The Indianapolis journal. [volume] (Indianapolis [Ind.]) 1867-1904, 1885-11-29

0SSNAOt VI buSlE COiAtAOakofI
went home, put the spade back in the tool
house, unlocked his church. entered and prayed
long; then, waking his sleepy capellano, babe
him rise. and set the bell ringing for the first
mass. The man got up, grumbling because it
was still quite dark; and next day talked to his
neighbors about the queer ways of his vicar
how he would walk all night about his room,
sometimes get up and go out in the dead OF
night even; he complained that his own health
and patience would soon give way. An uneasy
feeling grew up in the village; some gossips even
suggested that the bishop should be spoken to in
the town; but every one was fearful of being the
first to take such a step, and no one was sure
how so great a person could be approached, and
the matter remained in allegiance. But the dis
quietude, and the antagonism which the manner
and appearance of their priest had created. grew
with the growth OF the year, and with it also
the impression that ne knew more of the miller's
assassination than he would ever say.
A horrible sense of being this mans accom-
plice grew also upon himself; the bond of silence
which he kept p%erforce with this wretch seemed
to him to make him so. His slender strength
and sensitive nerves ill-ftted him to sustain so
heavy a burden, so horrible a knowledge.
"It has come to chastise me because / have
thought of her too often, have been moved by
her too warmly" he told himself; and his soul
shrank within him at what appeared the great
ness of his own guilt.
Since receiving the confession of the carter, he
did not dare to seek an interview with Generosa.
he did not dare to look on her agonized eyes and
feel that he knew what could set her free, and
yet must never tell it. He trembled, lest in
sight of the suffering of this woman, who pos
sessed such power TO move and weaken him, he
should be untrue to his holy Office, should let the
secret he had to keep escape him. Like all timid
aud vacillating tempers, he sought refuge in
procraStination.
All unconscious of the growth of public feeling |
against him, and wrapt in that absorption which
comes from one dominant idea, he pursued the
routine of his parochial life, and went through
all the ceremonlals of his Office, hardly more
conscious OF what he did than the candles which
his sacrlstan lighted. The confession made to him
haunted him night and day. He saw it, as it
were. written in letters of blood on the blank,
white walls of his bedchathber, of his sacristy,
OF his church itself. The murderer was there,
at large, unknown to all; at work like any otter
man in the clear, sweet sunshine, talking and
laughing, eating and drinking. waking and sleep
ing. yet as unsupported as a child unborn. And
all the while Generosa was in prison. There
was only one chance left; if she should be &C
quilted by her judges. But even then the slur
and stain of an imputed, though unproven,
crime would always rest upon her and make her
future dark, her name a byword in her birth
place. Yet, after what her lover had said, no
mere acquittal, leaving doubt and suspicion be-
hind it, would give her back to the light and joy
of life. Every mans hand would be against
her; every child would point at her as the WON
an who had been accused of the assassination of
her husband.
One day he sought Falko Melegari when the
latter was making up the accounts of his stew
ardship at an old bureau in a deep window en-
brasure of the villa.
"You know that the date of the trial is fixed
for the 10th of next month"; he said, in a low,
sti1ed voice.
The young man, leaning back in his wooden
chair, gave a sigh of assent.
"And you?" said Gesualdo, with a curious ex-
preston in his eyes, eff they absolve her, will
you have the courage to prove your own belief in
her innocence? Will you marry her when she is
set free2'
The question was abrupt and unlocked for;
Falko changed color; he hesitated.
You will mott" said Gesualdo.
Il have not said So" answered the young man,
evasiyely. Il do not know that she would ex-
act it."
Exact ita Gesualdo did not know much Of
human nature, but he knew what the use of that
cold word implied.
II thought you loved her! I nistook." he said.
bitterly. A rosy flush came for a moment on
the waxlike pallor of his face.
Falko Melegari looked at him insolently.
"A churchman should not NEEDLE with these
things! Love her! Ilove her-yes. 1t ruins my
life to think of her yonder. | would cut off my
come out absolved-that is another thing; ones
name a by-word, ones credulity laughed at,
ones neighbor's shy of one-that is another
thing, I say. 1t will not be enough for her
judges to aquit her; that will not prove her in
nocence to all the people here, or to my people
at home in my own country"
He rose and pushed his heavy chair away i'm
patiently; he was ashamed of his own words. but
in the most impetuous Italian natures prudence
and self love are always the strongest instincts.
Gesualdo looked at him with a great scorn in the
depths OF his dark, deep, luminous eyes.
This handsome and virile lover seemed to him
a very poor creature; a coward and faithless.
I'm the depths of your soul you doubt her
yourself" he said, with severity and contempt.
as he turned away from the writing table and
went out through the windows into the garden
beyond.
mo, as God lives, l do not doubt her" cried
Falko Melegari. mot for an hour, not for a mo
ment. But to make others believe-that is more
difficult. L will maintain her and befriend her
always if they set her free, but marry her-take
her to my pe~ople-have everyone say that nv
wife nad oeen IN jail on suspicion of murder
that l could not co; no man would do it who had
a reputation to lose. One loves for loves sake.
but one marries for the worlds"
He spoke to empty air; there was no one TO
hear him but the little green lizards which had
slid out of their holes in the stone under the
window-step. Gesualdo had gone across the
rough gross of the garden, and had passed out
of sight beyond the tall hedge of rose-laurel.
The young man resumed his writing, but he
was restless and uneasy. and could not continue
his calculations of debit aud credit Of loss and
profit. He took his gun, whistled his dog, and
went up towards the hills, where hares were to
be found in the heather and snipes under the
gorse. HIS temper was rufied, and his mind in
RECoU iboll dSdIuob his Iatc companion: he
felt angrily that he must have appeared a mol.
troon, and a poor and unmanly lover in the ewes
of the churchman. Yet he had only spoken. he
felt sure, as any other man would have done ia
his place.
In the sympathy of their common affection.
his heart had warmed for awhile to Gesualdo, as
to the only one who. like himself. cared for the
fate of Tasso Tassilois wife; but now that sus-
picion had entered into him, there returned with
it all his detestation of the church and all the
mi nAfrn0G mr. tho nnn41a 80
priest of Marca had for a time lulled in him.
''Of course, he is a liar and a hvpocrite." he
thought, savagely. Perhaps, he was a MUIR
derer, as WELL"
He knew that the idea was a kind of madness. |
had never been known to hurt a fy; |
indeed. his aversion to even see pain inflicted had |
made him often the laughing stock of the chill
dren of Marca when he had rescued birds, or To-
Gusts, or frogs from their tormenting fingers,
and forbade them to throw stones at the lambs
or kids they drove to nastuna ..1,I.a. 49,