"He has a dreadful name for violence--his gondolier has told my little maid such tales of him! But why do I talk of myself, when it is of you I should be thinking?"
"Of me, poor child?" cried Tony, losing his head.
"Yes, and how to save you--for I CAN save you! But every moment counts--and yet what I have to say is so dreadful."
"Nothing from your lips could seem dreadful."
"Ah, if he had had your way of speaking!"
"Well, now at least you are free of him," said Tony, a little wildly; but at this she stood up and bent a grave look on him.
"No, I am not free," she said; "but you are, if you will do as I tell you."
Tony, at this, felt a sudden dizziness; as though, from a mad flight through clouds and darkness, he had dropped to safety again, and the fall had stunned him.
"What am I to do?" he said.
"Look away from me, or I can never tell you."
He thought at first that this was a jest, but her eyes commanded him, and reluctantly he walked away and leaned in the embrasure of the window. She stood in the middle of the room, and as soon as his back was turned she began to speak in a quick monotonous voice, as though she were reciting a lesson.
"You must know that the Marquess Zanipolo, though a great noble, is not a rich man. True, he has large estates, but he is a desperate spendthrift and gambler, and would sell his soul for a round sum of ready money.--If you turn round I shall not go on!--He wrangled horribly with my father over my dowry--he wanted me to have more than either of my sisters, though one married a Procurator and the other a grandee of Spain. But my father is a gambler too--oh, such fortunes as are squandered over the arcade yonder! And so--and so--don't turn, I implore you--oh, do you begin to see my meaning?"
She broke off sobbing, and it took all his strength to keep his eyes from her.
"Go on," he said.
"Will you not understand? Oh, I would say anything to save you!
You don't know us Venetians--we're all to be bought for a price.
It is not only the brides who are marketable--sometimes the husbands sell themselves too. And they think you rich--my father does, and the others--I don't know why, unless you have shown your money too freely--and the English are all rich, are they not? And--oh, oh--do you understand? Oh, I can't bear your eyes!"
She dropped into a chair, her head on her arms, and Tony in a flash was at her side.
"My poor child, my poor Polixena!" he cried, and wept and clasped her.
"You ARE rich, are you not? You would promise them a ransom?" she persisted.
"To enable you to marry the Marquess?"
"To enable you to escape from this place. Oh, I hope I may never see your face again." She fell to weeping once more, and he drew away and paced the floor in a fever.
Presently she sprang up with a fresh air of resolution, and pointed to a clock against the wall. "The hour is nearly over.
It is quite true that my father is gone to fetch his chaplain.
Oh, I implore you, be warned by me! There is no other way of escape."
"And if I do as you say--?"
"You are safe! You are free! I stake my life on it."
"And you--you are married to that villain?"
"But I shall have saved you. Tell me your name, that I may say it to myself when I am alone."
"My name is Anthony. But you must not marry that fellow."
"You forgive me, Anthony? You don't think too badly of me?"
"I say you must not marry that fellow."
She laid a trembling hand on his arm. "Time presses," she adjured him, "and I warn you there is no other way."
For a moment he had a vision of his mother, sitting very upright, on a Sunday evening, reading Dr. Tillotson's sermons in the best parlour at Salem; then he swung round on the girl and caught both her hands in his. "Yes, there is," he cried, "if you are willing. Polixena, let the priest come!"
She shrank back from him, white and radiant. "Oh, hush, be silent!" she said.
"I am no noble Marquess, and have no great estates," he cried.
"My father is a plain India merchant in the colony of Massachusetts--but if you--"
"Oh, hush, I say! I don't know what your long words mean. But I bless you, bless you, bless you on my knees!" And she knelt before him, and fell to kissing his hands.
He drew her up to his breast and held her there.
"You are willing, Polixena?" he said.
"No, no!" She broke from him with outstretched hands. "I am not willing. You mistake me. I must marry the Marquess, I tell you!"
"On my money?" he taunted her; and her burning blush rebuked him.
"Yes, on your money," she said sadly.
"Why? Because, much as you hate him, you hate me still more?"
She was silent.
"If you hate me, why do you sacrifice yourself for me?" he persisted.
"You torture me! And I tell you the hour is past."
