Gothic fiction; Ireland -- History -- Rebellion of 1798 -- Fiction; Man-woman relationships -- Fiction; Romans à clef
“Yet Lady Margaret you say is unmoved.” “What of Lady Margaret?”
interrupted Viviani, while bitter smiles quivered upon his lip. “Do you
mark the pavement of stone upon which you tread? Do you see the steel
of which this sabre is composed—once heated by the flames, now hard
and insensible?—so cold,—so petrified is the heart, when it has once
given full vent to passion. Marble is that heart which only beats for
my destruction. The time is not yet arrived, but I will dash the cup of
joy from her lips; then drink the dregs myself, and die.” “Mere jealous
threats,” said Gondimar. “The curse of innocent blood is on her,” replied
Viviani, as his livid cheeks and lips resumed a purple dye. “Name her no
more.” “Explain yourself,” cried his astonished friend. “You frequently
allude to scenes of deeper guilt and horror, than I dare even suffer
myself to imagine possible.” “The heart of man is unfathomable,” replied
Viviani;—“that which seems, is not:—that which is, seems not: we should
neither trust our eyes nor ears, in a world like this. But time, which
ripens all things, shall disclose the secrets even of the dead.”
A short time after this conversation with Gondimar, Viviani took leave
of him. He informed him fully of his projects; and Lady Margaret was
also consulted upon the occasion. “What is become of your menaced
vengeance,” she said, smiling upon him, in their last parting interview.
He laughed at the remembrance of his words. “Am I the object now of your
abhorrence,” she said, placing her white hand carelessly upon his head.
“Not absolutely,” replied the young Count, shrinking, however, from
the pressure of that hand. “Touch me not,” he whispered more earnestly,
“it thrills through my soul.—Keep those endearments for Dartford: leave
me in peace.” Immediately after this he left London; and by the first
letter Lady Margaret received from him, she found that he was preparing
to embark.
CHAPTER XXIX.
Frances Seymour’s marriage with Lord Trelawny was now celebrated, after
which the whole family left London for Ireland.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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