Penny Dreadful Multipack Vol. 1 (Illustrated. Annotated. 'Wagner The Wehr-Wolf,' 'Varney The Vampire,' 'The Mysteries of London Vol. 1' + Bonus Features) (Penny Dreadful Multipacks) by George W. M. Reynolds, James Malcolm Rymer Page A
Authors: George W. M. Reynolds, James Malcolm Rymer
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exclaimed Francisco,
laughing, “I need hear no more. Be well assured,” he added seriously, “that
time will not impair the love I experience for you.”
Flora murmured a reply which did
not reach Wagner, and immediately afterward the sound of her light steps was
heard retreating from the adjacent room. A profound silence of a few minutes
occurred; and then Francisco also withdrew.
Wagner had been an unwilling
listener to the preceding conversation; but while it was in progress, he from
time to time threw looks of love and tenderness on his beautiful companion, who
returned them with impassioned ardor.
Whether it were that her
irritable temper was impatient of the restraint imposed upon herself and her
lover by the vicinity of others, or whether she was annoyed at the fact of her
brother and Flora being so long together (for Wagner had intimated to her who
their neighbors were, the moment he had recognized their voices), we cannot
say; but Nisida showed an occasional uneasiness of manner, which she, however,
studied to subdue as much as possible, during the scene that took place in the
adjoining apartment.
Fernand did not offer to convey
to her any idea of the nature of the conversation which occupied her brother
and Flora Francatelli; neither did she manifest the least curiosity to be
enlightened on that head.
The moment the young lovers had
quitted the next room Wagner intimated the fact to Nisida; but at the same
instant, just as he was about to bestow upon her a tender caress, a dreadful,
an appalling reminiscence burst upon him with such overwhelming force that he
fell back stupefied on the sofa.
Nisida’s countenance assumed an
expression of the deepest solicitude, and her eloquent, sparkling eyes,
implored him to intimate to her what ailed him.
But, starting wildly from his
seat, and casting on her a look of such bitter, bitter anguish, that the
appalling emotions thus expressed struck terror to her soul—Fernand rushed from
the room.
Nisida sprung to the window; and,
though the obscurity of the evening now announced the last flickerings of the
setting sunbeams in the west, she could perceive her lover dashing furiously on
through the spacious gardens that surrounded the Riverola Palace.
On—on he went toward the River
Arno; and in a few minutes was out of sight.
Alas! intoxicated with love, and
giving himself up to the one delightful idea—that he was with the beauteous
Nisida—then, absorbed in the interest of the conversation which he had
overheard between Francisco and Flora—Wagner had forgotten until it was nearly
too late,
that the sun was about to
set on the last day of the month
.
CHAPTER XII
THE WEHR-WOLF
’Twas the hour of sunset.
The eastern horizon, with its
gloomy and somber twilight, offered a strange contrast to the glorious glowing
hues of vermilion, and purple, and gold, that blended in long streaks athwart
the western sky.
For even the winter sunset of
Italy is accompanied with resplendent tints—as if an emperor, decked with a
refulgent diadem, were repairing to his imperial couch.
The declining rays of the orb of
light bathed in molten gold the pinnacles, steeples, and lofty palaces of proud
Florence, and toyed with the limpid waves of the Arno, on whose banks
innumerable villas and casinos already sent forth delicious strains of music,
broken only by the mirth of joyous revelers.
And by degrees as the sun went
down, the palaces of the superb city began to shed light from their lattices,
set in rich sculptured masonry; and here and there, where festivity prevailed,
grand illuminations sprung up with magical quickness, the reflection from each
separate galaxy rendering it bright as day far, far around.
Vocal and instrumental melody
floated through the still air; and the perfume of exotics, decorating the halls
of the Florentine nobles, poured from the widely-opened portals, and rendered
the air delicious.
For Florence was gay that evening—the
last day of each
laughing, “I need hear no more. Be well assured,” he added seriously, “that
time will not impair the love I experience for you.”
Flora murmured a reply which did
not reach Wagner, and immediately afterward the sound of her light steps was
heard retreating from the adjacent room. A profound silence of a few minutes
occurred; and then Francisco also withdrew.
Wagner had been an unwilling
listener to the preceding conversation; but while it was in progress, he from
time to time threw looks of love and tenderness on his beautiful companion, who
returned them with impassioned ardor.
Whether it were that her
irritable temper was impatient of the restraint imposed upon herself and her
lover by the vicinity of others, or whether she was annoyed at the fact of her
brother and Flora being so long together (for Wagner had intimated to her who
their neighbors were, the moment he had recognized their voices), we cannot
say; but Nisida showed an occasional uneasiness of manner, which she, however,
studied to subdue as much as possible, during the scene that took place in the
adjoining apartment.
Fernand did not offer to convey
to her any idea of the nature of the conversation which occupied her brother
and Flora Francatelli; neither did she manifest the least curiosity to be
enlightened on that head.
The moment the young lovers had
quitted the next room Wagner intimated the fact to Nisida; but at the same
instant, just as he was about to bestow upon her a tender caress, a dreadful,
an appalling reminiscence burst upon him with such overwhelming force that he
fell back stupefied on the sofa.
Nisida’s countenance assumed an
expression of the deepest solicitude, and her eloquent, sparkling eyes,
implored him to intimate to her what ailed him.
But, starting wildly from his
seat, and casting on her a look of such bitter, bitter anguish, that the
appalling emotions thus expressed struck terror to her soul—Fernand rushed from
the room.
Nisida sprung to the window; and,
though the obscurity of the evening now announced the last flickerings of the
setting sunbeams in the west, she could perceive her lover dashing furiously on
through the spacious gardens that surrounded the Riverola Palace.
On—on he went toward the River
Arno; and in a few minutes was out of sight.
Alas! intoxicated with love, and
giving himself up to the one delightful idea—that he was with the beauteous
Nisida—then, absorbed in the interest of the conversation which he had
overheard between Francisco and Flora—Wagner had forgotten until it was nearly
too late,
that the sun was about to
set on the last day of the month
.
CHAPTER XII
THE WEHR-WOLF
’Twas the hour of sunset.
The eastern horizon, with its
gloomy and somber twilight, offered a strange contrast to the glorious glowing
hues of vermilion, and purple, and gold, that blended in long streaks athwart
the western sky.
For even the winter sunset of
Italy is accompanied with resplendent tints—as if an emperor, decked with a
refulgent diadem, were repairing to his imperial couch.
The declining rays of the orb of
light bathed in molten gold the pinnacles, steeples, and lofty palaces of proud
Florence, and toyed with the limpid waves of the Arno, on whose banks
innumerable villas and casinos already sent forth delicious strains of music,
broken only by the mirth of joyous revelers.
And by degrees as the sun went
down, the palaces of the superb city began to shed light from their lattices,
set in rich sculptured masonry; and here and there, where festivity prevailed,
grand illuminations sprung up with magical quickness, the reflection from each
separate galaxy rendering it bright as day far, far around.
Vocal and instrumental melody
floated through the still air; and the perfume of exotics, decorating the halls
of the Florentine nobles, poured from the widely-opened portals, and rendered
the air delicious.
For Florence was gay that evening—the
last day of each
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