For some time it
resisted all efforts--then with appalling suddenness gave way and
flew back, the door bursting wide open with the shock. For one
instant the falling shadows of evening made the interior of the room
too dim to see distinctly--there was a confused blur of objects,--
the carved summit of a great easel,--a gold picture-frame shining
round a wonderful mass of colouring on canvas--then gradually they
discerned the outline of a small figure lying prone at the foot of
the easel, stiff and motionless. With a dreadful cry of despair
Sovrani dashed into the room.
"Angela! Angela!"
Falling on his knees he raised the delicate figure in his arms,--the
little head drooped inanimate on his shoulder, and with the movement
a coil of golden hair became unbound, and fell in soft waves over
his trembling hands--the fair face was calm and tranquil--the eyes
were closed,--but as the distracted man clasped that inert, beloved
form closer, he saw what caused him to spring erect with a terrible
oath, and cry for vengeance.
"Murdered!" he exclaimed hoarsely--"Murdered! Brother, come close!--
see here! Will you talk to me of God NOW! My last comfort in life--
the last gift of my Gita, murdered!"
The affrighted Cardinal tottered forward, and looking, saw that a
deep stain of blood oozed over the soft white garments of the
lifeless girl, and he wrung his hands in despair.
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