University of Virginia Library

27. CHAPTER XXVII.

During the day, Clairmont had heard of the wild
girl who excited so much curiosity and admiration
among the vast concourse.

Fearful of some catastrophe, he at last caught a
glimpse of her person; and beheld with the most
frightful forebodings—with a burning mixture of
anger and of anguish—

To Flora and his other companions, therefore,
pleading sudden illness, he induced them immediately
to quit the Corso. On reaching his hotel,
he retired at once to his chamber—desiring his
servant to say to all inquirers that he slept, and
could not be disturbed. Enveloping himself in a
domino, and masking his face (for he knew well
that there was one whose encounter might be
death), he started forth with feverish anxiety in the
pursuit.

It seemed that the unhappy being, with the deep
subtlety of madness, had suspected that she was
in danger of being overtaken by too open and too
long exposure of her face at one time. She had
therefore provided herself with a red shawl, which,

at intervals, when the caprice of flight seized her,
as it frequently did, she wrapped around her so
carefully as effectually to envelop her; and hiding
her features in a mask of the most ordinary form
(of which there were hundreds everywhere precisely
similar), she would stop suddenly—glide
away among the crowd to parts of the city most
remote from that where the fear had seized her.
The task of tracing, of overtaking, and seizing her,
therefore, at any time of doubtful success, in a
multitude so vast and in such rapid motion, was
rendered peculiarly so by the numbers of masks
like hers, and of disguises not greatly different,
which rushed to and fro everywhere around. Indeed,
to Clairmont and many others, she appeared
almost endowed with the power of ubiquity—to be
a spirit, wild and anguish-struck, riding on the
waves of the commotion, beckoning, weeping,
praying, threatening, and forming a striking feature
in the picturesque crowd.

With stealthy pace, Clairmont stole after his
object, regardless of all others. Several times,
when he thought he had accomplished his purpose,
he found in the confusion of dresses that he had
mistaken the person. Once, instead of her, he
seized in his arms a pretty Italian girl; and a
by-stander, with the promptness of a lover, somewhat
rudely dashed him away. Again he believed
himself sure; but, instead of a female, he found in
his arms a slender youth in petticoats, who exhibited
neither disinclination nor inability to assist
himself.

At length, in a side street, he succeeded in tracing
her, and suddenly seized her. She screamed
and struggled. A mounted guard, with a drawn
sword, instantly rode up.

“Back, signore!” he said: “no rudeness—no

riot. Back, fool—back! Are you deaf?”—
with the point of his drawn sword to the breast of
the once more baffled count, he compelled him to
retire; and the affrighted girl, after a keen look at
his figure and jewelled hand, with an exclamation
of horror, flew swiftly away, and was lost to his
sight.

Almost insane himself with disappointed hope
and idle rage, he forced his way from crowd to
crowd of the now retiring maskers; who, dispersing
at sunset, sought their houses in straggling
groups. Hour after hour he prowled around the
streets. The sun went down; the multitude disappeared;
the shadows of night fell on Rome; the
stars glittered; the round moon rose broadly and
silently over the Eternal City—and still his victim
had escaped his grasp. Stung with rage and furious
fears, he knew not where to go, nor what to
do—when in the distance, and near the outskirts
of the town which lead into the Forum, a white
form was seen stealing along the wall. It was she;
and he sprang after his prey. She perceived that
she was followed, and darted off like the deer
aroused by the hounds. She bounded—she flew
with the speed of desperate fear; and with the
motion of swift revenge, Clairmont pursued to the
arch of Titus. She hid behind it. He approached.
she bounded on. He followed. The huge shadow
of the Coliseum lay black on the green. She rushed
towards it. In its winding labyrinths, Clairmont
knew she might lurk all the night. Silently he
drew one of a pair of pistols. He aimed and fired.
There was a shriek—she fell! He lurked back in
the deep shadow. Like a bird whose wing has
been broken, but who still struggles on through the
grass, to die in some bush away from the huntsman's
murderous hand, the poor girl rose, and with

a painful motion, gained the entrance of the mighty
pile, and was lost in its midnight vaults.

“She would have it,” said he, setting his teeth
and flinging away his pistol.

A few moments he lurked in the shadow. No
one appeared. Assassinations in Rome were common.
They rarely attracted any attention. He
could not avoid walking hastily to the spot. It
was a green knoll. One or two flowers bloomed
there. The grass seemed uncommonly fresh and
verdant. The moonlight fell broad and full upon
it. He stopped to gaze—there was blood! His
heart sickened. He shuddered; turned on his
heel, and walked back towards the city. Suddenly
he stopped. “No,” he said, “it is no time for
childish shudderings. I must on.”

He was silent, but returned with rapid strides
towards the Coliseum.