"Did I not tell you that it followed me everywhere?" His eyes wandered back again to the vacant space, and he went on speaking in that direction as if he had been continuing the conversation with some third person in the room."We shall part," he said, slowly and softly, when the empty place is filled in Wincot vault.Then I shall stand with Ada before the altar in the Abbey chapel, and when my eyes meet hers they will see the tortured face no more."Saying this, he leaned his head on his hand, sighed, and began repeating softly to himself the lines of the old prophecy:
When in Wincot vault a place Waits for one of Monkton's race--When that one forlorn shall lie Graveless under open sky, Beggared of six feet of earth, Though lord of acres from his birth-- That shall he a certain sign Of the end of Monktons line.
Dwindling ever faster, faster, Dwindling to the last-left master;From mortal ken, from light of day, Monkton's race shall pass away."Fancying that he pronounced the last lines a little incoherently, I tried to make him change the subject.He took no notice of what I said, and went on talking to himself.
"Monkton's race shall pass away," he repeated, "but not with _me_.The fatality hangs over _my_ head no longer.I shall bury the unburied dead; I shall fill the vacant place in Wincot vau
<and then--then the new life, the life with Ada!" That name seemed to recall him to himself.He drew his traveling desk toward him, placed the packet of letters in it, and then took out a sheet of paper."I am going to write to Ada," he said, turning to me, "and tell her the good news.Her happiness, when she knows it, will be even greater than mine."Worn out by the events of the day, I left him writing and went to bed.I was, however, either too anxious or too tired to sleep.In this waking condition, my mind naturally occupied itself with the discovery at the convent and with the events to which that discovery would in all probability lead.As I thought on the future, a depression for which I could not account weighed on my spirits.There was not the slightest reason for the vaguely melancholy forebodings that oppressed me.The remains, to the finding of which my unhappy friend attached so much importance, had been traced; they would certainly be placed at his disposal in a few days; he might take them to England by the first merchant vessel that sailed from Naples; and, the gratification of his strange caprice thus accomplished, there was at least some reason to hope that his mind might recover its tone, and that the new life he would lead at Wincot might result in making him a happy man.Such considerations as these were, in themselves, certainly not calculated to exert any melancholy influence over me; and yet, all through the night, the same inconceivable, unaccountable depression weighed heavily on my spirits--heavily through the hours of darkness--heavily, even when I walked out to breathe the first freshness of the early morning air.
With the day came the all-engrossing business of opening negotiations with the authorities.
Only those who have had to deal with Italian officials can imagine how our patience was tried by every one with whom we came in contact.We were bandied about from one authority to the other, were stared at, cross-questioned, mystified--not in the least because the case presented any special difficulties or intricacies, but because it was absolutely necessary that every civil dignitary to whom we applied should assert his own importance by leading us to our object in the most roundabout manner possible.After our first day's experience of official life in Italy, I left the absurd formalities, which we had no choice but to perform, to be accomplished by Alfred alone, and applied myself to the really serious question of how the remains in the convent outhouse were to be safely removed.
The best plan that suggested itself to me was to write to a friend in Rome, where I knew that it was a custom to embalm the bodies of high dignitaries of the Church, and where, Iconsequently inferred, such chemical assistance as was needed in our emergency might be obtained.I simply stated in my letter that the removal of the body was imperative, then described the condition in which I had found it, and engaged that no expense on our part should be spared if the right person or persons could be found to help us.Here, again, more difficulties interposed themselves, and more useless formalities were to be gone through, but in the end patience, perseverance, and money triumphed, and two men came expressly from Rome to undertake the duties we required of them.
It is unnecessary that I should shock the reader by entering into any detail in this part of my narrative.When I have said that the progress of decay was so far suspended by chemical means as to allow of the remains being placed in the coffin, and to insure their being transported to England with perfect safety and convenience, I have said enough.After ten days had been wasted in useless delays and difficulties, I had the satisfaction of seeing the convent outhouse empty at last; passed through a final ceremony of snuff-taking, or rather, of snuff-giving, with the old Capuchin, and ordered the traveling carriages to be ready at the inn door.Hardly a month had elapsed since our departure ere we entered Naples successful in the achievement of a design which had been ridiculed as wildly impracticable by every friend of ours who had heard of it.