The Heir of Mondolfo Read Online Free PDF Page B

fearful, with nothing to
sustain her spirits or hopes, felt her courage vanish.
    She wept long with despair and misery. She thought of Ludovico
and what his grief would be, and her tears were redoubled. There
was no hope, for her enemy was relentless, her child torn from her,
a cloister her prison. Such were the images constantly before her.
They subdued her courage, and filled her with terror and
dismay.
    The cavalcade entered the town of Salerno, and the roar of the
sea announced to poor Viola that they were on its shores.
    "O bitter waves!" she cried. "My tears are as
bitter as ye, and they will soon mingle!"
    Her conductors now entered a building. It was a watch-tower at
some distance from the town, on the sea-beach. They lifted Viola
from the litter and led her to one of the dreary apartments of the
tower. The window, which was not far from the ground, was grated
with iron; it bore the appearance of a guardroom. The chief of her
conductors addressed her, courteously asked her to excuse the rough
lodging; the wind was contrary, he said, but change was expected,
and the next day he hoped they would be able to embark. He pointed
to the destined vessel in the offing.
    Viola, excited to hope by his mildness, began to entreat his
compassion, but he immediately left her. Soon after another man
brought in food, with a flask of wine and a jug of water. He also
retired; her massive door was locked, the sound of retreating
footsteps died away.
    Viola did not despair; she felt, however, that it would need all
her courage to extricate herself from her prison. She ate a part of
the food which had been provided, drank some water, and then, a
little refreshed, she spread the cloak her conductors had left on
the floor, placed her child on it to play, and then stationed
herself at the window to see if any one might pass whom she might
address, and, if he were not able to assist her in any other way,
he might at least bear a message to Ludovico, that her fate might
not be veiled in the fearful mystery that threatened it; but
probably the way past her window was guarded, for no one drew near.
As she looked, however, and once advanced her head to gaze more
earnestly, it struck her that her person would pass between the
iron grates of her window, which was not high from the ground. The
cloak, fastened to one of the stanchions, promised a safe descent.
She did not dare make the essay; nay, she was so fearful that she
might be watched, and that, if she were seen near the window, her
jailers might be struck with the same idea, that she retreated to
the farther end of the room, and sat looking at the bars with
fluctuating hope and fear, that now dyed her cheeks with crimson,
and again made them pale as when Ludovico had first seen her.
    Her boy passed his time in alternate play and sleep. The ocean
still roared, and the dark clouds brought up by the sirocco
blackened the sky and hastened the coming evening. Hour after hour
passed; she, heard no clock; there was no sun to mark the time, but
by degrees the room grew dark, and at last the Ave Maria tolled,
heard by fits between the howling of the winds and the dashing of
the waves. She knelt, and put up a fervent prayer to the Madonna,
protector of innocence--prayer for herself and her boy--no less
innocent than the Mother and Divine Child, to whom she made her
orisons. Still she paused. Drawing near to the window, she listened
for the sound of any human being: that sound, faint and
intermittent, died away, and with darkness came rain that poured in
torrents, accompanied by thunder and lightning that drove every
creature to shelter. Viola shuddered. Could she expose her child
during such a night? Yet again she gathered courage. It only made
her meditate on some plan by which she might get the cloak as a
shelter for her boy after it had served for their descent. She
tried the bars, and found that, with some difficulty, she could
pass, and, gazing downward from the outside, a flash of