Page:The Coming Race, etc - 1888.djvu/326

312 At length Gionetta's voice was swallowed up in successive yawns. She took her lamp, and departed to her own room, which was placed in the upper story of the house. Isabel was alone. The half hour after midnigh t sounded dull and distant:—all was still—and she was about to enter her sleeping-room, when she heard the hoofs of a horse at full speed:—the sound ceased;—there was a knock at the door. Her heart beat violently; but fear gave way to another sentiment when she heard a voice, too well known, calling on her name. She went to the door.

"Open, Isabel—it is Zicci," said the voice again.

And why did the actress feel fear no more, and why did that virgin hand unbar the door to admit, without a scruple or a doubt, at that late hour, the visit of the fairest cavalier of Naples? I know not; but Zicci had become her destiny, and she obeyed the voice of her preserver as if it were the command of Fate.

Zicci entered with a light and hasty step. His horseman's cloak fitted tightly to his noble form; and the raven plumes of his broad hat threw a gloomy shade over his commanding features.

The girl followed him into the room, trembling and blushing deeply,—and stood before him with the lamp she held, shining upward on her cheek, and the long hair that fell like a shower of light over the bare shoulders and heaving bust.

"Isabel," said Zicci, in a voice that spoke deep emotion, "I am by thy side once more to save thee. Not a moment is to be lost.

Thou must fly with me, or remain the victim of the Prince di. I would have made the charge I now undertake another's:—thou knowest I would thou knowest it:—but he is not worthy of thee the cold Englishman! I throw myself at thy feet : have trust in me—and fly. "

He grasped her hand passionately as he dropped on his knee, and looked up into her face with his bright, beseeching eyes.

"Fly with thee!" said Isabel, tenderly.

"Thou knowest the penalty:—name—fame—honour—all will be sacrificed if thou dost not."

"Then—then," said the wild girl, falteringly, and turning aside her face, "then I am not indifferent to thee. Thou wouldest not give me to another:—thou lovest me?"

Zicci was silent—but his breast heaved—his cheeks flushed—his eyes darted dark but impassioned fire.

"Speak!" exclaimed Isabel, in jealous suspicion of his silence. "Speak, if thou lovest me."

"I dare not tell thee so:—I will not yet say I love thee."

"Then what matter my fate?" said Isabel, turning pale and