“Allow me to explain this mystery to you,”
said Zicci. “I discovered the plot against
you,—no matter how. I frustrated it
thus: the head of this design is a nobleman who
has long persecuted you in vain. He and two
of his creatures watched you from the entrance of the
theatre, having directed six others to await him on
the spot where you were attacked; myself and five
of my servants supplied their place, and were mistaken
for his own followers. I had previously ridden
alone to the spot where the men were waiting, and
informed them that their master would not require
their services that night. They believed me,
for I showed them his signet-ring, and accordingly
dispersed; I then joined my own band, whom I had left
in the rear. You know all. We are at your
door.”
(1) At that time in Naples carriages were both cheaper
to hire, and more necessary for strangers than they
are now.
Zicci was left alone with the young Italian.
She had thrown aside her cloak and head-gear; her
hair, somewhat dishevelled, fell down her ivory neck,
which the dress partially displayed; she seemed, as
she sat in that low and humble chamber, a very vision
of light and glory.
Zicci gazed at her with an admiration mingled with
compassion; he muttered a few words to himself, and
then addressed her aloud:—
“Isabel di Pisani, I have saved you from a great
peril,—not from dishonor only, but perhaps
from death. The Prince di —, under
the weak government of a royal child and a venal administration,
is a man above the law. He is capable of every
crime; but amongst his passions he has such prudence
as belongs to ambition: if you were not to reconcile
yourself to your shame, you would never enter the world
again to tell your tale. The ravisher has no
heart for repentance, but he has a hand that can murder.
I have saved thee, Isabel di Pisani. Perhaps
you would ask me wherefore?” Zicci paused, and
smiled mournfully as he added: “My life
is not that of others, but I am still human,—I
know pity; and more, Isabel, I can feel gratitude
for affection. You love me; it was my fate to
fascinate your eye, to arouse your vanity, to inflame
your imagination. It was to warn you from this
folly that I consented for a few minutes to become
your guest. The Englishman, Glyndon, loves thee
well,—better than I can ever love; he may
wed thee, he may bear thee to his own free and happy
land,—the land of thy mother’s kin.
Forget me, teach thyself to return and to deserve
his love; and I tell thee that thou wilt be honored
and be happy.”
Isabel listened with silent wonder and deep blushes
to this strange address; and when the voice ceased,
she covered her face with her hands and wept.
Zicci rose. “I have fulfilled my duty
to you, and I depart. Remember that you are
still in danger from the prince; be wary, and be cautious.
Your best precaution is in flight; farewell.”
