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_ THE girl had sunk into a chair, her face hidden, a picture of shame
and agony. So moving was the sight that Tony once again forgot his
own extremity in the view of her distress. He went and kneeled
beside her, drawing her hands from her face.
"Oh, don't make me look at you!" she sobbed; but it was on his bosom
that she hid from his gaze. He held her there a breathing-space, as
he might have clasped a weeping child; then she drew back and put
him gently from her.
"What humiliation!" she lamented.
"Do you think I blame you for what has happened?"
"Alas, was it not my foolish letter that brought you to this plight?
And how nobly you defended me! How generous it was of you not to
show the letter! If my father knew I had written to the Ambassador
to save me from this dreadful marriage his anger against me would be
even greater."
"Ah--it was that you wrote for?" cried Tony with unaccountable
relief.
"Of course--what else did you think?"
"But is it too late for the Ambassador to save you?"
"From _you?_" A smile flashed through her tears. "Alas, yes." She
drew back and hid her face again, as though overcome by a fresh wave
of shame.
Tony glanced about him. "If I could wrench a bar out of that
window--" he muttered.
"Impossible! The court is guarded. You are a prisoner, alas.--Oh, I
must speak!" She sprang up and paced the room. "But indeed you can
scarce think worse of me than you do already--"
"I think ill of you?"
"Alas, you must! To be unwilling to marry the man my father has
chosen for me--"
"Such a beetle-browed lout! It would be a burning shame if you
married him."
"Ah, you come from a free country. Here a girl is allowed no
choice."
"It is infamous, I say--infamous!"
"No, no--I ought to have resigned myself, like so many others."
"Resigned yourself to that brute! Impossible!"
"He has a dreadful name for violence--his gondolier has told my
little maid such tales of him! But why do I talk of myself, when it
is of you I should be thinking?"
"Of me, poor child?" cried Tony, losing his head.
"Yes, and how to save you--for I _can_ save you! But every moment
counts--and yet what I have to say is so dreadful."
"Nothing from your lips could seem dreadful."
"Ah, if he had had your way of speaking!"
"Well, now at least you are free of him," said Tony, a little
wildly; but at this she stood up and bent a grave look on him.
"No, I am not free," she said; "but you are, if you will do as I
tell you."
Tony, at this, felt a sudden dizziness; as though, from a mad flight
through clouds and darkness, he had dropped to safety again, and the
fall had stunned him.
"What am I to do?" he said.
"Look away from me, or I can never tell you."
He thought at first that this was a jest, but her eyes commanded
him, and reluctantly he walked away and leaned in the embrasure of
the window. She stood in the middle of the room, and as soon as his
back was turned she began to speak in a quick monotonous voice, as
though she were reciting a lesson.
"You must know that the Marquess Zanipolo, though a great noble, is
not a rich man. True, he has large estates, but he is a desperate
spendthrift and gambler, and would sell his soul for a round sum of
ready money.--If you turn round I shall not go on!--He wrangled
horribly with my father over my dowry--he wanted me to have more
than either of my sisters, though one married a Procurator and the
other a grandee of Spain. But my father is a gambler too--oh, such
fortunes as are squandered over the arcade yonder! And so--and
so--don't turn, I implore you--oh, do you begin to see my meaning?"
She broke off sobbing, and it took all his strength to keep his eyes
from her.
"Go on," he said.
"Will you not understand? Oh, I would say anything to save you! You
don't know us Venetians--we're all to be bought for a price. It is
not only the brides who are marketable--sometimes the husbands sell
themselves too. And they think you rich--my father does, and the
others--I don't know why, unless you have shown your money too
freely--and the English are all rich, are they not? And--oh, oh--do
you understand? Oh, I can't bear your eyes!"
She dropped into a chair, her head on her arms, and Tony in a flash
was at her side.
"My poor child, my poor Polixena!" he cried, and wept and clasped
her.
"You _are_ rich, are you not? You would promise them a ransom?" she
persisted.
"To enable you to marry the Marquess?"
"To enable you to escape from this place. Oh, I hope I may never see
your face again." She fell to weeping once more, and he drew away
and paced the floor in a fever.
Presently she sprang up with a fresh air of resolution, and pointed
to a clock against the wall. "The hour is nearly over. It is quite
true that my father is gone to fetch his chaplain. Oh, I implore
you, be warned by me! There is no other way of escape."
"And if I do as you say--?"
"You are safe! You are free! I stake my life on it."
"And you--you are married to that villain?"
"But I shall have saved you. Tell me your name, that I may say it to
myself when I am alone."
"My name is Anthony. But you must not marry that fellow."
"You forgive me, Anthony? You don't think too badly of me?"
"I say you must not marry that fellow."
She laid a trembling hand on his arm. "Time presses," she adjured
him, "and I warn you there is no other way."
For a moment he had a vision of his mother, sitting very upright, on
a Sunday evening, reading Dr. Tillotson's sermons in the best
parlour at Salem; then he swung round on the girl and caught both
her hands in his. "Yes, there is," he cried, "if you are willing.
Polixena, let the priest come!"
She shrank back from him, white and radiant. "Oh, hush, be silent!"
she said.
"I am no noble Marquess, and have no great estates," he
cried. "My father is a plain India merchant in the colony of
Massachusetts--but if you--"
"Oh, hush, I say! I don't know what your long words mean. But I
bless you, bless you, bless you on my knees!" And she knelt before
him, and fell to kissing his hands.
He drew her up to his breast and held her there.
"You are willing, Polixena?" he said.
"No, no!" She broke from him with outstretched hands. "I am not
willing. You mistake me. I must marry the Marquess, I tell you!"
"On my money?" he taunted her; and her burning blush rebuked him.
"Yes, on your money," she said sadly.
"Why? Because, much as you hate him, you hate me still more?"
She was silent.
"If you hate me, why do you sacrifice yourself for me?" he
persisted.
"You torture me! And I tell you the hour is past."
"Let it pass. I'll not accept your sacrifice. I will not lift a
finger to help another man to marry you."
"Oh, madman, madman!" she murmured.
Tony, with crossed arms, faced her squarely, and she leaned against
the wall a few feet off from him. Her breast throbbed under its lace
and falbalas, and her eyes swam with terror and entreaty.
"Polixena, I love you!" he cried.
A blush swept over her throat and bosom, bathing her in light to the
verge of her troubled brows.
"I love you! I love you!" he repeated.
And now she was on his breast again, and all their youth was in
their lips. But her embrace was as fleeting as a bird's poise and
before he knew it he clasped empty air, and half the room was
between them.
She was holding up a little coral charm and laughing. "I took it
from your fob," she said. "It is of no value, is it? And I shall not
get any of the money, you know."
She continued to laugh strangely, and the rouge burned like fire in
her ashen face.
"What are you talking of?" he said.
"They never give me anything but the clothes I wear. And I shall
never see you again, Anthony!" She gave him a dreadful look. "Oh, my
poor boy, my poor love--'_ I love you, I love you, Polixena!_'"
He thought she had turned light-headed, and advanced to her with
soothing words; but she held him quietly at arm's length, and as he
gazed he read the truth in her face.
He fell back from her, and a sob broke from him as he bowed his head
on his hands.
"Only, for God's sake, have the money ready, or there may be foul
play here," she said.
As she spoke there was a great tramping of steps outside and a burst
of voices on the threshold.
"It is all a lie," she gasped out, "about my marriage, and the
Marquess, and the Ambassador, and the Senator--but not, oh, not
about your danger in this place--or about my love," she breathed to
him. And as the key rattled in the door she laid her lips on his
brow.
The key rattled, and the door swung open--but the black-cassocked
gentleman who stepped in, though a priest indeed, was no votary of
idolatrous rites, but that sound orthodox divine, the Reverend Ozias
Mounce, looking very much perturbed at his surroundings, and very
much on the alert for the Scarlet Woman. He was supported, to his
evident relief, by the captain of the Hepzibah B., and the
procession was closed by an escort of stern-looking fellows in
cocked hats and small-swords, who led between them Tony's late
friends the magnificoes, now as sorry a looking company as the law
ever landed in her net.
The captain strode briskly into the room, uttering a grunt of
satisfaction as he clapped eyes on Tony.
"So, Mr. Bracknell," said he, "you have been seeing the Carnival
with this pack of mummers, have you? And this is where your
pleasuring has landed you? H'm--a pretty establishment, and a pretty
lady at the head of it." He glanced about the apartment and doffed
his hat with mock ceremony to Polixena, who faced him like a
princess.
"Why, my girl," said he, amicably, "I think I saw you this morning
in the square, on the arm of the Pantaloon yonder; and as for that
Captain Spavent--" and he pointed a derisive finger at the
Marquess--"I've watched him drive his bully's trade under the arcade
ever since I first dropped anchor in these waters. Well, well," he
continued, his indignation subsiding, "all's fair in Carnival, I
suppose, but this gentleman here is under sailing orders, and I fear
we must break up your little party."
At this Tony saw Count Rialto step forward, looking very small and
explanatory, and uncovering obsequiously to the captain.
"I can assure you, sir," said the Count in his best English, "that
this incident is the result of an unfortunate misunderstanding, and
if you will oblige us by dismissing these myrmidons, any of my
friends here will be happy to offer satisfaction to Mr. Bracknell
and his companions."
Mr. Mounce shrank visibly at this, and the captain burst into a loud
guffaw.
"Satisfaction?" says he. "Why, my cock, that's very handsome of you,
considering the rope's at your throats. But we'll not take advantage
of your generosity, for I fear Mr. Bracknell has already trespassed
on it too long. You pack of galley-slaves, you!" he spluttered
suddenly, "decoying young innocents with that devil's bait of
yours--" His eye fell on Polixena, and his voice softened
unaccountably. "Ah, well, we must all see the Carnival once, I
suppose," he said. "All's well that ends well, as the fellow says in
the play; and now, if you please, Mr. Bracknell, if you'll take the
reverend gentleman's arm there, we'll bid adieu to our hospitable
entertainers, and right about face for the Hepzibah."
THE END.
A Venetian Night's Entertainment, by Edith Wharton. _
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