# Francesca Carrara/Chapter 68

CHAPTER IX.
"Who
May well be said to represent his brother,
For when you see the one, you know the other." Leigh Hunt.
The moment Major Johnstone's eye fell upon the prisoner, it kindled with a fierce and terrible joy, like that of a wild beast about to spring upon the prey devoted alike by rage and hunger. A deadly whiteness spread round his mouth, rendering still deeper the blackness of his brow. No man could meet its dark, unrelenting frown, and not feel that, if there rested his doom, it was indeed sealed for ever. For a moment Evelyn quailed before that fearful gaze; and yet his emotion was not fear, but as it some painful memory was suddenly awakened—a memory to be dismissed as soon as possible; or, if not forgotten, at least to be braved. On his entrance into the room, the soldiers had released his arms, though they stood with their stern, impenetrable faces, too harsh for ​any expression, fixed upon him in mechanical watchfulness of any attempt at an escape.
Francesca leant, pale and breathless, against the chair, looking on the scene before her with that fascinated gaze which marks the progress of the dreaded evil it has become utterly hopeless to avert. The two enemies confronted each other, Johnstone's rigid features working with a slight convulsion, and his large grey eyes gleaming with that lurid light ever associated with insanity; and assuredly with him the incessant dwelling on one thought had had its usual effect of unsettling the mind which undergoes that perilous trial. Vengeance had been the sole object of his existence; it was now about to be gratified—and the emotion of such a joy is awful as death. The young cavalier looked the most indifferent of the two; his arms were folded, as if the attitude were only studied on account of its grace; the eye wandered carelessly round; and a scornful, or what is best expressed by the common word audacious, smile curved his lip. The republican officer felt his anger goaded by the insolence of his careless adversary. This time there was no recommendation to think of that God into whose presence the prisoner was so soon about to enter. His lip trembled, a slight spasm distorted his ​mouth; and even the trained and hardened soldiers started at the hollow and unnatural voice in which their commander gave his orders.
"Habakkuk, go you first, and marshal a file of our picked carbines; you," said he, turning to the others, "follow me with the prisoner."
No woman could stand by and hear such an order given without an attempt at supplication, however vain. Francesca sprang forward, and, throwing herself at Johnstone's feet, implored him to show mercy. He raised her with the iron grasp of a giant, as strong and as pitiless.
"Madam, this is no scene for a female," was his only reply.
Francesca's appearance seemed to move Evelyn. He stood as if struggling with his feelings; at last his resolution was taken, and, stepping forward, he addressed Major Johnstone.
"I believe, sir, even the tyrannical authority now so unjustly exerted would scarcely condemn a gentleman of birth and honour to die without a few minutes' preparation. I ask but some brief words with yonder lady; and they are for her sake, not my own."
"Speak!" said the officer.
"Only for her ear," resumed Evelyn.
"And so plan another escape, through some ​of the cursed passages with which this relic of popery abounds?"
"I give you my honour."
"Trash!" exclaimed Johnstone, his black brow growing yet blacker with rage at the delay. "Behold yonder window—lead the lady thither; I can there see, though I hear you not. So courtly a gallant as yourself knows how to whisper."
"Doubtless," said Evelyn, acknowledging the compliment by bowing low; and, advancing to Francesca, he led her towards the window. Precious as the time was, he nevertheless hesitated when the gloomy shadow of Major Johnstone fell between the two.
"I give you but ten minute? and four are gone;" and again he withdrew out of ear-shot.
"Yes, I must speak; and though I do not—cannot hope for your forgiveness, I must tell you, Francesca, how cruelly you have been deceived. I cannot die with a lie on my soul; but I am not he whom you take me for."
Francesca gazed into his face. She thought the shock of his situation had bewildered his reason; but he met her look calmly—firmly, and continued:
"It was my brother that you met in Italy; our likeness is so great, that apart we are often ​mistaken the one for the other. I heard him speak of you, though our meeting in France was the effect of chance. Thither he followed you, saw you talking to me at the theatre, and believed that I had supplanted him. Reproach was alien to his generous temperament; he commended you to my dear love, and left Paris."
Francis Evelyn paused, for though he expected agitation, he was not prepared for the shock which his words inflicted. Francesca sank senseless at his feet. The noise of her fall called the attention of the others. Alive to every chance of escape, fearing to see his prisoner vanish through some concealed door, Major Johnstone rushed forward. On observing the state of Francesca, a gleam of commiseration passed over his severe aspect; he aided Francis to raise her, and beckoning one of the soldiers, gave her into his arms, and bade him carry the still insensible girl to the family. The man obeyed, and, with a kindliness which indicated a gentler nature than his rugged look promised, bore her carefully as a child from the chamber.
"Are you ready, sir?" said Major Johnstone.
"Not yet!—not yet!" exclaimed Evelyn, with an appearance of agitation, which he strove in vain to suppress. "I ask but a very, very brief delay; ​but I have done a grievous wrong to yonder noble creature, and to one worthy as herself I must repair it. You know my brother?"
"I do: and marvel how he can be brother of thine."
The rebuke passed unnoticed, and Francis hurriedly continued:
"I ask but to write a few lines to him. I shall place it unsealed in your hands, so that you need fear no treason; though I trust that even a Roundhead may have honour enough not to read it; and to that honour I must trust for its delivery."
"I reck not," replied his companion, "that worldly and vain honour which you set up as an idol, and worship beyond your God; but for Robert Evelyn's own sake, that letter shall reach his hands in safety."
Writing materials were soon brought, and Evelyn commenced his epistle: it ran thus—
"Dear Robert,—
"Caught at last, and by those rascally Roundheads, whom you call patriots and saints, in a few minutes more I shall be shot—that is, if their clumsy carbines take good aim—to be sure they can fire near enough their mark not to miss. But I write to tell you what you will hear through ​all the various channels by which news travels,—Francesca Carrara is in England, residing under the roof of Lawrence Aylmer! Ah, dear Robert, let me commend Lucy Aylmer to your care—the only woman I ever loved, even, save that I have not your nobler nature, as you loved Francesca. I duped both yourself and that young and generous Italian, who has just risked her life for mine. I passed myself upon her for you, and till this moment she has never been undeceived. But one who was attached to you must have found that I was an unworthy likeness; she felt the change, though she knew it not;—and mark these words,—I was scorned and rejected, and anger kept me from undeceiving you. But death brings awful, and some kindly thoughts. Never did your true and strong affection rise up so vividly—so tenderly to my thoughts. I may have lived, but I will not die, quite undeserving of it. God bless you and Francesca!—you deserve each other. I hear Major Johnstone walking quicker and quicker. How heavily he steps! Good by!
"Yours till death,
(not very long, by the by),
"Francis Evelyn."
​ The captive cavalier calmly folded the scroll, rose up, and presented it to Johnstone, said, “Now, sire, I am at your service. I believe my birth entitles me to precedence;” and left the apartment first.