He
saw me as I came rushing upon him--he turned pale, looked wildly to
right and left, as if he would have fled, and trembling drew his sword.
"Wretch!" cried I, "well may you draw your weapon!"
I spake not another word--I snatched forth a stiletto, put by the sword
which trembled in his hand, and buried my poniard in his bosom. He fell
with the blow, but my rage was unsated. I sprang upon him with the
blood-thirsty feeling of a tiger; redoubled my blows; mangled him in my
frenzy, grasped him by the throat, until with reiterated wounds and
strangling convulsions he expired in my grasp. I remained glaring on
the countenance, horrible in death, that seemed to stare back with its
protruded eyes upon me. Piercing shrieks roused me from my delirium. I
looked round and beheld Bianca flying distractedly towards us. My brain
whirled. I waited not to meet her, but fled from the scene of horror. I
fled forth from the garden like another Cain, a hell within my bosom,
and a curse upon my head. I fled without knowing whither--almost
without knowing why--my only idea was to get farther and farther from
the horrors I had left behind; as if I could throw space between myself
and my conscience. I fled to the Apennines, and wandered for days and
days among their savage heights. How I existed I cannot tell--what
rocks and precipices I braved, and how I braved them, I know not. I
kept on and on--trying to outtravel the curse that clung to me.
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