CHAPTER XXXI.
PAOLO LANGHETTI.
Many weeks passed on, and music still formed the chief occupation inlife for Despard and Mrs. Thornton. His journey to Brandon village hadbeen without result. He knew not what to do. The inquiries which he madeevery where turned out useless. Finally Thornton informed him that itwas utterly hopeless, at a period so long after the event, to attempt todo any thing whatever. Enough had been done long ago. Now nothing morecould possibly be effected.
Baffled, but not daunted, Despard fell back for the present from hispurpose, yet still cherished it and wrote to different quarters forinformation. Meantime he had to return to his life at Holby, and Mrs.Thornton was still ready to assist him.
So the time went on, and the weeks passed, till one day in March Despardwent up as usual.
On entering the parlor he heard voices, and saw a stranger. Mrs.Thornton greeted him as usual and sat down smiling. The stranger rose,and he and Despard looked at one another.
He was of medium size and slight in figure. His brow was very broad andhigh. His hair was black, and clustered in curls over his head. His eyeswere large, and seemed to possess an unfathomable depth, which gave thema certain undefinable and mystic meaning--liquid eyes, yet lustrous,where all the soul seemed to live and show itself--benignant in theirglance, yet lofty like the eyes of a being from some superior sphere.His face was thin and shaven close, his lips also were thin, with aperpetual smile of marvelous sweetness and gentleness hovering aboutthem. It was such a face as artists love to give to the ApostleJohn--the sublime, the divine, the loving, the inspired.
"You do not know him," said Mrs. Thornton. "It is Paolo!"
Despard at once advanced and greeted him with the warmest cordiality.
"I was only a little fellow when I saw you last, and you have changedsomewhat since then," said Despard. "But when did you arrive? I knewthat you were expected in England, but was not sure that you would comehere."
"What! _Teresuola mia_," said Langhetti with a fond smile at his sister."Were you really not sure, _sorellina_, that I would come to see youfirst of all? Infidel!" and he shook his head at her, playfully.
A long conversation followed, chiefly about Langhetti's plans. He wasgoing to engage a place in London for his opera, but wished firstto secure a singer. Oh, if he only could find Bice--his Bicina, thedivinest voice that mortal ever heard.
Despard and Mrs. Thornton exchanged glances, and at last Despard toldhim that there was a person of the same name at Brandon Hall. She wasliving in a seclusion so strict that it seemed confinement, and therewas a mystery about her situation which he had tried without success tofathom.
Langhetti listened with a painful surprise that seemed like positiveanguish.
"Then I must go myself. Oh, my Bicina--to what misery have you come--Butdo you say that you have been there?"
"Yes."
"Did you go to the Hall?"
"No."
"Why not?"
"Because I know the man to be a villain indescribable--"
Langhetti thought for a moment, and then said,
"True, he is all that, and perhaps more than you imagine."
"I have done the utmost that can be done!" said Despard.
"Perhaps so; still each one wishes to try for himself, and though I canscarce hope to be more successful than you, yet I must try, if onlyfor my own peace of mind. Oh, _Bicina cara!_ to think of her sweetand gentle nature being subject to such torments as those ruffians caninflict!
"You do not know how it is," said he at last, very solemnly; "but thereare reasons of transcendent importance why Bice should be rescued. I cannot tell them; but if I dared mention what I hope, if I only dared tospeak my thoughts, you--you," he cried, with piercing emphasis, and in atone that thrilled through Despard, to whom he spoke, "you would make itthe aim of all your life to save her."
"I do not understand," said Despard, in astonishment.
"No, no," murmured Langhetti. "You do not; nor dare I explain what Imean. It has been in my thoughts for years. It was brought to my mindfirst in Hong Kong, when she was there. Only one person besides Pottscan explain; only one."
"Who?" cried Despard, eagerly.
"A woman named Compton."
"Compton!"
"Yes. Perhaps she is dead. Alas, and alas, and alas, if she is! Yetcould I but see that woman, I would tear the truth from her if Iperished in the attempt!"
And Langhetti stretched out his long, slender hand, as though he wereplucking out the very heart of some imaginary enemy.
"Think, Teresuola," said he, after a while, "if you were in captivity,what would become of my opera? Could I have the heart to think aboutoperas, even if I believed that they contributed to the welfare ofthe world, if your welfare was at stake? Now you know that next to youstands Bice. I must try and save her--I must give up all. My opera muststand aside till it be God's will that I give it forth. No, the oneobject of my life now must be to find Bice, to see her or to see Mrs.Compton, if she is alive."
"Is the secret of so much importance?" asked Despard.
Langhetti looked at him with mournful meaning.
Despard looked at him wonderingly. What could he mean? How could any oneaffect him? His peace of mind! That had been lost long ago. And if thissecret was so terrible it would distract his mind from its grief, itscare, and its longing. Peace would be restored rather than destroyed.
"I must find her. I must find her," said Langhetti, speaking half tohimself. "I am weak; but much can be done by a resolute will."
"Perhaps Mr. Thornton can assist you," said Despard.
Langhetti shook his head.
"No; he is a man of law, and does not understand the man who actsfrom feeling. I can be as logical as he, but I obey impulses which areunintelligible to him. He would simply advise me to give up the matter,adding, perhaps, that I would do myself no good. Whereas he can notunderstand that it makes no difference to me whether I do myself goodor not; and again, that the highest good that I can do myself is to seekafter her."
Mrs. Thornton looked at Despard, but he avoided her glance.
"No," said Langhetti, "I will ask assistance from another--from you,Despard. You are one who acts as I act. Come with me."
"When?"
"To-morrow morning."
"I will."
"Of course you will. You would not be a Despard if you did not. Youwould not be the son of your father--your father!" he repeated, inthrilling tones, as his eyes flashed with enthusiasm. "Despard!" hecried, after a pause, "your father was a man whom you might pray to now.I saw him once. Shall I ever forget the day when he calmly went to laydown his life for my father? Despard, I worship your father's memory.Come with me. Let us emulate those two noble men who once before rescueda captive. We can not risk our lives as they did. Let us at least dowhat we can."
"I will do exactly what you say. You can think and I will act."
"No, you must think too. Neither of us belong to the class of practicalmen whom the world now delights to honor; but no practical man would goon our errand. No practical man would have rescued my father. Generousand lofty acts must always be done by those who are not practical men."
"But I must go out. I must think," he continued. "I will go and walkabout the grounds."
Saying this he left the room.
"Where is Edith Brandon?" asked Despard, after he had gone.
"She is here," said Mrs. Thornton.
"Have you seen her?"
"Yes."
"Is she what you anticipated?"
"More. She is incredible. She is almost unearthly. I feel awe of her,but not fear. She is too sweet to inspire fear."
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