On returning from my last visit to the palace I had carefully noted the way thereto, so I was able to escort Signorina Angello without calling in the services of Peppino. I was unwilling to drive there, as the presence of a fiacre even in that deserted piazza might be noticed, and I did not want any comment made by the scandal-loving Italian populace on our visit to this out-of-the-way locality. So in company with Bianca, who had put on a veil, and who said nothing to me from the time we left Casa Angello, being apparently occupied with her own reflections, I walked down the gloomy, narrow streets towards that terrible Palazzo Morone, the very idea of which inspired me with horror and dismay.
It was one of those burning days common to that time of the year in Italy, and much as I despised and cursed those drain-like alleys in wet weather, yet I now saw there was method in the madness of their style of building, for their cool shadow and humid atmosphere was wonderfully pleasant after the glare, the dust, and heat of the great piazza. We walked on the broad carriage-way, which was less painful to the feet than the cobble-stone paving between, and every now and then saw some typical picture of Italian life. A dark-faced woman with a red handkerchief twisted carelessly round her head, leaning from a high balcony, on the iron railings of which was displayed the family washing; a purple cloud of wisteria blooming in some pergola near the red roof-tops; sleek grey donkeys laden with panniers, stepping complacently along the narrow way; slender Italian men presiding over fruit-stalls, piled high with their picturesque contents; and over all, the vivacious clatter and din of voices, struck through at times with the sharp, metallic notes of the mandolin. It was very charming, and, I would have enjoyed it thoroughly, artistically speaking, had it not been for the local odours. Oh, the smells of those picturesque streets! they were too terrible for description; and how the Italians are not swept off the face of the earth by a plague of typhoid is more than I can understand. I smoked cigarettes most of the time, as a preventive against infection; but on beholding ideal paintings of Italian scenes, I always shudder at the memory of the malodorous reality, and on arriving in well-drained London again, my first prayer was one of thanks for having escaped from ill-smelling Italy.
My thoughts during this portentous walk were, I am afraid, rather frivolous; but so fearful had been the strain on my nerves for the past few days, that it was a great relief to think idly of anything and any one. Not so Bianca; even through her veil I could see the glisten of tears, and catch the sound of her quick indrawn breath as she strove to fight down the emotion that threatened to overwhelm her. I saw that the poor child was nearly hysterical with her efforts to control herself, and stopped short in dismay.
"Signorina, you are not well. Do not go to this palazzo."
"Yes, yes! I must, Signor Hugo. I cannot pass another night in this state of suspense. I must know all, and at once. Is the Palazzo Morone far off?"
"We are just at it, Signorina."
And so we were; for at that moment we entered the silent, grass-grown square, at the end of which stood the palazzo, looking gruesome even in the sunshine, with its broken windows, damp, disfigured walls, and general air of weird solitude. Some swallows were shooting through the still air and twittering round the rich sculptures of the fa?ade, but their merry chirpings only added to the eerie feeling inspired by the great mansion--a feeling which I noticed thrilled Bianca with fear as she paused shuddering, under the grinning masks and unlovely faces peering downward from the arched entrance.
"Oh, how could he come to this terrible place at night!" she cried, crossing herself, with a look of fear in her eyes. "Desolate as it is in the sun, what must it be when the moon shines! It is an abode of the dead--a tomb--a tomb! Dio! his tomb."
"Signorina, do not affright yourself thus! Things may not be so bad as you think."
"It is like the Inferno of Dante! and turns my blood cold with fear; but I will not go back! I must find Guiseppe, even if it cost me my life. Come, Signor, presto! there is no time to lose."
She crossed herself once more, then flitted through the opening in the iron gate like a noiseless-winged bird, upon which I hastily followed her, and we stood for a moment in the lonely courtyard, gazing at the great portals of the door leading to the hall, which stood half-open.
"Signorina, I will lead you to the room. You are not afraid? You do not tremble?"
"Ah! I am afraid, and I do tremble, Signor, for I am only a girl; but lead on, love will make me strong, and you will protect me. Give me your hand, Signor; I am not afraid when I hold your hand."
With a fleeting smile on her pale lips, she placed her hand in mine, and as I grasped its cold whiteness, I guessed how terrified this delicate, superstitious girl was of this unholy place. But for the resolute look on her pallid face, I would have insisted upon her turning back; but it was useless to urge retreat now, so with the name "Guiseppe! Guiseppe!" on her lips, as if to inspire her with courage, she almost dragged me through the half-closed door into the hall of shadows.
"Ah! Mother Mary, it is like a church!"
It was like a church--like some old deserted church, filled with the chill atmosphere of the grave; and the slow movement of the wind-shaken tapestries, the glimmer of the ghostly white stairs in the dim distance, and the solemnity of the huge pillars of black marble, made me think of those God-cursed cities of the "Thousand and One Nights," whose silence is only broken by the voice of the one survivor chanting the melancholy verses of the Koran. Bianca, overpowered by this mute spectacle of a dead past, clung convulsively to my arm with faltering prayers on her lips, and I became afraid lest, by a feeling of sympathy, her terror should unnerve me also, so with a cheerful laugh, which echoed dismally through the vast vestibule, I led her onward towards the grand staircase.
"Come, Signorina, do not be afraid. You are quite safe with me."
"Yes, yes! Guiseppe! Guiseppe!"
We slowly ascended the staircase, gained the corridor, and at length arrived at the second flight of shallow steps leading to the secret room. Here Bianca, seeing the darkness, nearly fainted with nervous fear, for, deeply imbued with grim Italian superstitions, she beheld unseen terrors in every shadowy corner. I again wanted her to return, but with wilful obstinacy she refused, so, as I luckily had a pocket-flask of brandy with me, I made her take a little to revive her. The fiery spirit put new life into her sinking limbs, and, after lighting my candle as usual, I led her up the steps, through the short corridor, through the tapestried ante-chamber, until at last we stood in the fatal room.
"Here, Signor Hugo!"
"Yes!"
She flung back her veil with a feverish gesture, and peered into the darkness, which was hardly broken by the feeble light of the small candle I carried. Suddenly a thought struck me which I at once put into execution, and lighted all the tapers yet remaining in the candelabra on the table. To the darkness succeeded a blaze of mellow light, and Bianca, with a look of surprise on her face, gazed round the singular room with the white pillars, the ominous blood-red hangings, and the banquet of the dead set forth with such splendid display on the gilt table.
"What a strange room!" she said timidly. "Signor Hugo! what does it mean?"
"I have told you all I know, Signorina. Your lover was lured to this room. I saw him pass through that door, and then I was drugged as I have said."
"You did not then see who received him here?"
"No! I did not."
The first part of the lie was difficult to utter on account of a choking feeling in my throat, but the last sentence came out with tolerable grace.
"And you do not think Guiseppe left this room again?"
"I'm afraid not, Signorina!"
"Then, where can he be?" she asked with an anxious look around.
"I ............