CHAPTER II.

A STRANGELY SENT EPISTLE.

Zuleika, Monte-Cristo's daughter, had been for some months in the

convent school conducted by the Sisterhood of the Sacred Heart. She was

not a close student though a rapid learner, and was rather inclined to

romance and adventure than to musty books of history and science. As has

already been stated, she had the early maturity of Greek girls. Besides,

she had attracted the attention of several Roman youths of high and

noble lineage, who had eagerly paid her the homage due to her beauty and

oriental attractiveness. Though but fifteen, she appreciated and felt

flattered by this homage, and naturally was impatient of the restraint

put upon her by the regulations of the convent school, which rigorously

excluded all male visitors save parents or guardians.

In the first rank of her youthful admirers was the Viscount Giovanni

Massetti. He was more ardent than any of the rest and, indeed, was

desperately in love with the fair and bewitching child of the dead

Haydee. He belonged to a family of great antiquity and boundless wealth,

and was reputed to possess a vast fortune in his own right. The Viscount

was only in his twenty-first year, but was exceedingly manly, dashing

and gallant. He was quite handsome and was said to be the soul of

honor, though his ardent temperament and headlong pursuit of whatever he

most coveted not unfrequently involved him in serious troubles, from

which, thanks to his own tact and the vast influence of his family, he

generally came out unscathed.

On Zuleika's arrival in Rome and before she had been placed in the

convent school, the Viscount Massetti had made her acquaintance in a way

that savored of romance and that made a deep impression upon the

inexperienced young girl. In Monte-Cristo's carriage, attended only by a

timid femme de chambre, she was one day crossing one of the two bridges

leading to the Island of San Bartolomeo, when a trace broke and the

horses took fright. The terrified driver lost control of them, and the

mad animals dashed along at a fearful rate, almost overturning the

carriage. Zuleika had arisen in the vehicle, which was an open barouche,

and was wildly clinging to the back of the front seat, her face white

with fear and her long black hair, which had become loosened, streaming

out behind her. Her wide open eyes had in them a look of tearful

supplication most difficult to resist. The young Viscount, who was

riding over the bridge on horseback at the time of the accident, could

not resist it. He sprang from his horse and, as the carriage passed him,

leaped into it. Seizing Zuleika by the waist, and holding her tightly to

him, he then made another spring, alighting safely with her upon the

roadway of the bridge. The flying horses were ultimately stopped and the

occupants of the badly shattered vehicle rescued from their dangerous

situation. This adventure caused the Count of Monte-Cristo to throw open

the doors of his palazzo to the young Italian, and he had been a

frequent visitor there up to the time of Zuleika's departure for the

convent school.

In the interval both the Viscount and the girl had become much attached

to each other, and then this mutual attachment had rapidly ripened into

mutual love of that ardor and intensity experienced only by children of

the southern or oriental sun. Young Massetti had avowed his passion to

his beautiful charmer, and the avowal had not caused her displeasure; it

was, on the contrary, exceedingly agreeable to her and she did not seek

to conceal the fact from her enthusiastic suitor.

The momentous interview took place in a densely shaded alley of the

garden of the Palazzo Costi one sultry afternoon of the early autumn.

The youthful couple were seated very near each other upon a rustic

bench. Massetti held Zuleika's small, soft hand in his and the electric

touch of her tiny and shapely fingers thrilled him as the touch of

female fingers had never thrilled him before. He gazed into the liquid

depths of her dark, glowing eyes and their subtile fire seemed to melt

his very soul. The close, sultry atmosphere, laden with heavy,

intoxicating perfumes, was fraught with a delirious influence well

calculated to set the blood aflame and promote the explosion of pent-up

love. The thick, green foliage enclosed the pair as in a verdant cloud,

effectually concealing them from observation. The opportunity was

irresistible. Giovanni drew closer to his fascinating companion, so

closely that her fragrant breath came full in his face, utterly

subjecting him and totally obliterating all caution, everything save his

absorbing passion for the palpitating girl whose slight, but clear-cut

form, gracefully-outlined beneath her flowing, half-oriental garments,

touched his. Suddenly carried away by a powerful transport, he threw his

arm around the young girl's yielding waist and drew her without

resistance upon his bosom, where she lay, gazing up into his flushed,

excited countenance with an indescribable, voluptuous charm, mingled

with thorough confidence and unhesitating innocence. Panting in his

clasp, her ruby lips partly opened as if for breath, and the ardent

Italian hastily, recklessly imprinted a fiery kiss upon them. Zuleika,

with an almost imperceptible movement, returned this chaste, but

ravishing salute.

"Oh! how I love you!" murmured Giovanni, quivering from head to foot in

his wild ecstasy, and clasping the lovely girl still tighter.

She made no verbal response, but did not stir, did not strive to

extricate herself from his warm embrace This was a sufficient answer for

the quick Italian. Zuleika, the beautiful Zuleika, returned his love,

favored his suit. His joy approached delirium.

"Oh! Zuleika," he whispered, gazing directly into her night black eyes,

"you love me, I am sure! Give me the treasures of your virgin heart! Be

mine--be my wife!"

"Oh! Giovanni," returned the quivering girl, in a low, but sweetly

modulated voice, "I do love you--God alone knows how much!--but I am

too young to be your wife! I am only a child, not yet out of school. My

father would not hear of my marrying for several years to come. Can you

not wait?"

"It will be a hard task, Zuleika," answered the young man, excitedly;

"but, still, I will wait if you give me a lover's hope. Promise to marry

me when you are at liberty to do so, nay, swear it, and I shall be

satisfied!"

"I can neither promise nor swear it, Giovanni, without my father's

approval and consent. He is a wise, experienced and thoughtful man,

tender and mild to every one he loves, though hard and implacable to his

enemies. Speak to him of me, of your love, of your wish. He will listen

to you and he will not imperil his daughter's happiness. Go to him

without delay, and rest assured that whatever he says or does will be

for the best interests of us both."

She had released herself from his clasp and drawn slightly away from

him, not in terror, not in prudery, not in coquetry, but as a measure of

prudence. She felt intuitively that the wild, intense passion of her

Italian adorer must be kept within discreet limits.

"I cannot speak to your father yet," replied Giovanni, hesitatingly. "He

might listen to me, it is true; but he would treat our love as a mere

childish fancy that time could not fail to dim, if not obliterate. I am

deeply in earnest, Zuleika, and could not bear to be treated as a

thoughtless, headlong stripling, who did not know his own mind.

Ridicule, even in its mildest form, would fire my blood, fill me with

mad projects of revenge. I prefer not to ask your father for your hand

until certain of a favorable reception of my suit. You comprehend my

scruples, do you not, Zuleika? I love you too dearly not to win you when

I ask!"

"But you will speak to my father?" said the girl, in faltering tones.

"Yes, darling, oh! yes; but not until that hated convent school has

ceased to oppose its barriers between us. When you have left it, when

you have completed the education the Count designs for you, I will seek

your father and ask you of him for my wife; until then, until I can with

safety speak, at least promise me that you will love no other man,

encourage no other suitor."

"That I will do," responded the girl, joyously. "Rest assured I will

love no other man, encourage no other suitor!"

Unable to control himself, the Viscount again clasped the object of his

adoration in his arms, and again their lips met in a long, passionate

kiss of love.

So it was settled, and Zuleika went to the convent school of the Sacred

Heart, feeling that her happiness was assured, but impatient of and

dissatisfied with the long delay that must necessarily intervene before

the realization of her hopes, the dawn of her woman's future.

The Viscount Massetti, though he had professed himself willing to wait,

was, on his side, thoroughly discontented with the arduous task he had

undertaken. It was one thing to make a rash promise in the heat of

enthusiasm, but quite another to keep it, especially when that promise

involved a separation from the lovely girl who had inextricably entwined

herself about the fibres of his heart and was the sole guiding star of

his life and love.

The convent school of the Sacred Heart was located in the convent of

that Sisterhood, about three miles beyond the Porta del Popolo on the

northern side of Rome. The convent was a spacious edifice, but gloomy

and forbidding, with the aspect of a prison. Narrow, barred windows,

like those of a dungeon of the middle ages, admitted the light from

without, furnishing a dim, restricted illumination that gave but little

evidence of the power and brilliancy of the orb of day. At night the

faint, sepulchral blaze of candles only served to make the darkness

palpable and more ghastly.

The huge school-room was as primitive and comfortless in its

appointments and furniture as well could be. The walls were of dressed

stone and loomed up bare and grisly to a lofty ceiling that was covered

with a perfect labyrinth of curiously carved beams, the work of some

unknown artist of long ago. The scholars' dormitories were narrow

cell-like affairs, scantily furnished, in which every light must be

extinguished at the hour of nine in the evening. Once admitted to the

school, the pupils were not permitted to leave its precincts save at

vacation or at the termination of their course of studies, a

circumstance that heartily disgusted the gay, light-hearted Italian

girls sent there to receive both mental and moral training. Another

source of grave vexation to them was the regulation, already alluded to,

that rigorously excluded all male visitors, with the exception of

parents or guardians.

Attached to the convent was an extensive garden, full of huge trees that

had, apparently, stood there for centuries, so bent, gnarled and aged

were they. An ancient gardener, with a flowing beard as white as snow

and scanty locks of the same spotless hue, aided by two or three

assistants almost as ancient as himself, attended to the lawns and vast

flower-beds, the latter being kept constantly filled with plants of

gorgeous bloom and exquisite fragrance. The picturesque appearance of

the garden contrasted strongly and strangely with the rigid and staid

aspect of the convent edifice, and this garden was the one spot where

the pupils felt at home and thoroughly enjoyed themselves. They were

allowed to walk there at noon and towards twilight in the evening, under

the supervision of Sister Agatha, a sharp-sighted and vigilant nun, who

never failed to rebuke and correct her vivacious charges for even the

slightest infraction of discipline. Still, the girls enjoyed themselves

in the garden, for its extent and the fact that Sister Agatha could not

be everywhere at once enabled the frisky and light-hearted pupils to

indulge in many an escapade.

One noon Zuleika, who was in an unusually despondent frame of mind,

strayed from the rest of her companions and strolled beneath the

centenarian trees. Unconsciously she approached the lofty wall of the

garden. She seated herself at the foot of a gnarled old elm, the leafy

branches of which descended to the ground and effectually screened

Monte-Cristo's daughter from view. At least, so she thought, but though

she could not be seen by any within the garden enclosure she was plainly

visible from the wall and the trees looming above it without.

As Zuleika sat pondering on her lot and sadly thinking of her separation

from her lover, she heard or imagined she heard a singular noise amid

the thick boughs of an immense chestnut tree immediately outside the

garden wall. She started up in affright, but could discern nothing

unusual, and the singular noise was not repeated. The strangest part of

the whole affair, however, was that the noise had sounded like her own

name uttered by a human voice. This increased her terror and confusion,

and she was about to flee from the spot when an oblong pebble to which

something white was attached fluttered over the wall and fell at her

feet. She was now more alarmed then ever and took several steps

backward, the while regarding the white object that lay where it had

fallen, motionless and fascinating.

Finally her curiosity obtained the mastery, and, approaching the

suspicious object with the utmost caution, she bent over to examine it.

It was an ordinary envelope and, no doubt, contained a letter. For whom

was it intended? Obviously for one of the pupils. It was a clandestine

epistle, too, otherwise it would have come by the regular channel

through the post office. Perhaps it was a love letter. At this thought

she gave a guilty start and gazed piercingly into the chestnut tree, but

nothing was visible there save boughs and leaves. After all, the epistle

was, doubtless, destined for some swarthy-visaged Italian beauty, and

many such were in the convent school. That it had fallen at her feet was

certainly but a mere coincidence. It was not, it could not be intended

for her! Its rightful owner, who had clearly received many similar notes

in the same way, knew where it was and presently would come for it. The

envelope had fallen face downward, and she could not see the address.

She touched it with her foot, then cautiously turned it with the tip of

her shoe. She saw writing. It was the address. Somehow the arrangement

of the characters seemed familiar to her, though she was so dazed and

confused she could not make out the name. Her curiosity was unworthy of

her, she knew, unworthy of Monte-Cristo's daughter. What right had she

to pry into the heart secret of one of her school companions? Still she

gazed; she could not help it. Suddenly she stooped and took the envelope

from the ground. The address riveted her eyes like a magician's spell.

Great heavens! it was her own name--Zuleika!

Hurriedly snapping the slight string that bound the envelope to the

stone, she thrust the former into the bosom of her dress. Then she

glanced around her, half-fearing she had been seen by some of the pupils

or the watchful Sister Agatha. But no, she was unobserved, and even now

her companions and the nun were at such a distance that she could read

her letter without the slightest danger of being discovered or

interrupted. The temptation was strong. She yielded to it. She would

read the letter. She felt convinced that it was from the Viscount

Massetti, and the conviction filled her with unutterable joy. She had

not heard a word concerning him since she had been immured within the

sombre walls of that dismal convent, and now she had tidings of him in

his own handwriting! It was rapture! What had he written to her? An

assurance of his love, no doubt, and, perhaps, an exhortation to her to

keep her part of their agreement--to love no other man, to encourage no

other suitor! Surely she loved no one else--she never could love any one

but Giovanni Massetti, for did he not possess her whole heart, all the

wealth of her ardent youthful affection?

She kissed the envelope, then opened it, took out the letter, which was

written in pencil, and read:

DEAREST ZULEIKA: I can keep from you no longer. I must see you once

more and again call you my own. I strove to attract your attention

just now in the chestnut tree outside the wall. I uttered your

beloved name, but you did not seem to understand me. This evening

at twilight I will scale the wall. At that time be at the elm where

you now stand and I will meet you there. Do not fail me, and, above

all, do not be afraid. I assure you that no harm can possibly

befall either of us. Meet me, darling.

Your own,

GIOVANNI.

Zuleika stood staring at this passionate note with sensations made up

of amazement, rapture and dismay. Giovanni, her lover, was coming. He

would stand there, on that very spot, and she would see him in all the

glory of his youthful manhood, with the radiant love-light in his eyes.

But how if he were discovered? What then would become of him and of her?

She shuddered at the possibilities of danger. But on one point she was

resolved--she would meet him let the danger be what it might. How

Giovanni would manage to avoid observation she did not know, but she

would trust to his judgment and discretion.

She glanced in the direction of the pupils and Sister Agatha. They were

coming slowly towards her. Again secreting her lover's epistle in her

bosom, she went to meet them.