“ ‘Do not be afraid,’ he whispered. ‘I was trespassing on the Count’s property just now, and I heard all that was said. That man is dangerous, and it is necessary that I should protect you for the present. Come in here with me.’ ”
“He did not wait for me to consent. He fairly lifted me from the ground into the blackness and seclusion of the cottage. It was all done in less time than it takes to tell. A moment later I heard my husband go raging down the road, and then I knew that my life was saved. Mind you, it was altogether too dark to see my rescuer. It would have been imprudent to strike a light. I stayed for some little time until I regained my composure, after which I made up my mind to return home again. It would never do for people to think that a Descarti was a coward, and, besides, there were other considerations. I would go back home again and give my husband one more chance, especially as I had a friend in the house in the person of Luigi Silva, who had followed me on my marriage. At the same time, I did not forget the dictates of prudence. It might be still necessary for me to seek an asylum, and my instinct told me that I could trust the man by my side. On the spur of the moment I implored him to take care of my jewels for me. He demurred for a time on the score that he was a perfect stranger to me, then, finally, he consented, at the same time taking from his pocket a card, which he said contained his name and address. And thus the strange interview ended, thus we parted, never to meet again till that fatal night we came together in Fitzjohn Square. I know the story sounds incredible.”
“Not to me,” said Mrs. Delahay, sadly. “Nothing could be incredible to a woman who has gone through what I have. But go on. You went back home again, after entrusting your jewelry to a perfect stranger whose face you had never seen.”
“Indeed, I did. And we should never have known one another even if we had met. I went back to the villa, and afterwards we returned to our estate. But it was not for long. A month or two later my husband was found dead in bed, and it was proved beyond question that he had been poisoned. Then began a time for me—a time of terror and anxiety so great that I sometimes marvelled that I retained my reason. For four years the torture lasted, and then, at length, I was free. I was in so strange and morbid a condition that the sight of a human face was hateful to me. I wanted to go off and live on some distant island until I recovered my nerve and strength again. I succeeded at length in finding the place I needed, and for twelve or thirteen years I led a life of absolute seclusion in a little cottage high up the Italian Alps. I had taken a certain amount of money with me, but I woke up to the fact one day that my means were exhausted. You must know that I fled straight away, as soon as the last trial was finished, and that all those years I never saw a single face that was familiar to me. But by the end of that period I was quite myself again. I felt a strange longing to go into the world and see what life was like once more. Besides, there was my child to consider.”
“Your child?” Mrs. Delahay cried. “This is the first time you have mentioned a child. Do you mean to say that you could part with your own flesh and blood in that callous way?”
The Countess’ expression hardened for a moment.
“She was his child as well as mine,” she whispered.
“Well, what of that? I fail to see that it makes any difference. Your husband might have been a passionate man, but, apart from that, everybody spoke exceedingly well of him. He was immensely popular. He was clever and generous. He had hosts of friends—I know that through an English nobleman, who was greatly attached to the Count. Everybody spoke well of him.”
“Oh, I know, I know,” the Countess said, with a bitter smile. “The catalogue of his virtues was trumpeted high enough at the trial, and I was no more than an inhuman wretch, not fit to live, certainly not fit to have a husband like Count Boris Flavio. But you shall hear my story presently. You shall hear what my witness has to say. At any rate, I hated my husband with a deep and abiding hate, so that I could not bear to look upon the face of his child. You may say that all this is unnatural and inhuman, but you little know what I had to put up with. Still, twelve or fourteen years will heal most wounds, and when I came back into the world I was possessed with a longing to see my daughter. I did not like to go back to the old place again, so I sent to make inquiries. Imagine my
