The abduction

The remainder of that day Esperance and Giovanni did not meet again; they purposely avoided each other, the former because he did not wish to have a further quarrel with the Viscount, and the latter because he dreaded a repetition of the accusations of dishonorable conduct, which had stung him deeper than he would own even to himself.

Esperance disdained to play the spy upon Massetti, but, nevertheless, he determined not to quit the immediate vicinity of the cabin and to be as watchful as circumstances would permit. Nothing, however, occurred to arouse his suspicions as long as daylight lasted. Once or twice Giovanni quitted his chamber and walked back and forth excitedly on the sward in front of the hut, but his promenades were of very short duration, seeming to have no other object then to calm his seething brain. Annunziata did not go near him, though whether coquetry or fear caused her to pursue this course Esperance was unable to determine, but her action gratified him because it gave Giovanni no opportunity to follow up whatever advantage he might have gained with the flower-girl.

Lorenzo appeared to have no suspicion whatever that anything was amiss either with the young men or his sister. He was as light-hearted and cheerful as ever, going about his usual trifling occupations with gayety that was absolutely contagious, and displaying even more than his accustomed amiability. Esperance had grown to esteem this youthful peasant highly; he had found him manliness and generosity personified and had resolved, on his return to Rome, to interest the Count of Monte-Cristo in his welfare and advancement. With regard to Annunziata, Esperance was as yet altogether undecided; she was a problem he could not solve. Her innocence and virtue were apparent, but her childlike simplicity and utter lack of worldly experience, while so charming and delightful to behold, added to her wonderful beauty, exposed her to risks that were frightful to contemplate. Had she only possessed a lover in her own rank of life, all would have been well with her; but she possessed no lover, was absolutely alone; if she escaped Giovanni, and Esperance was determined she should escape him if he could effect it, the chances were that she would eventually fall into the clutches of some other admirer still more reckless and unscrupulous. The son of Monte-Cristo could not think of the lovely girl and her future without a pang that made his very heart ache. He, too, admired her beauty, her grace and her artlessness, but his admiration was confined within the proper bounds, and could he have seen her suitably and happily wedded, he would have rejoiced to the depths of his soul.

Late in the afternoon Pasquale Solara reappeared suddenly and without the least warning. The old man was covered with dust, as if he had been journeying far on foot. He plainly showed that he was greatly fatigued, also that something had occurred to irritate him. He entered the cabin unobserved, and was there for some moments before his presence was discovered. Annunziata was the first to see him, sitting upon a rude wooden bench with his stout oaken staff in his hand on which he leaned heavily. She threw her arms about his neck with a cry of joy, endeavoring to snatch a kiss from his tightly-closed lips, but he sternly and silently repulsed her. Lorenzo, in his turn, met with no warmer reception at his father’s hands. But his children were used to Pasquale’s moods and were, therefore, altogether unaffected by his present morose deportment; they speedily left him to himself, giving themselves no further trouble concerning him. Once when Esperance came into the room the old man stared at him inquiringly, as if he had utterly forgotten the fact that strangers were enjoying the shelter of his roof; then he appeared to recollect and scowled so savagely that the young man beat a hasty retreat, going to seek Lorenzo, whose cheery voice was heard singing beyond the brook.

As Esperance came in sight of the little stream, he nearly stumbled over a peasant, lying at full length beneath the spreading branches of an aged willow. The stranger was reading a book, and Esperance was amazed to notice that it was “Caesar’s Commentaries.” He uttered an apology for his awkwardness, but the peasant only smiled and, in a gentle voice, begged pardon for being in the way. That voice! Esperance was certain he had heard it before, but where or when he could not recall, though it thrilled him to the very marrow of his bones, filling him with vague apprehensions. The man’s face, too, was familiar, as also was his attire; but there was great similarity between the Italian peasants in the vicinity of Rome in general looks and dress; it was quite likely that he had not seen this man before, but some other resembling him; still, the voice and face troubled Esperance, and he decided to question the peasant; the rarity of strangers’ visits to this sequestered locality would be a sufficient pretext for his curiosity.

“My friend,” said he, addressing the recumbent reader, who had resumed his book, “are you a relative or acquaintance of the Solaras?”

“I am neither,” replied the man, carelessly, glancing up from his volume and allowing his penetrating eyes to rest on his questioner, “I strolled here by chance, and this cosy nook was so inviting that I took possession of it without a thought as to the intrusion I was committing.”

The peasant’s language was refined; Esperance noted this fact and was not a little surprised thereby; in addition, he could not understand why the stranger should be reading “Caesar’s Commentaries,” a work far beyond the range of the usual peasant intellect.

“You are committing no intrusion,” said he. “Lorenzo and Annunziata, I am sure, would be glad to welcome you. Old Pasquale is somewhat of a savage, it is true, but luckily he does not bother himself much about anything or anybody.”

“Pasquale has arrived then?” said the man, dropping his book and evincing a sudden interest.

“Yes; he is in the cabin now,” answered Esperance, his astonishment increasing. “Do you want to speak with him?”

“No,” said the peasant, lightly springing to his feet. He hastily closed his book, thrust it into his belt, and, bowing to Esperance, disappeared in the forest.

The young man looked after him for an instant; then he joined Lorenzo and informed him of the meeting. At his first words Annunziata’s brother ceased singing; a cloud overspread his brow, and he asked, in an eager tone, for a description of the curiously behaved stranger. Esperance gave it to him, remarking as he did so that his companion turned slightly pale and seemed frightened.

“Who is this man?” he asked, as he concluded. “Do you know him? He appeared strangely familiar to me.”

“Do I know him?” repeated Lorenzo, with a shudder. “Yes that is no!”

Esperance stared at his comrade in surprise and uneasiness; the youthful peasant evidently had more knowledge of the singular intruder than he was willing to admit. There was surely some mystery here. What was it? Did the presence of this stranger menace the peace, the tranquillity, the safety of the Solara family? Was he in some dark way associated with the movements and actions of old Pasquale? Esperance attempted to question Lorenzo further, but he only shook his head and declined to make any disclosures. He, however, stipulated that his sister should not be informed of what had occurred, urging that there was no necessity of uselessly alarming her. Alarming her? What could he mean? Esperance grew more and more perplexed, and his conviction that he had met the stranger previously, increasing in strength, added to his anxiety and discomfort.

For some hours Giovanni had kept his room and given no sign. What was he meditating? Was it possible that he was concocting some cunning plan by which to circumvent intervention and gain undisturbed possession of the girl who had so powerfully influenced his passions? Could it be that he was in some mysterious way associated with the strange peasant, whose sudden advent seemed of such ill omen? Esperance thought of all these things and was infinitely tortured by them, but, one by one, he succeeded in dismissing them from his mind. Giovanni was certainly under a potent spell that might lead him to the commission of any indiscretion, but he was at bottom a man of honor, and there was some chance that his better feelings might obtain the mastery of his mere physical inclinations. At any rate, Esperance felt that he could trust him for one night more at least. Perhaps in the morning he would awaken to a true sense of his position and acknowledge his error; he might even implore his friend’s pardon, admit that he was right and consent to return to Rome, leaving the bewitching Annunziata in all her innocence and purity. Upon reflection Esperance decided that the stranger could be in nowise the associate or accomplice of the Viscount, for the latter had communicated with no one, had not even gone a dozen steps from the Solara cabin during his entire period of convalescence. The idea of collusion was untenable. Esperance resolved to watch and wait. There was no telling what a few hours might bring forth; but at the worst he would fight; if he fell he would not regret it, and, if Giovanni perished at his hands, his death would be due to his own headlong impulses and his blood, under the circumstances, could not be a disgraceful, dishonorable stain.

Towards nightfall old Pasquale Solara began to display unwonted activity, showing, at the same time, signs of considerable agitation. He was yet uncommunicative and morose, spoke only at rare intervals; often he did not reply at all to the questions addressed to him, and when he did answer it was only in gruff, snappish monosyllables. He went from place to place uneasily, frequently leaving the cabin and gazing peeringly and stealthily into the forest as if he expected some one or was looking for some secret signal known only to himself. He glanced at Lorenzo and Esperance suspiciously, seeking, as it were, to penetrate their very thoughts. When he encountered Annunziata, he examined her from head to foot with a strange mixture of satisfaction, anxiety and tremulousness. At such times there was a greedy, wolfish expression in his glittering eyes, and his hands worked nervously.

When twilight had given place to darkness, he suddenly left the hut and did not return. His unusual conduct had occasioned somewhat of a commotion in the little household, but quiet reigned after his departure and his singular behavior was speedily forgotten by his children. Not so, however, with Esperance. The young man, agitated as he was with the turmoil of his own feelings, could not get old Pasquale and his behavior out of his mind. It filled him with sinister forebodings and made him look forward to the night with an indefinable dread, not unmingled with absolute fear. It seemed to him that the old shepherd was meditating some dark and desperate deed that would be put into execution with disastrous results ere dawn.

The evening, nevertheless, passed without incident, and in due course sleep brooded over the Solara cabin, wrapping all its inmates in silence and repose. All its inmates? All save the son of Monte-Cristo, who tossed restlessly upon his couch and could not close his eyes. At length, however, he managed to calm himself somewhat and was just sinking into a sort of half slumber when he was suddenly roused by a wild, far echoing cry that caused him to leap instantly from his bed. The cry was a woman’s, and he thought he recognized the voice, of Annunziata Solara. A second’s thought seemed to satisfy him on this point, for the flower-girl was the only female in the vicinity and the voice was certainly hers; but it sounded from a distance, without the cabin, and this fact bewildered him. Promptly old Solara’s conduct returned to his mind, and instinctively he connected the morose shepherd with the cry and whatever was happening. The young man had not removed his garments; it was, therefore, only the work of an instant for him to grasp his pistol, which he kept loaded beneath his pillow, and rush from the hut in the direction of the cry, which had been repeated, but was growing fainter and fainter.

As he emerged from the cabin, he heard a shot echo through the forest, and almost immediately a man rushed into his arms, bleeding profusely from a gaping wound in the temple. The night was moonless and dark, but in the feeble and uncertain light Esperance recognized Lorenzo.

“My sister my sister poor Annunziata!” the young peasant gasped, painfully. “Your friend abducted gone! Oh! my God!” and he sank to the ground an unconscious mass, quivering in the final agonies of dissolution.

Esperance was horror-stricken. Annunziata abducted by Giovanni! He could draw no other conclusion from the young peasant’s broken exclamations! Lorenzo slain, too, and doubtlessly also by the impetuous Viscount’s hand! Oh! it was horrible! it was almost beyond belief! He bent over Lorenzo’s prostrate form, straightened it out and felt in the region of the heart; there was no beat; it was as he had divined Annunziata’s manly and generous brother was dead the victim of a cowardly, treacherous assassin and that assassin! oh! he could not think of it and retain his faith in men!

Esperance left Lorenzo’s corpse lying upon the sward, and, pistol in hand, started forward to go to Annunziata’s aid, to rescue her from her dastardly abductor, if it lay within his power to do so. He reached the forest and plunged into its sombre depths. Scarcely had he gone twenty feet when a man carrying a flaming torch rushed wildly by him, in his shirt sleeves, hatless, his short, thick gray hair standing almost erect upon his head. In the sudden flash of light his haggard eyes blazed like those of a maniac. In his left hand he held a long, keen-bladed knife. He glanced neither to the right nor the left, but kept straight on, as if he were a ferocious bloodhound in pursuit of human prey. Esperance came to an abrupt pause, and stared with wide-open eyes at the startling apparition. It was old Pasquale Solara! The son of Monte-Cristo shuddered as he thought that the father, with all his Italian ferocity thoroughly aroused, was in pursuit of the man who had abducted his daughter and murdered his son. In that event the Viscount’s death was sure, for he could not escape the vengeance of the distracted and remorseless shepherd! Should he raise his voice and warn him? No, a thousand times no! Giovanni deserved death, and did the furious old man inflict it, he would be only advancing the just punishment of the outraged law!

Quickly resolving to follow in the footsteps of Pasquale Solara, Esperance dashed on, utterly regardless of the bushes and briars that impeded his progress and tore great rents in his garments. Soon excited voices reached him, then the noise of a violent struggle. He pushed rapidly forward, intent upon reaching the scene of conflict, where he did not doubt the hapless Annunziata would be found. Soon he indistinctly saw two men engaged in a hand to hand strife. One was evidently Pasquale Solara, for a torch was smouldering on the ground half-extinguished by the damp moss, and the young man caught an occasional flash of a knife such as the shepherd had carried when he passed him, but beyond these circumstances all was supposition, for the identity of the contending men could not be made out in the obscurity.

Grasping his pistol tightly, Esperance was about declaring his presence when the figure of a man sprang up before him with the suddenness of a flash of lightning, seeming to emerge from the very ground at his feet. At that instant the torch gave a brilliant gleam and went out, but in that gleam Esperance recognized the man who opposed his progress as the strange peasant he had seen reading “Caesar’s Commentaries” the previous afternoon by the brook in the vicinity of the Solara cabin. Was he, too, mixed up in the abduction, and how? Again the suspicion returned to Esperance that he was the confederate, the accomplice of the Viscount Massetti.

“Remain where you are!” commanded the intruder, sternly. “If you advance another step, the consequences be upon your own head!”

“Stand aside and let me pass!” thundered the young man, presenting his pistol at his opponent’s head. The other gave a low laugh, made a quick movement and Espérance’s weapon went whirling swiftly through the air. Meanwhile the sounds of strife had ceased, and the almost impenetrable darkness of the forest effectually prevented the young man from distinguishing anything a yard distant. As his pistol was hurled from his grasp he closed his fists tightly, set his teeth firmly together and made a frantic dash at the peasant. The latter leaped aside with surprising agility, vanishing instantaneously among the clustering trees. So sudden was his leap that Esperance, carried on by the strong impetus he had given himself, plunged wildly into a clump of bushes and fell headlong upon a thick growth of moss, the softness of which prevented him from sustaining even the slightest bruise. As he came in contact with the moss, his hand touched something cold that sent an icy shiver through him from head to foot. Instinctively he recognized the object as a human face, and passing his hand along he felt the body and limbs. Great heavens! who was this? Had another murder been done? Would there ever be an end to the horrors and mysteries of this dreadful night? The body was that of a man. Esperance arose to his knees and drawing a match-safe from his pocket struck a light. As the flame flashed upon the countenance of the unconscious man, the features of Giovanni Massetti appeared! Esperance was stunned. How was this? The Viscount there, beneath his hand, cold and motionless! Who then could have been the individual with whom old Pasquale Solara had been struggling but a moment since? Truly the mysteries of this night were becoming too complicated for solution! And where was the unfortunate Annunziata? Had she escaped from her captor or captors, had she been rescued, had she perished like her ill-fated brother, or had the abduction been successfully accomplished? None of these questions could Esperance answer. One thing, however, was plain there was no trace of her now; no clue that he could follow; therefore, further pursuit for the present was useless. Sadly he determined to wait for day and then resolve upon some plan to put into immediate execution to retrieve, as far as possible the great wrong that had been done.

But Giovanni must be attended to. Guilty or innocent, dead or alive, he could not be abandoned where he was. Humanity demanded that some effort be made in his behalf. Perhaps, too, if he were in a condition to speak, some key to the strange, bewildering and terrible transactions of the night might be obtained. Esperance raised him in his arms and carried him to the brook near the Solara cabin. By this time the moon had arisen and in its silvery rays he examined him thoroughly. There was no trace of blood, no wound; only a large bruise on his forehead, as if he had been struck with some heavy object and knocked down unconscious. He was alive, for his heart was beating, and once or twice he had moved on the sward where Esperance had placed him. The young man made a cup of his hands, and, dipping some cool water from the stream, dashed it in the Viscount’s face. Instantly he opened his eyes, gazing about him in bewilderment. He sat up and stared wildly at Esperance.

“What is the matter? How came I here?” he asked, in astonishment. Then suddenly putting his hand to the bruise on his forehead, as if it pained him, he continued: “Ah! yes! I remember it all now! Luigi Vampa struck me!”

“Luigi Vampa struck you?” cried Esperance, more amazed than ever.

“Yes, after he had forced me to take a fearful oath to remain silent!”

“Silent about what? The abduction of Annunziata Solara?”

“Hush! hush! Do not mention that girl’s name! Vampa or some of his men may be lurking in the vicinity and hear!”

“What has become of her? At least tell me that! You know!”

“As God is my judge, I do not!”

“Were you not with her to-night? Did you not forcibly take her from the cabin?”

“No! no!”

“Who did then?”

“Alas! my oath compels silence on that point!”

“Your oath! That is a very convenient excuse! Giovanni, Luigi Vampa was not here to-night.”

“He was. He lurked around the cabin all day, that when darkness came he might commit the blackest deed that ever sullied the record of mankind!”

Instantly Esperance recollected the peasant he had met that afternoon beside the brook, the man who, but a short while before, had opposed his passage and disarmed him in the forest. His vague familiarity with his voice, face and dress was now accounted for. The man was Luigi Vampa. There could be no doubt of it. But why had he abducted Annunziata Solara, as Giovanni’s words would seem to infer? Why, save as the confederate and accomplice of the Viscount Massetti? But then how had Giovanni communicated with him, and in what manner had they contrived to arrange the details of their dishonorable plot? Was it possible that old Pasquale had been the medium of correspondence between the two men. Had he been base enough to sell his child? In that case, with whom had he fought so fiercely and desperately in the forest? Why also had the brigand chief sworn Giovanni to silence? Vain questions, admitting of no satisfactory replies. The Viscount’s story was incredible; it was, without doubt, a mere fabrication intended to cover and conceal his own guilt in the premises. Still Esperance could not reconcile this theory with the fact of finding Giovanni senseless in the forest.

The young Italian had by this time fully recovered from the effects of the shock he had received. He arose to his feet, and, approaching Esperance, said, earnestly:

“My friend, let the past be forgotten. I was wrong and you were right. I ask your pardon. As to the abduction of this unfortunate girl, I assure you that I am entirely innocent of it!”

“But who fired the shot that killed Lorenzo?” asked Esperance, sternly.

“Killed Lorenzo!” cried Giovanni, with unmistakable horror. “Was Lorenzo killed?”

“He was shot to-night and died in my arms!”

“Oh! this is terrible!” exclaimed the Viscount, beads of cold perspiration breaking out upon his forehead. “I assure you, Esperance, I had no hand in this foul murder I knew nothing of it! I did hear the report of a pistol, but who discharged the weapon or at whom it was fired I could not tell. Everything seemed like a disordered dream!”

As Esperance said not a word in reply, the Viscount continued:

“Again I assert my innocence of the dark crimes that have been committed to-night! Do you not believe my protestation?”

“I know not what to believe,” answered the young man. “But I will not consider you guilty until you are proved so.”

“Then,” cried Giovanni, joyously, “I have a proposition to make to you. Swear that you will be silent about everything that has occurred since we met Annunziata Solara in the Piazza del Popolo, including the terrible events of to-night, and I will start with you for Rome this very instant!”

“And you will renounce your pursuit of the flower-girl?”

“I will renounce it!”

“Do you swear to do so?”

“I swear it!”

“Then, on my side, I here take the oath of silence you require!”

“You forgive me for having quarreled with you?”

“I forgive you!”

“Then let us leave this accursed spot without another moment’s delay!”

“So be it!”

They hastily quitted the bank of the little stream and went to the cabin to prepare for their immediate departure. As they passed the spot where Lorenzo’s body had lain, Esperance noticed with a start that it was no longer there. They entered the cabin. It was dark and deserted. Esperance lighted a candle and, as he did so, perceived a scrap of paper upon the floor. He stooped mechanically and picked it up. It was rumpled as if it had been crushed in the hand and cast away. The young man straightened it out. It was a brief letter. He held it to the candle and, with a sickening sensation at his heart, read as follows:

Dearest Annunziata: All is prepared. We will fly to-night. Be
ready. Tonio.

The note was in Massetti’s handwriting. Esperance silently passed it to him. The Viscount read it with eyes bulging from their sockets, his fingers trembling so he could scarcely hold the paper.

“The evidence is conclusive!” said Esperance, icily, as Massetti finished reading. “It is a confession! You abducted Annunziata Solara!”

“What can I say to justify myself?” cried Giovanni, bitterly. “Oh! that accursed oath!”

“And you have sworn me to silence, also, wretched man!” said Esperance. “Why was I so weak!”

He looked scornfully at the Viscount, who stood with bowed head. Then he added:

“I understand you now! You did not wish me to betray you, to set the hounds of Justice on your track, to cause you to be punished, branded and disgraced! You were shrewd and imposed upon me. But my oath is sacred I will keep it! Let us return to Rome at once as we originally proposed. There I will challenge you in due form for an alleged insult, and we will settle this matter at the pistol’s mouth!”

In a few moments more they were on their road to the Eternal City, leaving behind them the cabin into which they had brought ruin and death!