: A rogue's tragedy by Capes Bernard - Adventure stories; Man-woman relationships Fiction; Trials (Murder) Fiction; Piedmont (Italy) History 18th century Fiction; Illuminati Fiction

@FreeBooksThu 08 Jun, 2023

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n our bodies' loves, the blows and anguish which His flesh suffered to redeem them."

He rose, unquestioning, and knelt by the bedside. He prayed that she might not know, that his suspicions might be unfounded, that the burden of that knowledge might never be hers--not that he might find strength to ask her if it were. He prayed and prayed, until the chillness of the night air seized his frail body with a very ague of shivering. Then she, kneeling beside him, was smitten with remorse, and blamed her thoughtlessness, and got him into bed again with all speed, and watched beside him till he was once more warm and restful. Then, his comfort was so great, her beauty so pitiful, he held out rapturous arms to her, and wooed her to his heart. Shrinking, reluctant, she surrendered passively. Had he not wounded his soul to save hers? How could she deny him the fruits of that wild sacrifice. She was a murderer's wife.

But later, when he had fallen into a deep sleep, she rose softly from beside him, and crept to her oratory, and, kneeling on the icy stones before the statue of the Holy Virgin, broke into prayer, and a passion of tears,--

"O, Mother! show me how to love, and yet be clean!"

On a flat open width of the Argenti?re road, a mile or so to the north-east of Le Prieur?, a little company of astronomers was gathered to gaze at the moon. They carried glasses and instruments; there was not the least air of privacy about their proceedings; the spot selected was open to all. There was an extension in the long tear of the valley in this place, the increased interval between the mountains being occupied by a humpish land strewn with boulders.

About eight o'clock of a September evening, this group of enthusiasts--drinking in lunar obfuscation; its telescopes, like so many glasses brimming with moonshine, tilted to its eyes--was joined by a single individual, whose approach from Le Prieur?, it seemed, had occurred unnoticed by it in its preoccupation. Nor did his arrival affect it now, further than to its tacit acceptance of his company as of that of a recognised kindred spirit.

The newcomer, taking a short tube from his pocket, applied the smaller lens to his eye, and joined in the general scrutiny of that placid orb, which floated over the mountain tops in a liquid mist. Gradually, and scarce perceptibly as he gazed, the others edged about him, until all were within a common focus of hearing. Then one, who appeared to have some precedence of authority, opened his lips, but without removing his instrument from his eye.

"The oracle, great Spartacus--hath it worked?"

"It is working, Ajax."

"And Paris shall be deposed?"

"In time, in time. We move swifter to that end."

"Swifter, swifter? But while we gather speed, he strikes like the lightning."

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