The San Francisco Call. Newspaper, April 30, 1905, Page 8

L e seen, and thereafter Gordon saw with less kaleidoscopic clearness the walls of the fool's paradise fate was rear- ing, brick by brick. So the long weeks of convalescence dropped by like falling leaves. In epite of the constrained oath he had heard on a certain night in his cham- ber, Gordon more than once wondered grimly what hour a stiletto might end it all. That Teresa guarded well, he realized once with a sudden thrill, when he opened the door of his bed- room in the night to find Tita's great form stretched asleep across the naster 6f the casa, meaawhile, was seldom to be seen. When he en- countered Gordon, it was with sna —a bitter, armed Teresa did mot doubt he had been more than once to Rome, t what effect his visit might have on her- petition she could not guess. The Contessa Albrizzi was powerful, byt ‘hé was an influential factor also. If her plea were granted, well ana good. If not at least she was happy now. And because she was happy now, she thrust away, with a woman’s fatuousness, the thought that there must come a time when Gordon would go. Trevanion Gordon met but once, and then with Paolo at the casa en- trance. A sipgle steady look had hung between them. The other's eyes shift- i and he passed in. Teresa was with at the moment and her hand embled on his arm. She said not g, but that night he came upon Tita in his bedroom, oiling his pocket- which he did not wear. t he had said once as he fought he passion of murder in his soul recurred to him as he laid them away: 1 myself Mechanism Trevanion the Nemesis - of doubly so had fallen its way.” It seemed he seemed The vengeance when the cup of joy was lips—in that one supreme fate's red reminder that the not his, but fiiched from olve nd from Teresa's past, struck not openly, to discover that Tre as unwearied; Shelley from “Pisa, bringing re- s afloat in the Lon- like residence on and his roman- haca. These, sordon heard with a new sting, named s his companion the Contessa Gujcci- it was stated in detail, had to him by her husband. at Gordon cared, for himself. ight have power to hurt he rness that had had burped away such canards. All esa—from whom ad been rankiing 1. It was, that his i made withdrawal infinitely crueler thing, limination at one time ble and more necessitou kiss had changed the universe n both. For either of them, free, nothing. could ever be = again! and battling, the night , after all, life might for them still the same. Was t? Had he crea s separated them? What did he or she owe this old man who her and had tried to take his Hereafter would not her existence with him in the casa be a more intolerable thing than ever? He, Gor- 1d rob him of nothing he now ed or had ever possessed. ' Be- time—who could tell how hanges must inevitably occur. he patural course her hushand uld die. Then Teresa would, in truth, be free. aused in his interminable pace ed aloud. What then? For e e could be no retracing of Whatever the igsue to him and he could not go back to Eng- nvoke the law and free himself. had quitted London life—the e of wife and home—had seemed end- He had thought s of Ada, his when he had signed t paper ch put it forever out of his power alone to break the tie which bound him tc Annabel. Between him and Teresa reared the Jaw—a cold, brazen wall be- tween two hearts of fire. “I cannot!” he said. “The old tie holds. It is too late! ecause one woman's pitiless pureness ruined me, shall I ruin another woman'’s pitying purity?” So while the dark wore away to dawn his thought began and ended with the same desolate cry. As the first light came through the windows he blew out the candles. He must go—though it shut him again from sight of Allegra—though it meant forever. CHAPTER XIUIL Gordon Tells a Story, Gordon threw the window wide. The sun had broken through the mist, he lilies were awake in their beds, and the acacias were shaking the dew from their solemn harmonies of green and olive. How sweet the laurel smelled! . A lonz time he stood there. length he turned into the room. collected his smaller belongings for Fletcher to pack, then drew out a portmanteau. It was filled with books and loose manuscript, gathered by the valet when he had removed from Venice. As he re-read the pages, Gordon flushed with a sense of shame. Full of beauty as they were, would Shelley have written them? Or would Te- resa, who tremsured one book of his and had loved those simple lines etch- ed onthe fungus, read these with like approval? An aching dissatisfaction—a flery recrudescent distaste seized him. He rolled the leaves together and de- scended to the garden. At the base of a stone sun-dial he set the roll fun- nel-shape and knelt to strike a light. He had not seen Teresa nor heard her approach till she caught his arm. “What is it you burn?” she asked. “The beginning of a poem I wrote 2 long time ago, named ‘Don Juan.'” “May I read it first?” He shook his head. “It is not worthy.” EShe looked at him seriously, striv- ing to translate his thought, and with a sudden impulse stooped and picked up the roll. *“Do net destroy it,” she said; “one day you will finish it—more worthily.” At He He hesitated 2 moment, then thrust the manuscript followed her to the bench where they had sat the night Tita had led him mentin, to the columned gate, and how many notice gli]]defi, ‘}ay. since! With what word: Romagna within ten days. shoul he tell her what he must say? v o rygend He saw that she held in her hand a CHAPTER XLIL small rough fragment of stone. 90! Tde: “Wha o ohed, try- One m Hour. ‘What is that?” he questioned, try. “To-day—to-day!” Teresa’ “To-day he will come.” ing to speak lightly. “A jewel?” A change passed over her face and said. she raised the stone to her lips. “Yes,” Just a month ago she had left Casa ]Sh’re answered; “do you not recognize Guicciol forever; now she sat in the e fountained garden of the Gamba villa, As he looked at it curiously, she . few miles from Ravenna, rose-pale, 2dded: It was in your pocket that 43¥ cypress-slender, her wanness accentu- it, did you? The kriss"—she shuddered ated by the black gown she wore—the as she spoke—'struck it. See—here is habit of mourning. The séntence of the mark. It saved your life.” exile against Count Gamba had never Wondering, he took it from her been carried out; a greater than Aus- hand. “Strange!” he said, as he tria had intervened. Since that morn- handed it back. “It is a piece of the Ing when a servant. had found him un- tomb of Juliet which I got long ago <conscious among the cold retorts of his in Verona.” laboratory, clasping the decrée that “Juliet?” she repeated, and dropped had broken his heart, he had revived, the stone on the bench between them, but only to fall again. The end had coloring. “Did you—care for her?” = tome soon. A week ago Teresa had The feminine touch in tone and ges- followed him to the narrow home over ture brought Gordon at one ‘time a Mhich no earthly power claimed juris- smile and & pang, It had not occurred diction. ! to him fthat Shakespeare could be un- ~ AS ®he sat, drenched with the attar, known to her. “All Englishmen love <0f the Sentember afternoon, in her lap her,” he said gravely; “she was one of the “Romeo and Juliet” which Gcrdon the’ great lovers of the world.. She died had given her on their last meeting, 500 years ago.” gladness crept goldenly through her Her face flushed more deeply now. &rief. The book had lain on the arbor “Will you teil me about her?"” bench during the night, and this morn- Sitting there, the revelation of the In® he had found a letfer written on early morning enfolding: them, he told Its blank page. For the hundredth time her the undying story of those tragic SHE Perused itnow: loves and deaths that the great Anglo- 5[ f RE¥S found thls bask In your gar- Saxo Ve o -4 4 “There were. twe noble families {n YO Were absent, or I could not have Verona,” he began, “who for genera- done so. Others would understand these tions had been at enmity—the Capulets BOrGs,|f T wrote them in ftallan, but an i v 5 B Gaughter of Lord Capulet. She was sq Wl recognize, too; the handwriting of beautiful her fame went throughout the 9Re WHO loves you and will divine that country. Romeo, scion of the house of ret BRY, book of yours he can think Montague, -heard of her beauty, and to g O ¢ 2aCk, 10 that, word, beais see it went masked to a fete glven by youp gmer mig_?f comprised m;oex‘: ]}‘;“’ father. A:’““fi the ‘Vefg“f}fe l‘l 15 stence here and hereaftsr. My destiny e saw one who shone am! e splen- . % i dor like a jewel in an Ethioy's ear. hem oo ee RIH YOU. (and vou sre & :h?§ ’-‘3\{“"3“ ‘];’59}:”” and he kissed her two gut of a convent. Fate t‘lnnupfi— and. Not till they parted did either rateq ug, but to welgh this i 1 know the other was an enemy. That ju o At s e night Romeo, unable to stay away from 1org ,.fiu““{;,i’,,"‘;;,“fm;‘;‘“‘;‘;‘,,f:"i;e,,‘; the house where he had left ‘his heart, ‘Aps and the ocean divide us? Ah—but scaled the wall of its garden and they: they never can unless you wish it.” plighted troth upon her balcony. Next Thj, letter had been wrung from him day they were secretly married by a py the thought of the loss and loneli- umr:;xnk whom Romeo had prevailed ness in which he could not comfort her; poR. eneath its few words lay the strain There had been one, however, whe, and Jonging of the old struggle. He had beneath his mask, recognized the unin- go1d himself at first that her separation Vvited guest—a nephew of Lord Capulet coyld make mo difference with his go- himself. He kept silence then, but the ipg.. But now she was. alone, bereft, da.) of the marriage he met Romeo, saddened. If he went, could she Jove forced a quarrel and was killed by him. him any the less? So he had wrestled For this Romeo was sentenced to ban- ag Jacob wrestled with the angel. ishment. That night he gained Julfet's As Teresa read, a moving shadow fell chamber from the garden. Only these on the page. She locked up to see him few hours were theirs; at dawn he fled coming between the clipped = yew to Mantua, till the monk could make hedges. In another moment he had public their marriage. caught her hands in his. “Lord Capulet meanwhile had select- “How you have suffered!” he said, ed another for Juliet's husband and his gaze rching her face, to which bade her prepare for the nuptials. She a glad fidsh had leaped. ; dared not tell the truth and in her ex- She framed his head in her arms, just tremity appealed to the monk. He touching his strong brown curling counseled her to consent to her father’'s hair with it§ slender threads of plans, and on the night before the mar- gray. “I knew you cared. 1 knew you riage to drink the conténts of a phial had been near.me often. I found the he zave her. The potion, he told her, flowers—and this note.” would cause a death-like trance, in “I have been here in the garden every which apparently lifeless state ghe night. I was here that one night, too— would be laid in the family vault.- when ycu were first alone.” Thither he would bring Romeo in-the - Tears gathered in her eyes. ¥ night and she shovld awaken in his “If was the decree of exile that kiiled arms. him,” ghe gaid slowly. “‘He loved Haly Teresa's eyes had grown brighter. and hoped for what can never be, They The lovers' meeting among the mask- $ay the uprising in the north has failed ers, the garden trothing and the con- and all its chiefs are betrayed. That is strained marriage seemed somehow to the bitterness of it; it was for nothing fit ner own case. She leaned forward as @ftér all that he died! Italy will not he paused. “And she took the potion?” b free. You believe it cannot, I knos.” “Yes. Love and despair gave her oSome time" he answered gently, courage. It happened partly aé the /DUt not soon. Italy's peasants are not monk had said. But, unlyckily, the DShtiug men Iike the Greeks; they lack news that Juliet was dead traveled to the inspiration of history. But no man Mantua faster than his letters, Romep Champions a great cause in vain, And heard, and heart-brok 4 . ro. DUW,” he asked, changing the subject, d t en came to Ve- || hi hall we do?" rona at midnight, broke open her tomb A *hall we do? B and swallowed polson by Her side; A" p} J8YGACHGINE NEWE 10 MY Hec Ny, oy ‘poments later she awoke. 8w the Luiity and Prince Mavrocordato. s o sing How had befallen unsheathed the dagger he 1SNt ffom fWallachia. Pleiro la with more and dled also by her own hand. ‘nim’ goon. . TH! then I Have Bisle-she So the monk found them, and over was my nurse. I shall be glad when their bodies the lords of Capulet and pioto'comes. How lon it seeins since ;\‘::15203;:}.;0 healed the feud of thelr j yave geen him! . He ‘gwm not know The bruised petals of a rose Teresa miniatare ‘fi-in}:fl..d ;m{"my il hntl ‘pluwknl.‘lr; fluttered down. “How she Gordon’s thought fled back to a day loved him!"” she said softly. when he had swum for the brother's He remembered that among the life and found that pictured ivory. Fate volumes in the portmanteau he had had played an intricate game. He opened had been the “Romeo and would more than once have tcld her Juliet, \'.h!(-)x he had put into his of that incident but for another hound- lh'm‘_ket the night he left England. “I ing memory—the recollection of the ave the book,” he said, rising; “I mad fit of rage in which he had ground will give it to you. the iniature under his heel. He could "e}{e 1wen: 'l:u‘-l-k u?;ier lhehflowerlng not tell her that! rees to fetch {t. “This one hour,” his “T know w. heart was repeating; “this last hour! the ca:a." .h'é’.ifia"; )"':l‘x':tllt::::dm(:-nn?yt Then 1 will tell her. zake, to spare me idle tongues. Yet I He was goifs but a few moments. have been so afraid for you. You would When he came down the stair she never go armed!” was in the hall. He paused, for a “I am in small danger,” he smiled. man who had just dismounted at the “Fletcher, and Tita, whom y.u left me casa entrance stood before her. Gor- “for’ bodyguard, watch zealously. One don saw Teresa sink to her knees, br the other {s always under foot. One saw the othersmake the sign above Wwould think I were All Pasha himself.” herv head as he handed her a letter, He spoke half humorously, trying to #aw him mount and ride away; Saw .coax the gmile back to her lips. He her read and crush it to her breast. did not tell her with what danger and what did it mean? The man had annoyances his days had been filled; v the uniform of nuncio of the {hat police spies, in whoge assiduity he papal ;91‘;- Had the Contessa Albrizzl recognized the work of her husband succeeded ? e 4 % and “Trevanion, shadowed his foot- an“::{“j‘hill‘:“'"“‘ from the entrance step!;‘(hl( to excite attempts at his p. £ & assassination the belief had even been Here is the book,” he said. disseminated that he was in lea;up She took it blankly. Suddenly she with the Austrians. Nor did he tell her (h'r'ust the letter into his hands. “‘Read that this very morning Fletcher had it,” she whispered. found posted in the open marketplace It was the Pope's decree. Teresa a proclamation too evidently ingpired was free, if not from the priestly by secret service agents denouncing bond, at least so far as actions went. him as an enemy to the morals, the Free to leave Casa Guiccloli and to lterature and the polities of Ttaly. live under her father's roof—free as He had lung ago cautioned Tita against the law of the church and land could carrying her news of these things, make her. But that was not all. The As they strolled among the dahlias, decree had its conditions and one of straight and tall as the oleanders in these contained his own name. She the river beds of Greece, she told him was to see him only once each month of her father's last hours and her life between noon and sunset. in the villa, brightened only by Tita's Such was Count Guiccioli's sop daily visits from the casa. from Rome. “What have you been writing?” she As Gordon read he felt a dull an- questioned. “Has it been ‘Don Juan?' " ger at the assumption that had cou- He shook his head. The hope she had pled his name with hers in that doc- eXpressed—that he would some day fin- ument. Yet underneath he was con- ish it more werthliy—had clung to him scious of a painful relief; fate “had like ivy. With an instinct having its root partially solved the problem for them. deeper than his innate hatred of hy- He raised his eyes as.a sob came from pocrisy, he had forwarded the earlier Teresa’s lips. cantos whose burning she had pre- She had not thought of possible Vven to John Murray in London for conditions. A month—how swiftly the publication. This instinct was not last had flown!—seemed suddenly an kin to !hefmmdo with which he had infinity. She had longed for that mes- sent “Cain” from Venice; it was a sage, prayed for it; now she hated it. crude but growing prescience that Another figure entered at that in- he must one day stand before the stant from the street. It was Tita, world by all he had written gnd ti just from her father's villa. Count the destruction even of its that Couint Gamba, suspe: heart Gamba had been less well of late and pages would - mutilate his life's vol- ¥ now the messenger’s face held an anx- ume. jety that struck through her own the poem, grief. before he The news was soon told. Her father 5 had had a syncope at daybreak and sent?” the doctor was then with him. “Many - Th 18 he sigh of'them. But I lked this* Tita did not tell her the whole; she into his pocket and did not learn till she reached the villa uspected of fo- the revolution, had received om the Government to quit —she touched the “Romeo and Ju- liet"—“most of all.” “It-is- scarce a tale for sad hour he said, ing his hand over hers on the slim leather. 3 Her fingers crept into his as she went on earnestly. rom Verpna makes it seem so true! o you Suppose it really happened 80? What do you think was the po- tion the monk gave her?” “A drachm of mandragora, perhaps. That is said to produce the cataleptic trance. I wish Juliet's monk mixed his draughts in Ravenna now,” he add- ed with a touch of bitterness; “‘I shall often long for such a nepenthe before the next moon, Teresa.” He felt her fingers quiver. The thought of the coming Jlong/ month shook her heart. “You will go from Ravenna before that,” she whispered, “ghall you not?” 3 “From the casa, perhaps. from near you. The day you left Casa Guiceioli ' I had made up my mind to leave Italy. But now—now —the only thing I can see certainly is that I cannot go yet. Not till the skies are brighter for you.” “Can they ever be brighter—if you s \ ” “You' mi my strength,” he answered, a dumb pain on his 1| “Ah, forgive me! I did not mean— ! “Tempt you! Have I done that?” “It is my own heart tempts me— yoa! It is that I cannot trust!” “I_can trust it,”’ she said under her breath. Her eyes were luminous and tender. “It is all I have .to trust new.” A © His strength was melting. He would have taken her into his arms, but the neigh of his tethered horse and a familiar answering whinny came across the yews. 3 “It is_Fletcher,” he said in sur- prise. He crossed the garden to meet him. - “What is it, Fletcher?” he demand- 'Why have you left the rooms?” v lord,” stammered the valet, dldhyou‘ not send for me?” “No.” Fletcher looked crestfallen. “Who gave you such a message?” “Caunt Guiccloli's secretary, your lordship.” g A disquieting apprehension touched —~Gordon’s mind. Why had Paolo sent the servant on this sleeveless errand unless he were wished out of the way? He Tremembered a packet which ' Count Gamba, weeks before, had entrusted to him for safe-keep- ing. ‘At the time Gordon had. sus- pected its contents had to do with the Carbonari’s plans. This packet was in_his apartments. Found, might it inculpate the dead man's friends in that lost cause? He rejoined Teresa with a hasty ex- cuse for his return to the casa. “You will come back?”’ She question- ed with sudden vague foreboding. “Yes, before sunset.” ‘ “Promise me—promise mel™ For one reassuring moment he put his arm about her, aching to fold her from all the world. The past for them both was a grim mirage, the future a blind dilemma—nay, there was no fu- ture save as it gloomed, a pregnant shadow of this present 8o wroughi of doubt and joy. CHAPTER XLIV. _ By Order of the Pope. Nearing .the Casa Guiccioli, Gordon saw & crowd clustering a few paces from the. enfrancé. Servants were vl ngifrom the balcony. " Alcoupleof soldiers cocked their guns and would have hindered him, but he put them:aside. On the pavement lay a man . in uniform, shot through the breast. Over him bent a beardless ad- Jjutant feeling for a pulse, and a priest “muttering a herrified ‘prayer. He asked @ hurried question or two amld the confusion and dismay. The prostrate man was the military com- mandant of Ravenna. No one knew whence the shot had come a full twenty minutes before. Now his guard stood, with characteristic Italian helplessness, doing nothing, waiting orders from they knew not whom or where. Gordon spoke authoritatively 6 the subaltern, bade one of the soldlers go for the police, dispatched another, with the news tu the Cardinal and directed two of the crowd te lift the injured man and carry him to his_own guar- ters in the casa. This done he sent Fletcher for the surgeon who had at- tended his own wound in that same «<hamber, and stationed the remaining soldiers at the lower doors. When the room was cleared he gave his attention to_the unconscious commandant. He stoad a moment looking fixedly at the bed. It was this man’s spies who had dogged him during the past month, persecuted his servants and attempted to raise the Ravennese against his very presence in the city. The government he served would have rejoiced to Bee him, Gordon, lying stretched there in the other's place; would have given but lukewarm pursuit to the assassin. Yet the man before him lay helpless enough now. Presently the casa would be full of soldiers, dragoons, priests and alil the human paraphernalia of autocratic authority. Who had fired the shot? And by what strange chance, almost at his own threshold? He crossed the floor, unlocked a drawer and took out Count Gamba's packet with satisfaction. His foot struck something on the floor. He picked it up. It was a small leath- er letter case—evidently fallen trom the pocket of the wounded commandant. He took a step toward the bed, intend- ing to replace it, and saw Tita at the door. The latter wore no jcoat. He was sweaty and covered with dust. He beckoned Gordon into the next room. “Excellence,” he asked huskily, “will you not open that portafogli?” P no! “Perhaps to know what he knew.” “Why should I wish to know?” “Because he was an his way here—to this caga, Excellence.” Gordon saw that he was trembling, it seemed with both fatigue and repressed uél&emmt. “Tell me what you know,” he gaid. Tita spoke rapidly, his words tum- bling one against another: “I heard Paolo send your valet after you to-day, Excellence, when no one had. ¢come from the villa. It did not seem right. 1 watched from the garden. I Eee some one in this room—it ocked when you went. I climbed - The master one other—" &’{:” were carry- ‘When they left casa the window broke y held bullets cans ‘e mmanition e Ghe. of the ““The stone brought I Not - not tempt me beyond ' / his rooms—evidence of complicity with the carbonari. A military search at the %mmr moment—expulsion from Italy! @ distinguished the outlines clearly. “Yes, yes," he said, “go on.” “I know the police have watched you. guessed what it meant. I wsgled to get the boxes away, but I could not— the servants would have seen me. knew the soldiers would come soon. I climbed to the casa roof.” The narrator had paused. The paper ghook jn Gordon's hand. “No meore, Tita!” % “It was the only way, Excellence!” sald Tita, his features working. . I swore on the Virgin to guard you, whatever came. ‘The servants ran to the balconies when—it happened. The way was clear. I carried the boxes down to the garden. There is aycovered well. They are there— where no one would look.” case, his mind struggling between re- volt at the act itself and a sense of its motive. -So it for him the shot had been fired! at a ghastly levity that the wounded man should now be lying here! He shuddered. Tita's voice spoke again: “Now, Excellence, will read what 319}' be in that portafogli?” Gordon strode to the window and o};flened the case, It contained a single officlal letter. He unfolded and scanned it swiftly: 3 Rome, Direction-General of Police. (Most privatg.) Yaur Excellency :- m his_capacity of you The Governor of Rome, Directer’Gogeral, forwards the tollowing: “'With the approval of Count Gulccloli, her \hugband, from whcm by papal decres she been separated, it is ‘deemed advisable gincé the death of her father to miodify that decree, and to grant to the Countess Guiceicll hence- forth a retreat in the prutection of Hely Church. You are directed herewith to ar- 1arge for her Immediate conveyance o the Cenvent of Saint Ursula in his Hoiinges' es- intes below Rome. CONSALVI, Cardifal. % “‘Secretary of- State to Pius VII.” Under direction of the Cardinal of Ravenna you will act upon this witnout delay. To the Sub-direction of Police at Ravenna. Gordon raised his eyes with a start. Teresa—to be shut from the face of the sun, frcom flowers, from gladness, for years, at least during the lifetime of her husband, perhaps forever? From him? Was this the fate he, cursed as he was, must bring upon her? S He felt his breath stop: he do? Take her away? where “Her immediate convey- ance”—"act without delay.” Those were no ambiguous words; they ant more than soon. If it should to- day! If authority was on its way to her, even now, while he dallied here! Tita saw the deathly pallor that overspread his face like a white wave. “What is it, Excellence?” he cried. Gordon made no reply. He dashed the portafogli on the floor and rushed from the room. His horse stood at the casa entrance. He pusghed past the stolid sentinel, threw himself into the saddle and lashed the animal to an anguish of speed toward the villa. CHAPTER XLV. What could How and The Summons. Seated amid the dahlias, Teresa, from speculation as to what had re- culled Gordon to the casa, drifted into a long’ day-dream from which a sud- den gound awoke her, Several troopers passed along the roadway; following were two ciosed carriages. While she listened the Wheels seémed to stop. “It 1s the moth-~ superior come from Bagnacavello,” she thought. As she sprang up, she heard old Elise calling. Slipping the “Romeo and Juliet” into her pucket, she went hastily into the house. Five minutes later she stood dumb and white before threé persons in the villa parlor. Two were nuns wearing the dress of the order of St. Ursula. The other she had recognized—he had visited her father in his illness—as chaplain to the Cardinal of Ravenna. A letter bearing the papal arms, drop- ped from her hand, lay at her feet. ‘What it contained but one other in Ravenna besides' the cardinal knew; that was the military commandant who had furnished the ecclesiastic his es- cort of troopers disposed outside the villa, and who at that moment was walking on another erand, straight to- ward a musket, filed half down, wait- ing on a tasa roof. 5 “We must start without delay, Con- tessa.” The clerical's voice fell half- compassionately. ‘““The villa and its servants remain at present under the vice-legate’s care. By direction, noth- ing may be taken with you save suita- ble apparel for the journey. We go only as far as Forli to-night.” Teresa scarcely heard. Haste— when such a little time before she had been seo happy! Haste—to bid fare- well now to the world that held him? In her father's death she had met the surpassing but natural misfortune of bereavement. This new blow brought a terror without presage or precedent, that seemed to grip her every sense. The copvent of Saint Ursula! Not a home such as she had known at Bag- nacavallo, a free abode of benighted phantom-footed monitors, but a forced retreat, a prison, secret and impreg- nable. 3 ‘What could she do? What could she do? The question pealed in her brain 4s she answered dully, conscious all the time of a stinging sense of detail; the chaplain facing her; the silent re- ligieuses beside him; the wrinkled face of Elss pecring curiously ' from the had; out of doors goldéening sunlight, men's voices conversing and the stamping of horses’ hoofs. Not even to gee him—to teil him! As she climbed the stair mechani- cally, a kind of dazed sickness in her limbhs, ghe pictured Gordon's retur ing at the hour's end to find her go: forever. She sat down, her hands clenched, the nails striking purple cres- cents in the palms, striving desper- “ately to think. If she could escape. She ran to the window—a trooj stood smoking a short pipe at rear of the.villa. She went to staircase and called, “Elise!” A nun ascended the stair, “The ser- vants are receiving “his Eminence’s instructions,” she explained. “Pray let me help you.” Teresa began t{o tremble. She than! her with an effort and auto- matically set about selecting a few ar- ticles of clothing. The apathy of hope- lessness was upon her. The challain stood at the foot of the stair when they descended. See- ing him waiting, the sharper pain re- swept her. Only to Brnl’c that time 0 see Gordon again, if but for an instant, before she went. She stopped, searching his face. “1 should like a little while alone before I go. is there not?” His cr:-'“.re,e lighted, the authori- ‘tative m d instantly in soli of the shepherd e the the fatherly of ‘souls, Gordon was staring at the letter He thought she longed for the su- preme consolation of prayer. “A half-hour if you wish it, my daughter. The chapel—shall it not be?’ He led the way. Elise sat weeping in a chair; as they passed she snatched Teresa’s hand and kissed it silently, From the side steps a tunneled yew walk curved to a door in one of the villa's narrow wings. This wing, ‘which had no connection with the rest of the house, had been added byf Count Gamba as a chapel for Teresa's mother. It was scrupulously kept, and - during all the ‘years. since her death bowls of fresh flowers had scented it daily and two candles had been kept burning before the crucifix over fits cushioned altar.. The attic above Count Gamba had used as a laboratory for his unending chemical experiments. Jt was there the mes- sage had found him which had brought so cruel a result. The churchman paused at- the chapel door and Teresa entered alone. He closed it behind her. CHAPTER XLVL The Potion. The declining sun - shone dimly through the painted windows. The chapel was in half-dark. Teresa went slowly to where the two candles winked yellowly. She had often knelt there, but she brought now no thought of prayer. Might Gordon come in time? Would his errand at the casa delay him? Could fate will that she should miss him by such a narrow margin? She crouched suddenly down on the al- tar cushions, dry, tearless sobs tearing at her throat. She feit the book in her pocket m? drew it out. Only that morning she had found the letter written in it—only an hour ago their hands had touched together on its cover. How truly now Juliet’s plight seemed like her own! But she, alas! had no friendly monk nor magie elixir. Therg were no such potions nowadays. ‘What was it Gordon had said? Man- dragora—a drachm of mandragora? If she only had some now! She caught her breath. In another minute she was stumbling up the narrow curling stair to the loft above. Ten minutes later she stood in the center of the laboratory, lined with its shelves of crocked-necked retorts and Jbottles, her search ended, the blood shrinking from her heart, her hand clutching the small phial Gasping, she seized a slender grad- uated glass and hurried down. She ran to the chapel door and fastemed it, hearing while she slid the bolt the steps of the cleric pacing up and down without. As‘she stood again at the altar, the phial in her hard, a bleak fear crossed her soul. What if it had never been anything but a story? Perhaps Juliet had never awakened really, but had died when she drank the pction! Sup- pose it were poison, from which there was no awakening! She shivered as if with cold. Better ever that than life—without him! Perhaps, too, Gordon had jested or had b n. mistaken. It might have been some other drug—some other quantity. Another dread leaped upon her out of the shadow. Suppose it were the right drug—that its effect would be as he had said. What then? In her agony she had thought only of eseape from the hour's dilemma. There would be an afterward. And who would know she only slept? She dared not trust to Elise—her fright would betray her. She dared not leave a writing lest other eyes than Gordon's should see and understand. Suppose she did it, and succeeded, and he came afterward. He would . deem her dead in truth—that was what Romeo had thought—a vic- tim of -her own despair. They would bear her to the Gamba vault cold and coftined, to wake beside her father, without Juliet’s hope of rescue. Her brain rocked with hysterical terror. If -Gorden only kpew she would dare all—dare that worst. But how could she let him know? Even if he were here now ghe would have neither time nor opportunity. Her half-hour of grace was almost up. Yet—if he saw her lying there, ap- parently lifeless, and beside her that boock and phial—would he remember what he had sald? Would he guess? Oh, God, would he? A warning knock sounded at chapel door. “Blessed Virgin, help me!"” whispered Teresa, poured the drachm and drank it. Then with a sob she stretched herself on the altar cushions and laid the “Romeo and Juliet” open on her breast. ‘When finally—his wonder and indig- nation having given place to apprehen- sion—the chaplain employed a dra- goon's stout shoulder to' force the chap- el door, he distinguished at first only emptiness. He approached the altar, to start back with an exclamation of dismay at what he saw stretcheéd in the candle light. He laid a faltering hand on Teresa's; it was already chilled. He raised her eyelid—the pupil was expanded to the iris’ edge. He felt her pulse, her heart. Both were still. A cry of horror broke from his lips as he saw a vial lying un- corked beside her. He plcked it up, noting the far-faint halitus of the dead- ly elixir. His ery brought Elise, with the nuns behind her. The old woman pushed past the peering trooper and rushed to throw herself beside the altar with a wall of lamentation. The chaplain lifted her and drew her away. - “Go back to the house,” he bade her sternly; “let no servant enter here till word comes from Casa Guiccioll.” He waved the black-gowned figures back toktlhe threshold. “She is self-slain,” he said. In the confusion none of them had seen a man enter the garden from the side, who, hearing the first alarm, had swiftly approached the chapel. No one had seen him enter the open door be- hind them. The churchx:mn. v‘:t: that solemn pronouncement on Ups, stopped short at Gordon's white, awe-frosted face. There was not true sight, but rather a woeful, vision in ~ those eyes turned upon the altar; they seemed those of a soul in whom the al cerfainty of perdition has sheathed itself unawares. The chaplain drew back. He nized the man who had the There is time for that, .