who the
woman is who wore the yellow mask at the Marquis Melani's ball,
and how she contrived to personate the face and figure of the
late Countess d'Ascoli?"

Copyright (c) 2007. fullstories.net. All rights reserved.