Part 6

The second was from the mother of Adrianis; it said: “I have reached Bologna; I shall soon be with you. God bless you for your goodness to my son.”

He read them, and tore the one in pieces and flung the pieces in the canal; the other he put in his breast pocket beside the empty phial of toxin.

The mother’s letter would be useful if any called in question the too late usage of the Behring serum. It would show the complete confidence placed in him by the writer. At that moment his two Venetian colleagues arrived. The day had dawned. The women put out the light of the lamps.

“You have given the antitoxin?” said the elder of the Venetians, glancing at the syringe.

“I have,” replied Damer. “But, I believe, too late.”

“I fear too late,” replied the Venetian. “Not less admirable is your courage in accepting such responsibility.”

Damer bowed. He looked grave and worn, which was natural in a man who had been in anxious vigil through thirty-six hours by the bedside of his friend.

“Have you any hope?” whispered the Venetian.

“I confess none, now,” he answered.

The pure light of earliest daybreak was in the whole of the vast chamber.

It shone on that ghastly sight, a man dying in his youth, struggling and straining for a breath of air, fighting against suffocation.

The fresh sea air was flowing through the room, sweet with the odours of fruits and flowers, free to the poorest wretch that lived. But in all that bounteous liberty and radiance of air he could not draw one breath, he could not reach one wave of it, to slake his thirst of life.

The poisoned growth filled every chink of the air passages as though they were tubes mortared up and closed hermetically. His face grew purple and tumid, his eyes started from their sockets, his arms waved wildly, beckoning in space; he had no sense left except the mere instinctive mechanical effort to gasp for the air which he was never to breathe again. The five persons round him stood in silence, while the stifled sobs of the nun were heard; the splash of oars echoed from the water below; somewhere without a bird sang.

The Venetians spoke one with another, then turned to Damer.

“The end must be near. We ought to call in the assistance of the Church. We must not let him perish thus, unshrived, unannealed, like a pagan, like a dumb creature.”

“Do whatever you deem right,” replied Damer. “With those matters I do not meddle.”

The minutes went on; the nuns sank on their knees; the one who wept hid her face on the coverlet of the bed. All which had so lately been the youth, the form, the vitality of Adrianis wrestled with death as a young lion tears at the walls of the den which imprisons him. The terrible choking sounds roared through the air to which his closed throat could not open. Blood foamed in froth from his lips, which were curled up over the white teeth, and were cracked and blue. His eyes, starting from their orbits, had no sight. Damer ceased to look; almost he regretted that which he had done.

Suddenly the convulsions ceased.

“He is out of pain,” said one of the Venetians, in a solemn and hushed voice.

“He is dead,” said Damer.

The women crossed themselves.

The little bird outside sang loudly.

The door opened, and the mother of Adrianis stood on the threshold.

* * * * *

Six months later the man who had killed him wedded Veronica Zaranegra. Her family opposed, and her friends warned her, in vain; she shrank from him, she feared him, she abhorred him, but the magnetism of his will governed hers till he shaped her conduct at his choice, as the hand of the sculptor moulds the clay.

He became master of her person, of her fortune, of her destiny; but her soul, frightened and dumb, forever escapes from him, and hides in the caverns of memory and regret.

UNWIN BROS., PRINTERS, CHILWORTH AND LONDON.

TRANSCRIBER’S NOTE Obvious typographical errors have been corrected after careful comparison with other occurrences within the text and consultation of external sources.

Except for those changes noted below, all misspellings in the text, and inconsistent or archaic usage, have been retained.

First illustration “Adrianus” changed to “Adrianis” in illustration caption. Pg 15 “to and fro like driftword” to “to and fro like driftwood”. Pg 90 “the poor women in the Salpétrière” to “the poor women in the Salpêtrière”.