The Duchess's Revenge or The Three Warnings — page 18: what you’re looking at

Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.

' - . . ~*~ . * saw the ghastly : head, but recovering herself, she exclaimed : ‘Thus perish all the rivals of the Malatesta !” ‘“Tiisten, gentlemen. That girl, whose head lies there, was urged on to what she did by _ Bentivoglio, her father.” “Her father!” exclaimed the astonished ‘Yes, her father, who was Bentivoglio Baronci, _the descendant of the Baronci, the enemies of _ my race. All this was planned to cause the fall of my house, but I have conquered. There les the last of the Baronci, dead; so perish all the enemies of the Virgellesi.” . “Dying, not dead,” said Bentivoglio, between his. teeth, as he raised himself upon his elbow ; ‘“my vengeance is a8 good as yours, my lord. Go back to your fond wife and give her back the’ present she last gave to me. Farewell, Fiammettas farewell: look to the weak thing, your husband. You have slain one woman for his sake, but, trust me, have not gained his love.” _‘ What means this man, my lord ?”” demanded the duchess. | , _ “Nay, madam,” replied the duke, “you best _can tell me that. The dagger that les yonder on the ground, if I mistake not, is yours.” ~The duchess dropped her head upon her bosom as she recognised the fatal weapon. ‘‘Bentivoglio shewed that to me, and swore that you gave it to him in love: telling him to strike at your command.” : “Oh, forgive, forgive me, my lord!” cried the ‘duchess, falling at his feet. ‘‘ This villain led me on. ’Twas he who led me to the arbour, *twas he who told me of your flight and secret purpose here. All, all, was planned by him. But you bleed—are you hurt? Speak, my lord; where is your wound P ”’ “‘Oh! a mere scratch in the arm,” replied the duke. | “Would it had been your heart,” hissed Bentivoglio. ‘I prayed to see you die by your wife’s dagger, or else I would have used my sword; but that light toy deceived me.” Scarcely had he spoken, than the duchess uttered a fearful scream, and grasping her husband’s hand exclaimed, in pleading tones: “Tell me, with what was this wound made ? Not my dagger! oh, not my dagger!” ‘It was indeed, and thankful am I that it Ox T 8 Y L343 MA THE DUCHESSS REVENGE. % was not a stronger blade, or else my life would have answered for it.” : ‘Oh, merciful heaven!” cried the duchess, “have pity upon me! Oh, my sweet lord, my husband, pardon me! Oh that I had died before this fatal day!” “What mean you, madam, by this outcry? The wound is but a scratch.” “A scratch, yet wide enough to let ont life! a narrow portal, but large enough for death!” « Ah!” cried Bentivoglio, ‘‘I see it all now: the dagger is poisoned! So, so, my lord the duke, I go not alone to the grave. Thus ends the houses of Vergellesi and Baronci. Ah, see how his cheek blanches at the thought, his coward limbs tremble. Coward! Oh, heis sick. Ah, it is death that creeps upon him! Now grant me life but one short space that I may see his dying agonies!”’ : “That shall you never do!”’ cried Giammetto, stepping forward and plunging his dagger into Bentivoglio’s heart. ’ In vain they tried all that the science of that time could do to prevent death. Slowly and surely the subtle poison worked its cruel way, rending and burning, till in greatest torments the spirit of Vergellesi passed away. Unconscious was the duchess of the misery around. She gazed at her dying husband’s agonies with vacant eyes, and now and then would take his hands and gently stroke them. Then she would sing a wild song, and talk gaily about the summer time and childhood’s happy hours. Sadly the people watched her, and wondered if she would know when they bore him away to the grave. But when the funeral hour came, she let them take his body without one sigh. All reason had fled, all life to her was one solemn blank, as if the old curse clung to the family. The last Duchess of Vergellesi ended her days as Blanche Baronci had done— amanac! ‘The mouldering ruins of the palace of Vergellesi still remain ; the beautiful grounds are changed into pleasant fields of corn and plenteous vineyards—a glorious, happy, smiling place, one where the traveller is sure to rest to view the old ruins and sip the ruby wine. Whilst he is thus employed, either the host at the inn or some bright-eyed, olive-complexioned peasant is sure to tell him the story of THE DucHEss’s REVENGE AND THE THREE WARNINGS. NiliEbDoo com (E(@)