His habit, richly
embroidered, procured for him universally a good reception, and no
one scrupled to enter into conversation with him respecting the
weather, the commerce of the Republic, or the designs of its
enemies; and on none of these subjects was Abellino found incapable
of sustaining the discourse.
By these means he soon contrived to gain intelligence that Rosabella
was certainly in the gardens, how she was habited, and in what
quarter he was most likely to find her.
Thither he immediately bent his course; and hard at his heels
followed Matteo.
Alone, and in the most retired arbour, sat Rosabella of Corfu, the
fairest maid in Venice.
Abellino drew near the arbour; he tottered, as he passed its
entrance, like one oppressed with sudden faintness, and attracted
Rosabella's attention.
"Alas, alas!" cried he, "is there no one at hand who will take
compassion on the infirmity of a poor old man?"
The Doge's fair niece quitted the arbour hastily, and flew to give
assistance to the sufferer.
"What ails you, my good father?" she inquired in a melodious voice,
and with a look of benevolent anxiety.
Abellino pointed towards the arbour; Rosabella led him in, and
placed him on a seat of turf.
"God reward you, lady," stammered Abellino, faintly. He raised his
eyes; they met Rosabella's, and a blush crimsoned her pale cheeks.
Rosabella stood in silence before the disguised assassin, and
trembled with tender concern for the old man's illness; and oh, that
expression of interest ever makes a lovely women look so much more
lovely! She bent her delicate form over the man who was bribed to
murder her, and after a while asked him, in gentlest tone, "Are you
not better?"
"Better?" stammered the deceiver, with a feeble voice, "better--oh,
yes, yes, yes.
Pages:
21
22
23
24
25
26
27
28
29
30
31
32
33
34
35
36
37
38
39
40
41
42
43
44
45