No sooner had Miriam turned away from the bier, and gone a few steps, than she fancied the likeness altogether an illusion, which would vanish at a closer and colder view.She must look at it again, therefore, and at once; or else the grave would close over the face, and leave the awful fantasy that had connected itself therewith fixed ineffaceably in her brain.
"Wait for me, one moment!" she said to her companions."Only a moment!"So she went back, and gazed once more at the corpse.Yes; these were the features that Miriam had known so well; this was the visage that she remembered from a far longer date than the most intimate of her friends suspected; this form of clay had held the evil spirit which blastedher sweet youth, and compelled her, as it were, to stain her womanhood with crime.But, whether it were the majesty of death, or something originally noble and lofty in the character of the dead, which the soul had stamped upon the features, as it left them; so it was that Miriam now quailed and shook, not for the vulgar horror of the spectacle, but for the severe, reproachful glance that seemed to come from between those half- closed lids.True, there had been nothing, in his lifetime, viler than this man.She knew it; there was no other fact within her consciousness that she felt to be so certain; and yet, because her persecutor found himself safe and irrefutable in death, he frowned upon his victim, and threw back the blame on her!
"Is it thou, indeed?" she murmured, under her breath."Then thou hast no right to scowl upon me so! But art thou real, or a vision?" She bent down over the dead monk, till one of her rich curls brushed against his forehead. She touched one of his folded hands with her finger.
"It is he," said Miriam."There is the scar, that I know so well, on his brow.And it is no vision; he is palpable to my touch! I will question the fact no longer, but deal with it as I best can."It was wonderful to see how the crisis developed in Miriam its own proper strength, and the faculty of sustaining the demands which it made upon her fortitude.She ceased to tremble; the beautiful woman gazed sternly at her dead enemy, endeavoring to meet and quell the look of accusation that he threw from between his half-closed eyelids.
"No; thou shalt not scowl me down!" said she."Neither now, nor when we stand together at the judgment-seat.I fear not to meet thee there.Farewell, till that next encounter!"Haughtily waving her hand, Miriam rejoined her friends, who were awaiting her at the door of the church.As they went out, the sacristan stopped them, and proposed to show the cemetery of the convent, where the deceased members of the fraternity are laid to rest in sacred earth, brought long ago from Jerusalem.
"And will yonder monk be buried there?" she asked."Brother Antonio?"exclaimed the sacristan.
"Surely, our good brother will be put to bed there!His grave isalready dug, and the last occupant has made room for him.Will you look at it, signorina?""I will!"said Miriam.
"Then excuse me," observed Kenyon; "for I shall leave you.One dead monk has more than sufficed me; and I am not bold enough to face the whole mortality of the convent."It was easy to see, by Donatello's looks, that he, as well as the sculptor, would gladly have escaped a visit to the famous cemetery of the Cappuccini.But Miriam's nerves were strained to such a pitch, that she anticipated a certain solace and absolute relief in passing from one ghastly spectacle to another of long-accumulated ugliness; and there was, besides, a singular sense of duty which impelled her to look at the final resting- place of the being whose fate had been so disastrously involved with her own.She therefore followed the sacristan's guidance, and drew her companion along with her, whispering encouragement as they went.
