CHAPTER XXII, and last.

Waikato Times, Volume XX, Issue 1672, 24 March 1883, Page 1 (Supplement)

CHAPTER XXII, and last.

BNAKE POISON. I had made up my mind that I was to die. I knew the doctors thought it extremely unlikely that I should recover, and I had no desire to do so. I had nothing to live for. The alternations oi hope and despair -which I had experienced during the previous few months, had increased my love for Lucy to such an absorbing extent, that, for me, the whole world meant "Lucy," and existence without her was impossible to realise. I could not imagine myself living apart from her. But she was now married to another, and necessarily lost to me — death was the only logical outcome of the difficulty. I became resigned to my fate, and longed only for the end. One morning, the nurse informed me that Manuel Gonzales had left in the middle of the night, saying that he would probably be absent for forty-eight hours. I wondered, but I was too weak to think. The day passed wearily — I missed the boy, •who had waited upon me so tenderly, and was now the sole link remaining between me and the past. I was very weak the next morning, when he entered my room, accompanied by one of the doctors who were attending me. " Master," he said, after kissing my hand, in his gentle foreign fasluon. " Master " — he always called me " Master "—"" — " Are you strong enough to hear some good news? " The doctor had taken my hand and had his fingers on my pulse. " Good news ? " I repeated, faintly. " What good news can there be for me?" " News — good news of Lucy Stanley." My heart leapt in my breast, and the doctor interposed. " That will do for to-day," he said, " we must have no more excitement now." " You are wrong, doctor," said Manuel. "Having begun, I must go on — suspense would kill him. I thanked the boy by a glance. I was not able to speak. " Well, perhaps you are right," said the doctor. " But," addressing me "my dear sir — my very dear sir — pray be calm ! Having nothing disagreeable to hear, you can surely command yourself." " Yes, yes," I murmured, impatiently. "Go on, Manuel 1 " " Lucy is not married to Arthur Sievwright, nor is she going to be 1 " " Thank God 1 " I cried, and I closed my eyes, in an ecstasy of joy. The doctor gave me some cordial, and I revived quickly enough. Already I felt stronger — the desire to live had come, and that is a more potent medicine than there is in the Pharmacopoeia I Manuel glanced at the doctor, enquiringly, and he nodded assent. " I have seen Miss Stanley," he then Baid, " and told her of your illness. She has promised to come to you as Boon aa you arc strong enough to see her." " Now, now ! " I cried, raising myself in the bed— a feat which I had not been able to accomplish since my illness. " Bring her tome at once ! " " Calm yourself, Mr. Stanislaus," said the doctor. " I shall not permit the young lady to come until you are quite calm." , " Feel my pulse," I cried, stretching forth my hand. "I am calm now " — indeed I had - ivived wonderfully, and, after a minute's gfu-r/isideration, the doctor once more nodded tlijis head to Manuel. That strange youth then stepped forward, knelt by the bedside, and once more lifted my hand to his lips— then turning his head, he left the room, in silence 1 But my hand was ' wet with his tears 1 11 Now, sir," said the doctor, " drink this. It is merely a soothing draught ; and remember, when the young lady arrives, moderate your transports. , She will be here . soon enough, and I will leave you alonoi with, her for ( ten minutes — not a second longer 1 " He shook his finger warningly at me as he left the room, and a minute later, something white fluttered to my side, and my darling's lips were on mine, her arm around my neck ! What did we say ; to one another? As far as I can remember, neither of us Bpokea word

— it was enough for both that we lay in one another's arms — united, and never more to parti That wearisome doctor made his appearance in about ten seconds, I thought — he said he allowed us full twenty minutes. He brought with him the nurse, and a bowl of broth, which Lucy incontinently proceeded to administer to me by spoonsful — glorying in her work, as I could see by the delicious smile upon her darling face. It was not until many hours after that I remembered the youth to whom we owed our happiness. " What has become of Manuel? " I asked. •' He went out as soon as the Lady came in," said the nurse — and again we forgot him. At nightfall I renewed my question, but learned that he had not returned, and so I went to sleep, with Lucy's hand in mine, and her head resting on my pillow. She had undertaken the first watch of the night, which had hitherto fallen to Manuel Gonzales. I wanted to get up the next morning, but the doctor would not hear of it, though he admitted that I was infinitely better, and now quite out of danger. Manuel did not return that day. Toward noon on the next, I began to feel anxious about the boy, and at last I requested Lucy to go to his room, and hunt amongst his effects to see if she could find any clue to his extraordinary absence. She came back to me, after a very long absence, with a white, tear-stained face, and a scared look in her eyes. " What is the matter ?" I asked. " You have been away a very very long time." " Charlie," she said, very gravely — " I fear we shall never see Manuel Gonzales again I " " "What ? Has he run away ?" I asked. " Yes, dear, he has run away. But never mmd — do not let us talk about him till you get well. Have you taken your medicine ? " " Run away 1 " I repeated. " Why should he run away ? He was a good boy — he has stolen nothing ? " " No, he has stolen nothing," replied Lucy, sighing deeply, and brushing away a tear. " Then why did ho go? And why do you cry ? " "I am not crying, dear" — an obvious falsehood. "If you must know, Manuel ran away because of an unhappy love affair." " Nonsense !" I cried, half angrily. " That boy in love 1 It is too absurd. Besides, if he had been, he would have told me of it." "But I assure you it is true, deai," said Lucy. "Now, do not ask any more questions — we shall hear more about him soon." I was obliged to be contented, but as the days wore on, without word coming from him, I vowed to institute a search for him as soon as I was able to get about. Meanwhile I made Lucy write to Clara Belzoni, asking her for information of her cousin. It was not until I was allowed to go out driving with Lucy that I learned the melancholy truth. We were seated in the Botanical Gardens, looking over the stilt waters of Farm cove, when Lucy told her tale, and handed me the following letter : — " TO CHARLES STANISLAUS ANl> LUCY STANLEY. "When you read this, I shall have passed away, and you can forgive me, for I shall be unable to work you further ill. " Do you remember that day, Charlie, when I ' acted ' so marvellously well, that you said I was greater than Eistori ? — that was not acting, but bitter reality. The passion I told you was simulated, was real. I told you how I loved you — I tell you now that I sinned for that love, and that I am about to die for it. "You both know how sad life is without the love you yearn for — you will not wonder that I refuse to go through that torture. " All will be explained to you when I tell you that Manuel Gonzales and Clara Belzoni are one. I assumed the disguise in order to be near you, Charlie, and wrest from Fate a brief season of happiness. I think I had lost hope of winning you for myself, but I thought I would not leave you until you were lost to me, and then I would die. " For a time I did cherish some hope, trusting that the ingenuity of Sievwright, and his tool, Bessie Marston, would devise some means for estranging you from one another — that hope perished on the night the doctors told me that you, Charlie, were dying — and, in its place, came the resolve to save you, if it were possible. " I made the girl, Bessie Marston, tell me where Sievwright wa3, and I confronted him, and bade him begone, for I, who had, up till that time, been his accomplice, had now taken part against him. Poor fellow 1 I can pity him, for our cases are the same. " All the rest you know. "My will is in my desk. I have not dared to ask you to accept of money from me, and I am glad you do not need it ; but I have ventured to appoint you my executor, and I beg Lucy to accept of a locket which she will also find in my desk. It is on my neck now, and will only leave it when Igo out to die. It is a heart of plain gold, and it contains a look of Charlie's hair, interwoven with some of my own. " Do you remember, Charlie, when I cut that lock from your head ?—lt? — It was on a bright, moonlight night, two years ago. We were seated together in the balcony of my house, over-looking Fitzroy Gardens, in Melbourne. It had been a night of triumph for us both, for, you as Gennaro, and I as Maffio Orsini, had completely eclipsed the others in the opera of Lucrezia Borgia — we had supped together, and were talking over our success. You sat at my feet, as was your wont in those days— Ah I I cannot recall the scene without weeping. Dare I hope that your tears will mingle with mine on this blistered page ? — I cut the lock from yeur forehead, and you kissed the hand that cut it. Do not be jealous, Lucy he never loved me as he loves you !— Take that locket, and, when you look upon it, let your heart go out to your husband, and remember that his love has never wavered since first you met. "I have left an annuity to old Hofer— he will need it, for he will soon be past work, and he has nothing stored up for his old age. Curtis, also, who has been very kind to me, is to have a legacy : and I have left five hundred pounds to Hoskins— l owe the man some reparation for leading his wife astray. "To Arthur Seivwright, I have bequeathed £1000— he was honest till I tempted him to sin. His poor tool, Bessie Marston, is also to have £1000— may it enable her to resist temptation in future. " The remainder of my money is to go to my father ; the Marquis di Ilocca, who lives now near Como. He discarded me when I went on the stage, but I may ask his forgiveness now, and my money will enable my two sisters to marry in their own rank, and help my brother in his career in the army. " I think that is all. But, no, I forgot. Whilst you, Lucy, were lying ill at Manly Beach, I sent you £1000. I should not wish you to keep that money. Give it to the Foundling Hospital, an institution which deserves the charity of all Women. " If possible, I should wish to be buried at Manly Beach, near the grave of Charlie's grandfather. It seems to me as if I should there have a friend by my side, for he too suffered, and he too loved my Charlie, " I have finished. " May good angels guard you, Charlie and Lucy, and teach you to love one another and bear with one another. " In days to come — when you have forgotten and forgiven — pay one visit to my tomb, and cast a flower on the grave of CiiAßi Belzoni, otherwise Di Eocca. ■ , " Postscript. — I have taken a room at the Soldier's Arms Hotel, Manly Beach, under the

name of Clara Belzoni— l go there to, die. None but yourselves will know how I died, for I propose to walk into the bu >• , and, on 1 my return, say that I have been *• ianby a snake. j I take with me the phial of, su*ke-poison which I purloined. I shall break it as soon as I have made use of it, and find it has not failed in its effect. " Once more, good night I " I am not ashamed to say that tears rained from my eye 3 as I read this letter. " Well? " I asked, when I had finished it. " She did as she proposed," said Lucy. •' The account of her death from snake-bite was in the Herald on the morning I found the letter. I made all necessary arrangements for her funeral, and she Hep, as she desired, next your grandfather, in the cemetery at Manly Beach. Her funeral was attended by nearly all the profession in Sydney." " Poor, poor, Clara ! " " Let us hope that the great Being \yho sees all our temptations, and knows bow ill-fitted we are to resist them, will pardon her I " said Lucy, reverently ; and, in silence I echoed her prayer. {Shortly afterwards I instructed a solicitor to take the necessary steps to prove Clara's will, and her wishes were carried out to the letter. Then, one fine morning, Lucy and I were married. It was a quiet wedding, only a few professional friends being present. Lucy did not receive many presents, but among them were two worth noticing — one was a delicate lace shawl, to which was pinned a piece of paper containing the words ;—"; — " From Bessie Marston, who hopes that she may be forgiven." The other was a heavy gold chain, from Captain Shandon, the first fruits of his earnings as a share-broker at Ballarat. Of Sievwright we heard nothing for two years, and then, one morning, we were amazed by the announcement in the papers, of his marriage to Bessie Marston 1 We are very happy, Lucy and I, and are blessed with one little girl, whose name is Clara. Our home is in Melbourne, but we travel about a good deal, as I have not wholly abandoned the profession. Captain Shandon kept his promise, and has long since been admitted to our Jiouse. He has made a fortune, and is going to be , married to a girl of twenty I—which1 — which pleases Lucy very much, you may be sure. Last year— it is now five years since Clara died — we paid a visit to her family. We found them living in, a handsome villa near Como. I was disappointed— the girls are frivolous creatures, not a bit like their sister, and the father is a pompous old humbug. We did not see the brother. This history has been compiled because, years after the event, a rumor got afloat, no one knows how, that Clara had met her death unfairly. Therefore the tale has been told so aa to lay the whole facts before the public. The diary was found by Lucy in Clara's dcsk — the last words it contained were :—: — " I have kissed his hand, and I go out to die ! " Finis.