CHAPTER II.

The stranger looked curiously about the haunted room, when shown to it by Liza. There was the white-curtained bed standing near the window; the door-windows open to admit the cool night air; and beyond, the garden, and the unused rickety bridge.

He looked out through the open window, and then returning where Liza was standing, began talking gaily to her.

Liza not feeling gratified by his former conduct, answered rather pertly, and told him that the villagers had discovered who he was--Count Rodolpho; and further intimated that they were coming to pay their respects to their young lord. The “young lord” said he cared naught for the whole village, while so pretty a woman was by his side. Whereat Liza smiling, the count--for it was the count--grew bolder, and insisted upon having one kiss, when a noise frightened Liza, and she ran quickly behind the bed. But as she ran, some portion of the bedstead caught the light scarf about her shoulders, and tore it from them. She took no notice of this mishap, but ran and hid herself behind the curtains.

Certainly she had heard a noise. ’Twas a light footfall. Nearer--then nearer still.

The count went to the closed door, light in hand, and listened.

The step was not coming that way.

Still the slight noise continued; nearer and nearer still. Then a light flashed through the open window. He ran towards it, and then started back.

It was the phantom they had told him of--a white figure moving slowly along, with a lamp steadily held in one hand.

Nothing daunted, he moved towards the figure, as it silently entered the room, and put down the light. And then he saw that it was the village girl to whom he had spoken but an hour or so before.

He drew his breath silently, as he recognized her, for he knew that she was a somnambulist, and that if woke too suddenly she might fall dead.

But he kept his eyes upon her, as she moved from the table towards his bed.

On--on; slowly--slowly, till she came to the bed; upon which she laid down, whispering Elvino’s name, and then in a minute was sleeping peacefully.

He stepped lightly to the window, saw how she had entered, closed and fastened the sashes, returned to the bed--hesitated for a moment, then turning towards the door, he retired.

The woman Liza, immediately he had left, came from behind the bed, where she had remained, gave one earnest look at the unconscious Amina, and quickly left the room.

Now was the time for revenge. Now Amina should feel what it was to have a rival; now she should suffer for alienating Elvino from her. And Elvino, too, should weep, and be sorry for having slighted her. She would tell him he had cruelly dismissed her, and she would add that in revenge she would point at the Amina he believed so good and pure.

Now, the villagers instead of soberly going to bed, got up a demonstration of delight in honor of the count’s return, and a score or so of the principal people in the place entered the inn to congratulate the count just as he left his room. The deputation grandly demanding of Liza to be shown into the count’s apartment, Mademoiselle Liza, with all the simplicity in the world, said she would head them, and so the procession entered the haunted room to congratulate the count--but to find whom? The poor girl still sleeping soundly, and little dreaming of what was coming.

“Amina!” they all cried, as with one voice.

And they looked towards Elvino, who formed one of the deputation.

They made room for him, falling away on each side. He ran up to the bed side, and there she still lay asleep, breathing peacefully.

He uttered a loud cry, and with a start she awoke.

As she saw the crowd about her, she shrunk back with alarm, and covered her eyes, thinking possibly ’twas some terrible dream. Then, as they all stood silent about her, she again looked.

Too terrified now to shut out the sight, she remained for a moment or two gazing before her.

Suddenly she spoke. “Where am I? Where am I?”

Bounding from the bed, she looked from right to left, still dimly seeing the faces, and again cried, “Where am I? Where am I?”

“Ask thine own unhappy self!” said a voice she knew, and turned towards it.

“Ah, Elvino!” and she put out her arms to him.

But he flung her from him to the ground, and there she knelt gazing at him with her arms clasped upon her breast, wondering what her fault was.

Not yet comprehending either her position or his words, she looked to the nearest woman; but she turned her back upon the girl, as did the next to whom the poor girl moved her eyes.

Then, panic-struck, she ran round the room from one to the other, still not knowing what her fault was.

They all drew back from her as though she were a plague; so she moved quite naturally to Elvino again--her husband as she thought him.

But he showed the greatest repugnance to her.

Then, as she felt herself deserted, they told her her crime.

Vainly she declared her innocence; vainly she wept, flinging herself upon her knees; vainly she spoke of her past life; vainly she said she could not tell how she came there; vainly she turned to Liza, whose heart was stone, who turned from her with the rest; vainly she clung to her Elvino’s very feet: he shook her from him and strode towards the door.

As he was leaving the haunted room, Amina’s adopted mother came past the threshhold, and though they all told her what they believed of the village queen, this mother, the only one amongst all these simple, honest village folk, went up to her daughter, and put her arms about her neck.

So at last the iciness of despair gave way before this one touch of sympathy, and the poor girl with her mother’s arms about her, wept bitterly, and so gave relief to her young heart.