 
At an early hour, rich aureate hues yet streaking the east, our party were duly seated in a roomy carriage of Angrasani's, on their way to Rome. They had hopes of arriving at the capital, in time to witness that unique sight, the illumination of Saint Peter's; a sight which few can remember, without deeming its anticipation well worthy, to urge on the jaded traveller, to his journey's termination. Who can forget the play of the fountains in front of the Vatican, the music of whose descending water is most distinctly audible, although crowds throng the wide and noble space. Breathless--silent all--is the assembled multitude, as the clock of Saint Peter's gives its long expected signal. Away! darkness is light! a fairy palace springs before us! its beautiful proportions starting into life, until the giddy brain reels, from the excess of that splendour, on which the eye suddenly and delightedly feasts! With the exception of a short halt, which afforded the travellers time for an early dinner at the Albergo di Cicerone, which is about half a mile from the Molo di Gaeta, they prosecuted their journey without intermission, till arrived within sight of their resting place. This bore the aspect of an extensive, but dilapidated mansion, evidently designed for some other purpose. Its proprietor had erected it, at a period, when malaria was either less prevalent or less dreaded; and his descendants had quitted it, for some more salubrious site. The albergo itself, occupied but a small portion of the building, immediately on the right and left of the porch. The other apartments, which formed the wings, were either wholly tenantless, or were fitted up as hay-lofts, granaries, or receptacles for farming utensils. In the upper rooms, the panes of glass were broken; and the whole aspect of the place betokened desolation and decay. As they drove to the door, a throng of mendicants and squalid peasants came forth. Their faces had a cadaverous hue, which could not but be remarked. Their eyes, too, seemed heavy, and deep set in the head; while many had their throats bandaged, from the effects of glandular swellings, brought on by the marshy exhalations. AcmÉ threw some small pieces of Neapolitan money amongst them; and their gratitude in consequence was boundless. She sprang from the carriage like a young fawn. "Come, come, Giorgio! look at that sweet sun-set--and at the blue clouds edged with burnished gold! Would it not be a sin to remain in-doors on such an evening? and besides," added she, in a whisper--"is it not a pleasure to leave behind us these sickly faces, to muse on an Italian landscape, and admire an Italian sky? Driver! will you order supper? We will take a stroll while it is preparing. "Come! Henry! come away! do not look so grave, or you will make me think of your amusing friend--Dr. Pormont." "Thompson!" said George, as the smiling bride bore off the brothers in triumph, "do not forget your mistress' guitar case!" The travellers passed a paved court, in rear of the building; whence a wicket gate admitted them to a kitchen garden, well stocked with the requisites for an Italian salad. Behind this, enclosed with embankments, was a small vineyard. The vines twined round long poles, these again being connected with thin cords, which the tendrils were already clasping. Thus far, there was nothing that seemed indicative of an unwholesome situation. As they extended their walk, however, pursuing the continuation of the path, that had led them through the vineyard, they arrived at the edge of a dark sluggish stream, whose surface was nearly on a level with them; and which, gradually becoming broader, at length emptied itself into what might be styled a wide and luxuriant marsh, which abounded with water-fowl. This was studded with small round lakes, and with islets of an emerald verdure. From the bosom of the marsh itself, rose bulrushes and pollard willows, towered over by gigantic noisy reeds. The stream was thickly strewn with the pure honours of the water lily. If--as Eastern poets tell us--these snowy flowers bathe their charms, when the sun is absent, but lift up their virgin heads, when he looks down approvingly:--but that, sometimes deceived, on some peerless damsel's approaching, they mistake her eye for their loved luminary, and pay to her beauty an abrupt and involuntary homage:--now might they indeed gaze upward, to greet as fair a face as ever looked down on the water they bedecked. They approached the edge of the marsh, and discovered a rural arbour of faded boughs--the work of children--placed around a couple of willow trees. Within it, was a rude seat; and some parasitical plant with a deep red flower, had twined round the withered boughs, and mingled fantastically with the dead leaves. Below the arbour, was a small stone embankment, which prevented the waters from encroaching, and made the immediate site comparatively free from dampness. Acme arranged her cloak--took one hand of each of the brothers in hers--and in the exuberance of health and youth--commenced prattling in that charming domestic strain, which only household intimacy can beget or justify. George leant back in silence, but could have clasped her to his heart. Memory! memory! who that hath a soul, cannot conjure up one such gentle being,--while the blood for one moment responds to thy call, and rolls through the veins with the tide of earlier and of happier days? At the extremity of the horizon, was a more extensive lake, than any near them. Over this, the sun was setting; tinting its waters with a clear rich amber, save in its centre, where, the lake serving as a halo to its glory, a blood-red sun was vividly reflected. As the sun descended, one slender ray of light, came quivering and trembling through the leaves of the arbour. This little incident gave rise to a thousand fanciful illustrations on the part of AcmÉ. Her spirits were as buoyant as a child's; and her playful mood soon communicated itself to her travelling companions. They compared the solitary ray to virtue in loneliness--to the flickering of a lamp in a tomb--to a star reflected on quicksilver--to the flash of a sword cutting through a host of foes--and to the light of genius illuming scenes of poverty and distress. Thompson made his appearance, and announced the supper as being ready. "This," said George, good-naturedly, "is an odd place, is it not, Thompson? Is it anything like the Lincolnshire Fens?" "Not exactly, your honour!" replied the domestic, with perfect gravity, "but there ought to be capital snipe shooting here." "Ah! che vero Inglese!" said the laughing AcmÉ. They retraced their steps to the inn, and were ushered into the supper room, which was neither more nor less than the kitchen, although formerly, perhaps, the show room of the mansion. Around the deep-set fireplace, watching the simmering of the cauldron, were grouped some peasants. The supper table was laid in one corner of the room; and although neither the accommodation nor the viands were very tempting, there was such a disposition to be happy, that the meal was as much enjoyed as if served up in a palace. The repast concluded, AcmÉ rose; and observing a countryman with his arm bound up, enquired if he had met with an accident; and patiently listened to the prosy narrative of age. An old bronzed husbandman, too, was smoking his short earthen pipe, near the window sill. "What a study for Lanfranc!" said the happy wife, as she took up a burnt stick, and sketched his dried visage to the life. The old man regarded his portrait on the wall, with intense satisfaction; and commenced dilating on what he had been in youth. How different, thought Sir Henry, is all this from the conduct of a well bred English girl! yet how natural and amiable does it appear in AcmÉ! With what an endearing manner--with what sweet frankness--does this young foreigner wile away--what would otherwise have been--a tedious evening in an uncomfortable inn! As the night advanced, George brought out the guitar; and AcmÉ warbled to its accompaniment like a fairy bird. It was a late hour, before DelmÉ ventured to remind the songstress, that they must prosecute their journey early on the following morning. "I will take your hint," said AcmÉ, as she shook his hand, and tripped out of the room; "buona sera! miei Signori." "She is a dear creature!" said DelmÉ, "She is indeed!" replied his brother, "and I am a fortunate man. Henry! I think I shall be jealous of you, one of these days. I do believe she loves you as well as she does me!" The brothers retired. Sir Henry's repose was unbroken, until morning dawned; when George entered his room in the greatest agitation, and with a face as pale as death, told him AcmÉ was ill. DelmÉ arose immediately; and at George's earnest solicitation, entered the room. Her left cheek, suffused with hectic, rested on one small hand. The other arm was thrown over the bed-clothes. Her eyes sparkled like diamonds. Her lips murmured indistinctly--the mind was evidently wandering. A man and horse were sent express to Naples. The whole of that weary day, George DelmÉ was by AcmÉ's side, preparing cooling drinks, and vainly endeavouring to be calm. As the delirium continued, she seemed to be transported to the scenes of her early youth, As night wore on, the fever, if it were such, gradually increased. George's state of mind bordered on distraction. Sir Henry became exceedingly alarmed, and anxious for the presence of the medical attendant. At about four o'clock the following morning, Doctor Pormont was announced, Cold and forbidding as was his aspect, George hailed him as his tutelary angel, and burst into tears, as he implored him to exert his skill to the uttermost. The physician approached the invalid, and in a moment saw that the case was a critical one. His patient was bled twice during the day, and strong opiates administered. Towards evening, she slept; and awoke with restored consciousness, but with feelings keenly alive to her own danger. The following night and day she lingered on, speaking but little. During the whole of that time, even, when she slept, George's hand remained locked in hers. On this, her tears would sometimes fall, but these she strove to restrain. To the others around her, she spoke gratefully, and with feminine softness; but her whole heart seemed to be with George. Doctor Pormont, to do him justice, was unremitting in his exertions, and hardly took rest. All his professional skill was called to her aid; but from the second day, he saw it was in vain. The strength of the invalid failed her more and more. Doctor Pormont at length called Sir Henry on one side, and informed him that he entertained no doubt of a fatal result; and recommended his at once procuring such religious consolation as might be in his power. No Protestant clergyman was near at hand, even had DelmÉ thought it adviseable to procure one. But he was well aware, that however Acme might have sympathised with George, her earlier religious impressions would now in all probability be revived. A Catholic priest was sent for, and arrived quickly. He was habited in the brown garb of his order, his waist girt with a knotted cord. He bore in his hand the sainted pyx, and commenced to shrive the dying girl. It was the soft hour of sunset, and the prospect in rear of the mansion, presented a wide sea of rich coloured splendour. Over the window, had been placed a sheet, in order to exclude the light from the invalid's chamber. The priest knelt by her bedside; and folding his hands together, began to pray. The rays of the setting sun, fitfully flickered on the sheet, over whose surface, light shadows swiftly played, ever and anon glancing on the shorn head of the kneeling friar. His intelligent face was expressive of firm belief. His eye turned reverentially to heaven, as in deep and sonorous accents, he implored forgiveness for the sufferer, for the sins committed during her mortal coil. AcmÉ sat up in her bed. On her countenance, calm devotion seemed to usurp the place of earthly affections, and earthly passions. The soul was preparing for its upward flight. DelmÉ led away the sorrowing husband, and the minister of Christ was left alone, to hear the contrite outpourings of a weak departing sinner. The priest left the chamber, but spoke not, either to the physician, or the expecting brothers. His impassioned glance belonged to another and a higher world. He made one low obeisance--his robes swept the passage quickly--and the Franciscan friar sought his lonely cell to reflect on death. The brothers re-entered. They found AcmÉ in the attitude in which they had left her--her features wearing an expression at once radiant and resigned. But--as her eye met George's--as she saw the havoc grief had already made--the feelings of the woman resumed the mastery. She extended her arms--she brought his lip to hers--as if she would have made that its resting place for ever. Alas! an inward pang told her to be brief. She drew away her face, crimsoned with her passion's flush--tremblingly grasped his hand---and, with voice choked by emotion, gave her last farewell. "Giorgio, my dearest! my own! I shall soon join my parents. I feel this--and my mother's words, as she met me by the olive tree, ring in my ear. "She told me I should die thus; but she told me, too, that I should kill the one dearest to me on earth. Thank God! this cannot be--for I know my life to be ebbing fast. "Dearest I do not mourn for me too much. You may find another AcmÉ--as true. But, oh! sometimes--yes! even when your hearts cling fondly together, as ours were wont to do--think of your own AcmÉ--who loved you first--and only--and does it now! oh! how well! Giorgio! dear! dearest! adieu! My feet are so, so cold--and ice seems"-- A change shadowed the face, as from some corporeal pang. She tried to raise an ebony cross hung round her neck. In the effort, her features became convulsed--and George heard a low gurgling in the throat, as from suffocation. Ah! that awful precursor of "the first dark hour of nothingness." George DelmÉ sprang to his feet, and was supporting her head, when the physician grasped his arm. "Stop! stop! you are preventing"---- The lower lip quivered--and drooped--slightly! very slightly! The head fell back. One long deep drawn sigh shook the exhausted frame. The face seemed to become fixed. Doctor Pormont extended his hand, and silently closed those dark fringed lids. The cold finger, with its harsh touch, once more brought consciousness. Once more the lid trembled! there was an upward glance that looked reproachful! Another short sigh! Another! Lustreless and glaring was that once bright eye! Again the physician extended his hand. "Assuredly, gentlemen! vitality hath departed!" A deep--solemn--awful silence--which not a breath disturbed--came over that chamber of death. It seemed as if the insects had ceased their hum--that twilight had suddenly turned to night--that an odour, as of clay, was floating around them, and impregnating the very atmosphere. George took the guitar, whose chords were never more to be woke to harmony by that loved hand, and dashed it to the ground. Ere DelmÉ could clasp him, he had staggered to the bedside--and fallen over AcmÉ's still form. And did her frame thrill with rapture? did she bound to his caress? did her lip falter from her grateful emotion?--did she bury his cheek in her raven tresses? No, no! still--still--still were all these! still as death! |
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