This was Antonio's room; and thus, by Nisida's precaution, was he made a prisoner. She then retraced her way to the floor below, and proceeded to the apartment in which her father breathed his last, and where the mysterious closet was situated. No one until now had entered that room since the day of the late count's funeral; and its appearance was gloomy and mournful in the extreme; not only on account of the dark, heavy hangings of the bed, and the drawn curtains of the windows, but also from the effect of the ideas associated with that chamber. And as Nisida glanced toward the closet-door, even she trembled, and her countenance became ashy pale; for not only did she shudder at the thought of the horrors which that closet contained, but through her brain also flashed the dreadful history revealed to her by the manuscript--of which, however, only a few lines have as yet been communicated to the reader. But she knew all--she had read the whole; and well--oh! well might she shudder and turn pale. For terrible indeed must have been the revelations of a manuscript whereof the few lines above alluded to gave promise of such appalling interest,--those lines which ran thus: "Merciless scalpel hacked and hewed away at the still almost palpitating flesh of the murdered man, in whose breast the dagger remained deeply buried,--a ferocious joy--a savage, hyena-like triumph now----" But we are to some extent digressing from the thread of our narrative. Nisida placed the lamp in the chimney, in such a way that its light was concealed so as to leave all the immediate vicinity of the door in a state of complete darkness; and she seated herself in a chair close by, to await the expected events of midnight. Slowly, slowly passed the intervening twenty minutes; and the lady had ample leisure to reflect upon all the incidents of her life--ay, and to shudder too at one which had dyed her hand with blood--the blood of Agnes! Yet, though she shuddered thus, she did not look upon it with that unbounded, tremendous horror that would be experienced by a lady similarly placed in these times; for jealousy was a feeling that, by the tacit convention of a vitiated society, was an excuse for even murder; and, moreover, she possessed the true Italian heart, which deemed the death of a rival in love a justifiable act of vengeance. But she felt some compunction, because she had learnt, when it was too late, that Agnes was not the mistress of Fernand Wagner; and she was convinced that in affirming this much he had uttered the strictest truth. Thus was she rather grieved at the fatal mistake than appalled by the deed itself; and she shuddered because she knew that her fearful impetuosity of disposition had led to the unnecessary deed which had entailed so dark a suspicion and so much peril upon her lover.