Read Ebook: The Weird Picture by Carling John R Cuneo Cyrus Illustrator

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Ebook has 1065 lines and 49690 words, and 22 pages

hancel, in tones as clear as a silver bell, the voice of a woman arose. She was singing a sacred solo; and the words directed none to draw near the altar but those whose consciences were pure, whose lives were holy. The effect of this music was thrilling in the extreme. Whether applicable or not to the would-be communicant, certain it was that his whole figure quivered like an aspen, and his head sank still lower on the chancel-rails. The solo did not form part of Mozart's Mass, and I could not help thinking afterwards that Father Ignatius had previously directed that the words should be sung in the event of the artist's presenting himself at the altar.

Still Angelo did not stir; and the deacon glanced at Father Ignatius, as if apprehensive of a disturbance. That ecclesiastic staved off the difficulty for a time by motioning the attendants to bring forward a second line of communicants, who, advancing to the chancel, knelt some on one side of Angelo, some on the other.

At this second refusal Angelo bounded to his feet with a suddenness that startled every one except Ignatius, who, calm and dignified, drew back a few paces, covering with the linen corporal the paten containing the wafers as if to guard them from seizure and profanation.

With eyes of fire and lip of scorn Angelo glared round on the assembly, as if in disdain of any opinion they might have formed of him, his face proud, dark, and defiant. The cathedral attendants, observing his wild bearing, were stepping forward to remove him, but a signal from Father Ignatius checked their advance.

"Peace!" he exclaimed with lifted hand, and at his word the rising murmur of many voices was hushed. "Peace! Let there be no tumult, I pray you, my children. My conduct may seem harsh, but the occasion warrants it. My son," he continued, turning to the artist, "you have forced this humiliation on yourself. Warned yestereven by me that you had forfeited the privileges of the Church, you have yet dared to disobey her voice, and to approach her hallowed altar. Leave this holy place, I pray you in quietude; or if force be employed in your removal, on your head be the guilt of profanation!"

A wave of emotion swept over Angelo, but with an effort he subdued it, and faced the priest.

"One question, and I retire. For what reason do you thus refuse me the Mass?"

"My conscience acquits me of any action that can justify you in excluding me from the Communion."

"The saints pardon thee that falsehood, my son!"

"Falsehood!" repeated the artist, stepping up to the chancel rails with clenched hands, and with so dark an expression on his face that I thought he was going to attack Ignatius. "If it were not for your age and holy office, you would not dare use such words to me. But the priest is protected by his alb and chasuble, as a woman by her sex. You have publicly affronted me. I demand an explanation, nor will I retire till you give it."

"This is not the time or place. At the confessional will I hear thee--nay, absolve thee; but come not as thou art to the holy altar."

"I tell you,"--Angelo began angrily, but Ignatius would not hear him.

"Too long have we listened to thee!" he exclaimed with a gesture of impatience. "Attendants, remove this brawler, ere from the high altar we curse him with bell, book, and candle!"

His eyes, glaring defiantly round at one and all, suddenly lighted upon us. There in that hour of his humiliation he beheld a sight calculated to call up all the bitterness of his nature; the woman whom he loved reclining in the arms of the man whom he hated! Daphne, with a frightened air, was clinging half fainting to me.

He cast a look at her as if appealing for sympathy, but in the expression of her face, and in the quickly averted motion of her head, he read the loss of all his hopes.

I was but human--it was ignoble of me, I know--but I could not repress the exultant thought that this was a splendid triumph for me!

A similar thought was evidently passing through the mind of the artist. Despair caused him to stand immovable, staring in Daphne's direction, regardless of the people's murmurs that rose on the air like the sound of many waters--regardless of the advice of the attendants to withdraw quietly. Like a statue he stood, deaf to their appeals, till at length, losing their patience, the attendants, aided by some of of the worshippers, laid hands on him to enforce his removal. Their grasp seemed to rouse all the latent fury of his nature.

The oaken door of the sacristy removed the struggling group from our view; and the scene that for the space of a few minutes had degraded a holy solemnity to the level of a stage-representation was at an end.

"Why, the boy must be mad!" cried my uncle, as Angelo's cries became lost in the distance.

Daphne lay a dead weight in my arms.

"She has fainted," I whispered to her father; and I bore her far away from the worshippers to the entrance of the cathedral for the cool morning air to revive her.

It is impossible to describe my thoughts as I held her close to me. Once before, on the very morn of her intended wedding, she had been snatched away; and now on a second occasion, when another rival seemed on the point of winning her, and of triumphing over me, events had conspired to destroy all his hopes. Was there not a fatality in this? Was not Destiny reserving Daphne for me alone?

"No one shall ever have you but myself," I murmured, as I gazed on her beautiful face.

An old woman had been slowly following us. She now offered us her assistance.

"Let me see to her," she said, as I laid her at the pedestal of a font near the porch, and, kneeling, sustained her head on my knee. "Poor pretty lady, she will soon come to."

And she proceeded to remove Daphne's hat, and to loosen her cloak and dress.

We waited a few moments, but she lay as still and white as the alabaster font above her.

"Is there no water to be had?" said my uncle, lifting the lid of the baptismal basin and peeping in. "None here. Ah! the holy water at the porch! Good!"

"The saints forbid!" exclaimed the old dame fervently. "It would be sacrilege."

"The holy water couldn't be put to a better use," I said, as my uncle darted to look for some receptacle to convey the water in.

"Is not this lady's name Daphne Leslie?" inquired the old dame, chafing the hands of her patient.

"Yes; how did you learn it?" I asked in amazement.

"I have heard it often enough," she smiled, "on the lips of my boy Angelo. You know him well. I am his old nurse. Perhaps you have heard him speak of me."

"I believe I have," I replied.

"Ah me! this lady has turned my poor boy's brain. He is mad--quite mad--with love for her. No sleep had he last night. All through the long hours he was walking his room to and fro, to and fro, to and fro, repeating her name. Ah, why did Father Ignatius frown so on him? I want to tell her that he is a good youth and can have done nothing wrong. The Father is a hard man, and the lightest trifle displeases him. I saw this lady faint at my poor boy's disgrace, and I want to tell her that it is all well with him. Jesu, Maria!" she ejaculated suddenly, looking with loving adoration on Daphne's face "how beautiful she is! A worthy match for my handsome boy."

So this, then, was her motive in attending Daphne! To pour into her ear the praises of Angelo, and to assure her of the goodness of his character!

"Your 'boy,' as you call him, shall never have Daphne," I exclaimed savagely--"never!"

And in an ecstasy of rage and love I kissed her passionately, and at the very moment my lips met hers her dark blue eyes opened wide and looked full into mine. Was it the reflection of my own eyes that I beheld in hers or did they really shine with a tender light? Did her fingers really return my pressure, or was it but the effect of my imagination? I could not tell. She had returned to her unconscious state again. The old woman had risen to her feet, and was regarding me with a superb contempt that would have done credit to the prince of darkness.

"So you, then, are the rival of whom my boy speaks in his dreams--you!" she exclaimed with a gesture of disdain. "And do you hope to win this lady from him--you? It will not be by the beauty of your face, then. Compared with you, my boy is an angel."

"I thank you for your services," I replied coldly, "but I can dispense with them, and with your compliments too. I wish you good-day, madame."

And, seeing that my uncle could not find a vessel in which to convey the water, I lifted Daphne and carried her over to him. The old dame remained standing on the spot where I had left her, and, after contemplating me for a few seconds, walked off with a stately air.

"Who do you think she is?"

"Florence Nightingale?"

Very slowly Daphne recovered from her swoon, smiling faintly at her weakness, and very tenderly did I lead her to a seat.

As soon as she was quite recovered my uncle left us to ascertain what had been done with Angelo.

"I feel quite frightened, Frank," said Daphne, trembling all over, "at what has just happened. Why did the priest refuse Angelo the Sacrament?"

"That is a mystery I too would like to solve."

"The priest must have had some reason for his action," she rejoined. "How awful Angelo looked when he jumped to his feet and glared round on the people! Promise me that you will not leave me alone with him," she said, laying her hand confidingly on my arm. "I feel afraid of him now; I did not think he could be so wild and passionate."

I gave her the required promise, knowing that the reason she exacted it was her dread lest the artist should use such opportunity for declaring his love to her.

She drew, perhaps unconsciously, nearer to me, and her arm within mine tightened its clasp. At the same time a rose she was wearing in her hat fell from its stalk. Daphne affected not to notice its fall, and it lay neglected, its petals scattered and withered as the hopes of the donor.

"Well, what have they done with Angelo?" said I to my uncle, as that worthy returned to us.

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