Rensselaer Republican, Volume 25, Number 41, Rensselaer, Jasper County, 8 June 1893 — The Yellow Mask. [ARTICLE]

The Yellow Mask.

BY WILKIE COLLINS.

Part Se coml. CHAPTER lll.—Continued. Father Rocco took the note and read these lines: “I have just discovered that I have been watched and suspected ever since njy.stay under your roof. It is impossible that I can remain another sight in Jthe house of a spy. I go with my sister. We owe you nothing, and we are free to live honestly where we please. If you see Father Rocco tell him I can forgive his distrust of me, but that I can never forget it. I, who had full faith in him, . had a right to expect that he should have full faith in me. It was always an encouragement to me to think of him as a “father and a friend. I have lost that encouragement forever—and it was the last I had left to me! Kanina.” The priest rose from his seat as he handed the note back, and the visitor immediately followed his example. “We must remedy this misfortune as we best may,” he said, with a sigh. “Are you ready to go back to Florence to-morrow?” The little man bowed again. “Find put where §>he is and ascertain if she wants for anything, and if she is living in a safe place. Say nothing about me, and make no attempt to induce her to return to your house. Simply let me know what you discover. The poor child has a spirit that no ordinary people would suspect in her. She must be soothed and treated tenderly, and we shall manage her yet. No mistakes, mind, this time. Do just what ! tell you, and do no more. Have you anything .else to say to me?’ ’ The little man shook his head and shrugged his shoulders. ‘ “Good night, then," said the priest. “Good night,” and the man slipped Hi rough the door that was held open for him with the politest alacrity. “This is vexatious.” said Father Rocco, taking a turn or two in the study after his visitor had gone. “It was bad enough to have done the ch !d an injustice- it -is worse to have been found out. There is nothing for it now but to wait till I know where she is. I like her, and I like that note she left behind her. It is bravely, delicately, and honestly written. A good girl—a very good jirl, indeed!” He walked to the window, breathed ;he fresh air for a few moments, and quietly dismissed the subject from his mind. When he «evurned to liis table lie had no thoughts of anyone but his sick niece. “It seems strange,” said he, J'that 1 have had no message about her yet. Perhaps Luca has heard something. It maj r be well if Igo to the studio at once to find out.” , He took up his hat apd went to the dcor. Just as he opened it, Fabio’s servant confronted him on .the threshold. 1 “I am sent to summon 3-00 to the palace,” said the man. “The doctors have given up all hope.” Father Roeeo turned deadly pale, and drew back a step, “Have you told my brother of this?” he asked. “I was just on my way to the studio,” answered the servant. “I will go there instead of you, and break the bad news to him,” said the priest. They decendea the s tairs in silence. Just as they were about to separate at the street door. Father Rocco stopped the servant. “How is the child?” he asked, with such sudden eagerness and impatience, that the man looked quite startled as he answered that the child was perfectly well. “There is some consolation in that,” said Father Rocco, walking; away and speaking partly to the ser- I vant, to himself. “Mv cau- j tion has misled me.” ho continued; pausing thoughtfully when he was j left alone in the roadway. j “I should have risked us- 1 ing the mother’s influence

sooner to procure the righteous restitution. All hope of compassing it now rests on the life of the child. Infant as she is. her father’s ill-got-ten wealth may yet be gathered back the Church by her hands.” He proceeded rapidly on his way to the studio, until he reached the riverside and drew close to the bridge which it was necessary to cross in order to get to his' brother’s house. Here he stopped abruptly, as if struck by a sudden idea. The moon had just risen, and her light, streaming across the river, fell full upon his face as he stood by the parapet wall that led up to the bridge. He was so lost in thought that he did not hear the conversation of two ladies who were advancing along! the pathway close behind him. As j they brushed by him, the taller of! the two turned round and looked back at his face. “Father Rocco!" exclaimed the lady, stopping. “Donna Brigida!" cried the priest, looking surprised at first, but recoving himself directly, and bowing with his usual politeness. “Pardon file if I thank you for honoring me by renewing our aquaintance, and then pass on to my brother’s studio. A heavy affliction is likely to befall us. and I go to prepare him for it." ' “Yffljypßpr to the dangerous illness of youi niece?” said Brigida. “I heard of it this evening. Let us hope that your fears are exaggerated and that we may yet meet under less distressing circumstances. I have { no present lutention of leaving, Pisa

glad to thank Father Rocco for the politeness and consideration which he showed to me under delicate circumstances, a year*ago. ” i With these words she courtesied deferentially, and moved away to rejoin her friend. The priest observed that Mademoiselle Virginie ' lingered near, as if anxious to catch a few words of the conversation between Brigida and himself. Seeing this, he in his turn listened as the two women slowly walked away to- | gethep, and heard the Italian say to j her companion: “Virginie, I will lay you the price of a new dress that Fabio d’Ascoli marries again.V t Father Rocco started when he I heard those words, as if he had trodden on fire. “My thought!” he whispered nervousty to himself. “My thought at the moment when she,, spoke to me ! Many again? Another wife, over whom I have no influence! Other | children, whose education would not j be confided to me! What would then j become of the restitution that I have hoped for, wrought for, prayed for?” He stopped, and looked fixedly at the sky above him. The bridge’ was deserted. His black figure rose up erect, motionless, and spectral, with the white, still light falling solemnly all around'it. Standing so for some minutes, his first movement was to drop his hand angrily on the parapet of the bridge. He then turned round slowly in the direction by which the j two women had walked away. “Donna Brigida,” he said, “I will j lay you the price of fifty new dresses ■ that Fabio d’Ascoli never marries j again.

He set his face once more toward the studio, and walked on without stopping until he arrived at the mas-ter-sculptor’s door “Marry again?” he thought to himself, as he rang the bell. “Donna Brigida, was your first failure not enough for you? Are you going to try a second time?” Luca Lomi himself opened the door. He drew Father Rocco hurriedly into the studio, toward a single lamp burning on a stand near a partition between Lhe two rooms. “Have you heard anything of our poor child?” he asked. “Tell me the truth! tell me the truth at once!” “Hush! compose yourself. I have heard,” said Father Rocco, in low, mournful tones. Luca tightened his hold on the priest’s arm, and looked into his face with breathless, speechless eagerness. : ■- . ■ “Compose yourself,” repeated Father Rocco. “Compose yourself and hear the worst. My poor Luca, the doctors have given up all hope.” Luca dropped his brothei’s arm, with a groan of despair. “Oh, Maddalena! —mv child —my only child!” Reiterating these words again and again, he leaned his head against the partition and burst into tears. Sordid and course as his nature was, he really loved his daughter. All the heart he had was in hisstatues and in her. After the first burst of his grief was exhausted, he was recalled to himself by a sensation as if some change had taken place iu the lighting of the studio. He looked up directlv, and dimly discerned the priest standing-far down at the end of the room nearest the door, with the lamp in his hand, eagerly looking at something. f “Rocco!” he exclaimed. “Rocco, * why have you taken the lamp away? j What are you doing there?” There was no movement and no an- | swer. Luca advanced a step or two, ; and called again, “Rocco, what are | you doing there?’; | The priest heard this time, and | came suddenly toward his brother, with the lamp in his hand—so sud-

| denly that Luca started, j “What is it?” he asked, ir astonI ishment. “Gracious God, Rocco, how pale you are!” Still the priest never said a word. He put the lamp down on the nearest table. Luca observed that his hand shook. He had never seen his brother violently agitated before. When Rocco had announced, but a few minutes ago, that Maddalena’s life was despaired of, it was in a voice which, though sorrowful, was j perfectly calm. What was the mean- | ingof this sudden panic -this strange, j silent terror? The priest observed thqt his broth I er was looking at him earnestly. | “Come!” he said in a faint whisper,” come to her bedside, we have no time to loose. Get your hat, and leave it to me to put out the lamp.” He hurriedly extinguished the light while he spoke. They went down the studio side by side toward the door. She moonlight streamed through the window full on the place where the priest had been standing alone with the lamp in his hand. As they passed it, Luca felt his brother'tremble and saw him turn away his head. * « * • * Two hours later, Fabio d’Ascoli and his wife were separated in this world for ever; and the servants of the palaee were anticipating in whispers the order of their funeral procession to the burialground of the Campo Santo.

Part Third. CHAPTER I. About eight months after the Countess d’Ascoli had been laid in

her grave in the Campo Santo, two reports were circulated through the gay of Fisa, which excited curiosity and awakened expectation everywhere. The first report announced that a grand masked ball was to be given at the Melani Palace, to celebrate the day on which the heir of the house attained his majority. All the friends of the family were delighted at the prospect of this festival; for the old Marquis Melani had the reputation of being one of the most hospitable, and,at the same time, one of the most eccentric men in Pisa. Every one expected, therefore, that he would secure for the entertainment of his guests, if he really gave the ball, the most whimsical novelties, in the way of masks, dances, and amusements generally, that had ever been seen. The second report was that the rich widower, Fabio d’Ascoli, was on the point of returning to Pisa, after having improved his health and spirits by traveling in foreign countries; and that he might be expected to appear again ip society, for the first time since the death of his wife, at the masked ball which was to be given in the Melani Palace. This announcement excited special interest among the young ladies of Pisa. Fabio had only reached his thirtieth year, and it was universally agreed that his return to society in his native city could indicate nothing more certainly than his desire to find a second mother for his infant child. All the single ladies would now have been ready to bet, as confidently as Brigida had offered to bet eight months before, that Fabio d’Ascoli would

marry again. "““For once in a 'way—report turned out to be true in both cases just j mentioned. Invitations were actualI ly issued from the Melani Palace and j Fabio returned from abroad to his I home on the Arno. In settling all the arrangements | connected with his masked ball the Marquis Melani showed that he was determined not only to deserve but to increase his reputation for oddity. He invented the most extravagant disguises, to be worn by his more J intimate friends; he arranged grotesque dances to be performed at stated periods of the evening by professional buffoons hired from" Florence- He composed a toy which included solos on every noisy plaything at that time manufactured for children’s use. And, not content with thus avoiding the beaten track in preparing the entertainments at the bail, he determined also to show decided originality even in selecting the attendants who were to wait on the Company. Other people in his rank of life were accustomed to employ their own and hired footmen for this purpose; the Marquis resolved that his attendants should be young women only; that two of his rooms should be fitted up as Arcadian bowers, and that all the prettiest girls in Pisa should be placed in them to preside over the refreshments, dressed, in accordance with the mock classical taste of the period, as shepherdesses of the time of Virgil.—— —— —:—

The only defect of this brilliantly new idea was the difficulty of executing it. The Marquis had expressly ordered that not fewer than thirty shepherdesses should be engagedfifteen for each bower. It would have been easy to find double this number in Pisa if beauty had been the only quality required in the attendant damsels. But it was also absolutely necessary for the security of the Marquis’s gold and silver plate that the shepherdesses should possess, besides good looks, the very homely recommendation of a fair character. This last qualification proved, it is sad to say, the one small merit which the majority of the ladies willing to accept" engagements at the palace did not possess. Day after day passed on, and the Marquis’s steward only found more and more difficulty in obtaining the appointed number of trustworthy beauties. At last his resources failed him altogether; and he appeared in his master’s presence about a week before the night of the ball, to make the humiliating acknowledgement that he was entirely at his wit’s end. The total number of fair shepherdes ;es with fair characters whom he had been able to engage amounted} to only twentythree. “Nonsense!”, cried the Marquis irritably, as soon as the steward had madp his confession. “I told you to get thirty girls, and thirty I mean to have. What’s the use of shaking your head, when all their dresses are ordered? Thirty tunics, thirty wreaths, thirty pairs of sandals and silk stockings, thirty crooks, you scoundrel; and you have the impudence to offer me only twenty-three hands to hold them. Not a word! I won’t hear a word! Get me my thirty girls, or lose your place.” The Marquis roared out this last terible sentence at the top of his voice, and pointed peremptorily to the door. The steward knew his master too well to remonstrate. He took his hat and canc, and went out. It was useless to look through the ranks of rejected volunteers again, there was not the slightest hope in that quarter. The only chance left was to tall on all friends in Pisa who had daughters out at service, and to try what he could accomplish, by bribery and persuasion, that wav. After a whole day occupied in solicitations, promises, and patient smoothing down bf innumerable difliculties, the result of his efforts tn the new direction was an accession of six more shepherdesses. This brought him on bravely from twentythree to twenty-nine, and left hjin at last with only one anxiety—where

was he. now to find shepherdess number thirty? He mentally asked himself that important question *s-b» entered a shady by-street in the neighborhood of the Campo Santo, on his way back to the Melani Palace.. Sauntering slowly along in the middle of the road, and fanning himself ; with his handkerchief after the oppressive exertions of the day, he passed a young girl who was standing at the street door of one of the houses, apparently waiting for somebo<ly to join her before she entered the building. “Body of Bacchus!” exclaimed the ! steward (using one of those old pagan ejaculations which survive in Italy even to the present day), “there stands the prettiest girl I have seen yet. If she would only be shepherdess number thirty, I should go home to supper with niy mind at ease. I’ll ask her at any rate. Nothing can be lost by asking, and everything may be gained.—Stop, my dear,” he continued, seeing the girl turn to go into the house as he approached her. “Don’t be afraid of me. lam steward to the Marquis Melani, and well known in Pisa as an eminently respectable man. I have something to say to you which may be greatly for your benefit. Don’t look surprised;-! am coming to the point at once. Do you want to earn a little money? honestly, of course. You don’t iook as if you were very rich, child.” “lam very poor, and very much in want of some honest work to do,” answered the girl sadly. “Then we shall suit each other to a nicety, for I have work of ihe pleasantest kind to give you, and plentv of money to pay for it. But before we say anything more about that, suppose you tell me first something about yourself—who you are, and so forth. You know who I am alreadv,”

• I am only a poor work-girl, and my name is Kanina. I have nothing more. sir. to say about myself than that.” “Do you belong to Pisa?” “Yes. sir—at least, I did. But I have been away for sojne time. I was a year at Florence, employed in needlework.” ■* “All by yourself?” “No, sir,-with my little sister. I was waiting for her when you came up ” • Have you never done anything else but needlework? never been out at serjjyee?” “Yes. sir. For the last eight months I have had a situation to wait on a lady at Florence, and my sister (who is turned eleven, sir, and can make herself very useful) was allowed to help in the nursery.” “How came you to leave this situation?” “The lady and her family were going to Rome, sir. They would have taken me with them, but they could not take my sister. We are alone in the world, and we never have been parted from each other, and never shall be; so I was- obliged to leave the situation.” “And here you are back at Pisa — witli nothing to do. I suppose?” “Nothing yet, sir. We only came back yesterday. ” “Only yesterday! You are a lucky girl, let me tell you, to have met me. I suppose you have somebody in the town who can speak to your character. 1 ’ “The landlady of this house can, sir.”’

“And who is she, pray?” “Marta Angrisana, sir.” “What! the well • known sicknurse? You could not possibly have a better recommendation, child. I remember her being employed at the Melani Palace at the time of the Marquis’s last attack of gout; but I never knew she kept a lodginghouse." “She and her daughter, sir, have owned this house longer than ' I can recollect. My sister and I I have lived in it since I was quite I a little child, and I had hoped that we might be able to live here again. But the top room we used to have is taken, and the room to let lower down is far more, I am afraid, than we can afford.” “How much is it?” Nanina mentioned the weekly rent of the room in fear and trembling. The steward burst out laughing. “Suppose I offered you money enough to be able to take that room for a whole year at once?” he said. Nanina looked at him in speechless amazement. “Suppose I offered you that?” continued the steward. “And suppose 1 only ask you in return to put on a tine dress and serve refreshments in a beautiful room to the company at the Marquis Melani’s grand ball? What would you say to that?” Nanina said nothing. She drew back a step or two, and looked, more bewildered than before. “You must have heard of the ball?” said the steward pompously “The poorest people in Pisa-j have heard of it. It is the talk of the whole city.” (to bk continued. %--==■