Читать книгу The Werewolf Blood Trail: Tales of Gore, Terror & Hunt - Редьярд Джозеф Киплинг - Страница 63

Table of Contents

Having bound Flora Francatelli to the chair in the manner just described, the three nuns fell back a few paces, and the wretched girl felt the floor giving way under her.

A dreadful scream burst from her lips, as slowly—slowly the chair sank down, while the working of hidden machinery in the roof, and the steady, monotonous revolution of wheels, sounded with ominous din upon her ears.

An icy stream appeared to pour over her soul; wildly she cast around her eyes, and then more piercing became her shrieks, as she found herself gradually descending into what seemed to be a pit or well—only that it was square instead of round.

The ropes creaked—the machinery continued its regular movement, and the lamp fixed in the skylight overhead became less and less brilliant.

And bending over the mouth of this pit into which she was descending were the three nuns—standing motionless and silent like hideous specters, on the brink of the aperture left by the square platform or trap, whereon the chair was fixed.

“Mercy! Mercy!” exclaimed Flora, in a voice expressive of the most acute anguish.

And stretching forth her snowy arms (for it was round the waist and by the feet that she was fastened to the chair), she convulsively placed her open palms against the wooden walls of the pit, as if she could by that spasmodic movement arrest the descent of the terrible apparatus that was bearing her down into that hideous, unknown gulf! But the walls were smooth and even, and presented nothing whereon she could fix her grasp.

Her brain reeled, and for a few minutes she sat motionless, in dumb, inert despair.

Then again, in obedience to some mechanical impulse, she glanced upward; the light of the lamp was now dimly seen, like the sun through a dense mist—but the dark figures were still bending over the brink of the abyss, thirty yards above.

The descent was still progressing and the noise of the machinery still reached her ears, with buzzing, humming, monotonous indistinctness.

She shrieked not now—she screamed not any more; but it was not resignation that sealed her lips;—it was despair!

Suddenly she became aware of the gradual disappearance of the three nuns; as she descended, the wall seemed to rise slowly upward and cover them from her view.

Then, for an instant there was a slight shock given to the platform whereon the chair was placed—as if it rested on something beneath.

But no;—the fearful descent still went on—for, when she again stretched forth her hand to touch the walls, they appeared to be slowly rising—rising!

She was now involved in almost total darkness; but far—far overhead the dim luster of the lamp was seen; and the four walls of the gulf now appeared to touch the ceiling of the room above, and to inclose that faint but still distinct orb within the narrow space thus shut in.

The noise of the machinery also reached her still—but merely with a humming sound that was only just audible.

For an instant she doubted whether she was still descending; but, alas! when her arms were a third time convulsively stretched forth, her fair hands felt the walls slipping away from her touch—gliding upward, as it were, with steady emotion.

Then she knew that the descent had not ceased.

But whither was she going? to what awful depth was she progressing?

Already she conjectured, was she at least sixty yards beneath that dim yellow orb which every instant appeared to shine as through a deeper, deepening mist.

For what fate was she reserved? and where was she?

Suddenly it struck her that she was an inmate of the Carmelite Convent; for the rumors alluded to in a preceding chapter had often met her ears; and her imagination naturally associated them with the occurrences of that dreadful night.

The piercing shrieks—the noise of machinery—the disappearance from time to time of some member of that monastic institution, all the incidents, in fine, to which those rumors had ever pointed, now seemed to apply to her own case.

These reflections flashed, with lightning rapidity, through her brain, and paralyzed her with horror.

Then she lost all further power of thought; and though not absolutely fainting, she was stunned and stupefied with the tremendous weight of overwhelming despair.

How long she remained in this condition she knew not; but she was suddenly aroused by the opening of a low door in the wall in front of her.

Starting as from a dreadful dream, she stretched forth her arms, and became aware that the descent had stopped; and at the same moment she beheld a nun, bearing a lamp, standing on the threshold of the door which had just opened.

“Sister, welcome to the chamber of penitence!” said the recluse, approaching the terrified Flora.

Then, placing the lamp in a niche near the door, the nun proceeded to remove the cords which fastened the young maiden to the chair.

Flora rose, but fell back again on the seat—for her limbs were stiff in consequence of the length of time they had been retained in one position. The nun disappeared by the little door for a few minutes; and, on her return, presented the wretched girl a cup of cold water. Flora swallowed the icy beverage, and felt refreshed.

Then, by the light of the lamp in the niche, she hastily examined the countenance of the nun; but its expression was cold—repulsive—stern: and Flora knew that it was useless to seek to make a friend of her.

A frightful sense of loneliness, as it were, struck her like an ice-shaft penetrating to her very soul; and clasping her hands together, she exclaimed: “Holy Virgin! protect me!”

“No harm will befall you, daughter,” said the nun, “if you manifest contrition for past errors and a resolution to devote your future years to the service of Heaven.”

“My past errors!” repeated Flora, with mingled indignation and astonishment. “I am not aware that I ever injured a living soul by a word or deed—nor entertained a thought for which I need to blush! Neither have I neglected those duties which manifest the gratitude of mortals for the bounties bestowed upon them by Providence.”

“Ah! daughter,” exclaimed the nun, “you interpret not your own heart rightly. Have you never abandoned yourself to those carnal notions—those hopes—those fears—those dreams of happiness—which constitute the passion which the world calls love?”

Flora started, and a blush mantled on her cheeks, before so pale!

“You see that I have touched a chord which vibrates to your heart’s core, daughter,” continued the nun, on whom that sudden evidence of emotion was not lost. “You have suffered yourself to be deluded by the whisperings of that feeling whose tendency was to wean your soul from Heaven.”

“And is it possible that a pure and virtuous love can be construed into a crime?” demanded the young maiden, her indignation overpowering her fears.

“A love that is founded on, and fostered by ambition is a sin,” replied the nun. “Marriage is doubtless an institution ordained by Heaven; but it becomes a curse, and is repulsive to all pious feelings, when it unites those whose passion is made up of sensuality and selfishness.”

“You dare not impute such base considerations to me!” exclaimed Flora, her cheeks again flushing, but with the glow of conscious innocence shamefully outraged by the most injurious suspicions.

“Nay, daughter,” continued the nun, unmoved by the manner of the young maiden; “you are unable to judge rightly of your own heart. You possess a confidence in integrity of purpose, which is but a mental blindness on your part.”

“Of what am I accused? and wherefore am I brought hither?” asked Flora, beginning to feel bewildered by the sophistry that characterized the nun’s discourse.

“Those who are interested in your welfare,” replied the nun evasively, “have consigned you to the care of persons devoted to the service of Heaven, that your eyes may be opened to the vanity of the path which you have been pursuing, but from which you are so happily rescued.”

“And where am I? is this the Convent of the Carmelites? why was I subjected to all the alarms—all the mental tortures through which I have just passed?” demanded the young maiden, wildly and rapidly.

“Think not that we have acted toward you in a spirit of persecution,” said the nun. “The mysteries which have alarmed you will be explained at a future period, when your soul is prepared by penance, self-mortification, and prayer to receive the necessary revelation. In the meantime, ask no questions, forget the world, and resolve to embrace a life devoted to the service of Heaven.”

“To embrace a conventual existence!” almost shrieked the wretched girl. “Oh! no, never!”

“Not many days will elapse ere your mind will undergo a salutary change,” said the nun, composedly. “But if you will follow me—as you appear to be somewhat recovered—I will conduct you to your cell adjoining the Chamber of Penitence.”

Flora, perceiving that any further attempt to reason with the recluse would be fruitlessly made, rose and followed her into a narrow, dark passage, at the end of which was a door standing half open.

The nun extinguished her lamp, and led the way into a large apartment hung with black. At the further end there was an altar, surmounted by a crucifix of ebony, and lighted up with four wax candles, which only served to render the gloom of the entire scene more apparent.

At the foot of the altar knelt five women, half naked, and holding scourges in their hands.

“These are the penitents,” whispered the nun to Flora. “Pause for a moment and contemplate them.”

A minute elapsed, during which the five penitents remained motionless as statues, with their heads bowed upon their bosoms, and their hands hanging down by their sides, as if those limbs were lifeless—save in respect to the hands that held the scourges. But, suddenly, one of them—a young and beautiful woman—exclaimed, in a tone of piercing anguish, “It is my fault! it is my fault! it is my fault!”—and the others took up the wail in voices equally characteristic of heartfelt woe.

Then they lacerated their shoulders with the hard leathern thongs of their scourges; and a faintness came over Flora Francatelli when she observed the blood appear on the back of the young and beautiful penitent who had given the signal for this self-mortification.

The nun, perceiving the effect thus produced upon the maiden, touched her upon the shoulder as a signal to follow whither she was about to lead; and, opening one of the several doors communicating with the Chamber of Penitence, she said in a low whisper—“This is your cell. May the Virgin bless you!”

Flora entered the little room allotted to her, and the nun retired, simply closing, but not bolting the door behind her.

A taper burnt before a crucifix suspended to the wall; and near it hung a scourge, from which last mentioned object Flora averted her eyes with horror.

A bed, a simple toilet-table, a praying-desk, and a single chair, completed the furniture of the cell, which was of very narrow dimensions.

Seating herself on the bed, Flora burst into an agony of tears.

What would her aunt think when she received the news of her disappearance? for she could not suppose that any friendly feeling on the part of her persecutors would induce them to adopt a course which might relieve that much-loved relative’s mind concerning her. What would Francisco conjecture? Oh! these thoughts were maddening!

Anxious to escape from them, if possible, the almost heartbroken girl proceeded to lay aside her garments and retire to rest.

Physical and mental exhaustion cast her into a deep sleep; but the horrors of her condition pursued her even in her dreams; so that when she awoke she was not startled to find herself in that gloomy cell.

Casting her eyes around, she observed two circumstances which showed her that some one had visited her room during the hours she slept; for a new taper was burning before the crucifix, and her own garments had been removed,—the coarse garb of a penitent now occupying their place on the chair.

“Oh! is it possible that I am doomed to bid farewell to the world forever?” exclaimed Flora, in a voice of despair, as she clasped her hands convulsively together.