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Brandon bowed his head, and stood in silence. Thus ended many of their interviews. Slowly and steadily this young girl gained over him an ascendency which he felt hourly, and which was so strong that he did not even struggle against it. Her marvelous genius, so subtle, so delicate, yet so inventive and quick, amazed him. If he spoke of this, she attributed every thing to Langhetti.
"He was the first one," said Beatrice, "who showed me the true meaning of life. He exalted his art above all other arts, and always maintained that it was the purest and best thing which the world possessed. This consoled him for exile, poverty, and sorrow of many kinds." "Was he married?" Beatrice looked at Brandon with a singular smile. "Married! Langhetti married!
They waited in a state of expectation which was so high-pitched that it would have proved disastrous in the extreme to any piece, or any singer who should have proved to be in the slightest degree inferior. Consummate excellence alone in every part could now save the piece from ruin. This Langhetti felt; but he was calm, for he had confidence in his work and in his company.
Langhetti raised his head, which had been bowed down in deep abstraction, to look in the direction indicated. A figure was approaching them. It looked like a woman. She walked very slowly, and appeared rather to stagger than to walk. "She appears to be drunk, Despard," said Langhetti. "Poor wretch, and on this bleak March morning too! Let us stop and see if we can do any thing for her."
"I have been thinking of that," replied Langhetti. "It will be better to go to the other inn. But what shall we say about her? Let us say she is an invalid going home." "And am I her medical attendant?" asked Despard. "No; that is not necessary. You are her guardian the Rector of Holby, of course your name is sufficient guarantee."
I have written to Langhetti's sister; she will come, and will bring your sister with her." "I should have told you so before," said Beatrice, "but my own troubles drove every thing else from my mind." "Forgive me," said Brandon, "for intruding now. I came in to learn about Langhetti. You look upon me with horror. I will withdraw." Beatrice bowed her head, and tears streamed from her eyes.
It was a meaning beyond what might be intelligible to those who listened a meaning beyond mortal thought. Yet Langhetti understood it, and so did Edith. Her eyes grew brighter, a flush started to her wan cheeks, her breathing grew more rapid. The music went on.
Roused to the highest enthusiasm by the sight of that vast assemblage, Beatrice gave herself up to the intoxication of the hour. She threw herself into the spirit of the piece; she took deep into her heart the thought of Langhetti, and uttered it forth to the listeners with harmonies that were almost divine such harmonies as they had never before heard. There was the silence of death as she sang.
"Why not decide now to tell it?" pleaded Beatrice. "Why should I not know it? Surely I have gone through enough suffering to bear this, even if it bring something additional." Langhetti looked at her long and doubtfully. "You hesitate," said she. "Yes." "Why?" "It is of too much importance." "That is all the more reason why I should know it. Would it crush me if I knew it?" "I don't know.
At the close Cavallo said, "There is some life in us yet, and what life we have left shall be spent in trapping that miscreant. Italy shall be avenged on one of her traitors, at any rate." "You will write as I told you, and let me know?" "Most faithfully." Langhetti departed, satisfied with the result of this interview. What surprised him most was the letter.
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