"Yes," breathed the lady, in a very low tone, without lifting her eyelids.
"Did you notice--_the man_?" Salome continued.
"I did," murmured the abbess, in an almost inaudible voice, as she devoutly made the sign of the cross.
"Do you know who he was?"
"_I do._"
"He was like our Christmas visitor in the chapel! He was the Duke of Hereward!"
"Nay," said the abbess, in a stern solemn voice. "He was not the Duke of Hereward. He was one whom I had reckoned as numbered with the dead full twenty years ago!"
CHAPTER x.x.xI.
THE ABBESS" STORY.
""Not the Duke of Hereward!"" echoed Salome, astonishment now overcoming every other emotion in her bosom.
The abbess bowed her head in grave a.s.sent.
""One whom you thought numbered with the dead, full twenty years ago?""
continued Salome, quoting the lady"s own words, and gazing on her face.
"Full twenty-five years ago, my daughter, or longer still," murmured the abbess.
"This man is young. He could not have been grown up to manhood twenty-five years ago."
"He is well preserved, as the selfish and heartless are too apt to be; but he is not young."
"And he is not the Duke of Hereward?"
"Most certainly not the Duke of Hereward."
"Then in the name of all the holy saints, madam, _who_ is he?"
demanded Salome, in ever increasing amazement.
"He is the Count Waldemar de Volaski, once my betrothed husband, but who forsook me, as I have told you, for another and a fairer woman," gravely replied the abbess.
"Once your betrothed husband, madam! Great Heaven! are you sure of this?"
exclaimed Salome, in consternation.
"Yes, sure of it," answered the abbess, slowly bending her head.
"But--pardon me--I thought that _he_ had been killed in a duel by the lover of the woman whom he had won."
"Even so thought I. The news of his falsehood and of his death at the hands of the wronged lover, came to me in my convent retreat at the same time, and I heard no more of him from that day to this, when I have again seen him in the flesh. The saints defend us!"
"And you are absolutely certain that he was Count Waldemar?"
"I am absolutely certain."
"Mother Genevieve, did you know the woman who was with him?"
"No, not at all. I never saw or heard of her before. She seems to belong to the _demi-monde_, for she dresses like a princess, and talks like a peasant. Let us not speak of her," said the lady, coldly.
"We _must_ speak of her, for I think I know who she is."
"You recognize her, then?"
"I cannot say that I do; at least, not by her person. I never saw her face before; but I have heard her voice under circ.u.mstances that rendered it impossible for me ever to forget its tones; and from her voice I believe her to be Rose Cameron, a Highland peasant girl of Ben Lone."
"Stop!" exclaimed the mother-superior, suddenly raising her hand. "You do not mean to intimate that _she_ is the girl whom you overheard talking with the young Duke of Hereward at midnight, under your balcony, on the night before the murder of Sir Lemuel Levison?"
"She is the very same woman, as he is the very same man, who _planned_, if they did not perpetrate the robbery--who _caused_, if they did not commit, the murder; and their names are John Scott, Duke of Hereward, and Rose Cameron."
"My daughter, in regard to the girl you may be quite right; but in respect to the man you are utterly wrong."
"Should I not know my own betrothed husband?" demanded Salome, impatiently.
"Should _I_ not know _mine_?" inquired the abbess, very patiently.
Salome made a gesture of desperate perplexity, and then there was a silent pause, during which the two women sat gazing in each other"s faces in silent wonder.
Suddenly Salome started up in wild excitement and began pacing the narrow cell with rapid steps, exclaiming:
"There have been strange cases of counterparts in persons of this world so exact as to have deceived the eyes of their most intimate friends. If this should be a case in point! Great Heaven, if it should! If this Count Waldemar de Volaski should be such a perfect counterpart of the Duke of Hereward as to have deceived even my eyes and ears! Oh, what joy!
Oh, what rapture! What ecstacy to find "the princely Hereward" as stainless in honor as he is n.o.ble in name; and this most unprincipled Volaski the real guilty party! But--the marriage certificate in Hereward"s own name! The letters to his so-called "wife," Rose Cameron, in Hereward"s own handwriting! Ah, no! there is no hope! not the faintest beam of hope! And yet--"
She suddenly paused in her wild walk, and looked toward the abbess.
That lady was still sitting on the stool, at the foot of the cot, with her hands folded on her lap, and her eyes cast down upon them as in deep thought or prayer.
Salome sat down beside her, and inquired in a low tone:
"Mother Genevieve, was the Count Waldemar de Volaski ever in Scotland?
Has he been there within the last twelve months?"
The lady lifted her eyes to the face of the inquirer, and slowly replied:
"My daughter, how should I know? Have I not said that, until this day, when I have seen him in the flesh standing in this room, I had believed him to have been in purgatory for twenty-five years or more?"
"True! true!" sighed Salome.
The abbess folded her hands, cast down her eyes, and resumed her meditations or prayers.