Alcott, Louisa May - SSC 15 by Plots (and) Counterplots (v1.1) Read Free Book Online

           “Good
night, my heart,” answered Victor, adding, in a tone of pain and tenderness, as
he turned away, “mon Dieul How I love that girl, and how she tortures me! Rest
well, my cousin; I shall guard your sleep.”
                 Hour
after hour passed, and still a solitary figure paced to and fro with noiseless
feet along the narrow terrace that lay between the ancient house and the
neglected garden sloping to the river. Dawn was slowly breaking in the east
when the window of Virginie’s chamber opened cautiously, and her charming head
appeared. The light was very dim, and shadows still lay dark upon the house;
but Victor, coming from the water gate whither he had been drawn by the sound
of a passing boat, heard the soft movement, glided behind a group of shrubs,
and eyed the window keenly, remembering that now it was “tomorrow.” For a
moment the lovely face leaned out, looking anxiously across terrace, street,
and garden. The morning air seemed to strike cold on her uncovered shoulders,
and with a shiver she was drawing back when a man’s hand laid a light cloak
about her, and a man’s head appeared beside her own.
                 “Imprudent!
Go quickly, or Victor will be stirring. At noon I shall be ready,” she said half aloud, and
as she withdrew the curtain fell.
                 With
the bound of a wounded tiger, Victor reached the terrace, and reckless of life
or limb, took the short road to his revenge. The barred shutters of a lower
window, the carved ornaments upon the wall, and the balcony that hung above,
all offered foot- and handhold for an agile climber like himself, as, creeping
upward like a stealthy shadow, he peered in with a face that would have
appalled the lovers had they seen it. They did not, for standing near the
half-opened door, they were parting as Romeo and Juliet parted, heart to heart,
cheek to cheek, and neither saw nor heard the impending doom until the swift
stroke fell. So sure, so sudden was it that Virginie knew nothing, till, with a
stifled cry, her lover started, swayed backward from her arms, and dyeing her
garments with his blood, fell at her feet stabbed through the heart.
                 An
awful silence followed, for Virginie uttered no cry of alarm, made no gesture
of flight, showed no sign of guilt; but stood white and motionless as if turned
to stone.
                 Soon
Victor grasped her arm and hissed into her ear, “Traitress! I could find it in
my heart to lay you there beside him. But no; you shall live to atone for your
falsehood to me and mourn your lover.”
                 Something
in the words or tone seemed to recall her scattered senses and rouse her to a
passionate abhorrence of him and of his deed. She wrenched herself from his
hold, saying vehemently, though instinctively below her breath, “No; it is you
who shall atone! He was my husband, not my lover. Look if I lie!”
                 He
did look as a trembling hand was stretched toward him over that dead form. On
it he saw a wedding ring, and in it the record of the marriage which in a
single night had made her wife and widow. With an ejaculation of despair he
snatched the paper as if to tear and scatter it; but some sudden thought
flashed into his mind, and putting the record in his bosom, he turned to
Virginie with an expression that chilled her by its ominous resolve.
                 “Listen/’
he said, “and save yourself while you may; for I swear, if you raise your
voice, lift your hand against me, or refuse to obey me now, that I will
denounce you as the murderer of that man. You were last seen with him, were missed
by others besides me last night. There lies his purse; here is the only proof
of your accursed marriage; and if I call in witnesses, which of us looks most
like an assassin, you or I?”
                 She
listened with a terror-stricken face, glanced at her bloody