A Creature of the Night: An Italian Enigma. Fergus Hume

did he have a vault built in such an old cemetery?"

      "Oh, the vault was old--as old as the Trezza. All the signori of his family had been buried there for many days."

      "Since the Republic?"

      "Dio! yes, and before."

      "What is the name of this family?"

      "I don't know, Signore, I forget!"

      "Well, come along, Peppino. As you know so much about one tomb, you will probably know something about another."

      "Command me, Illustrious."

      I did not enter the burial-ground by the gate, as I wanted to go the same way as on the previous night, in order to be certain of finding the tomb I was in search of, so, with some little difficulty, and the help of Peppino, I managed to climb over the broken wall, and soon found myself in my old hiding-place. Peppino looked at me with considerable curiosity, as he could not conceive my object in coming to this dreary locality; but ultimately, shrugging his shoulders, he put it down to a freak on the part of a mad Englishman, and waited for me to speak.

      The tomb looked scarcely less forbidding and gloomy in the daytime than it did at night, with its massive-looking architecture, and the stern-faced angel guarding the iron door. Advancing through the long grass which grew all round it, I looked every where for a name, but could find none, then tried to open the iron door, to the great dismay of Peppino.

      "Signore," he said in a faltering voice, "do not let out the ghosts."

      "There are no ghosts here, Peppino. They have all departed," I replied, finding the door locked.

      "Dio! I'm not so sure of that, Illustrious. Many dead are in there."

      "Oh, they've been dead so long that their ghosts must have grown weary of this gloomy sepulchre."

      "Yes, Signore, but the ghost of the mad Count buried last year!"

      "Oh!" I cried with lively curiosity, "is this the vault where he was buried?"

      "Yes, Illustrious!"

      "And the name, Peppino? What was his name?"

      The little Italian looked perplexed, as he could not understand the interest I took in this sepulchre; still, seeing I was in earnest, he tried to think of the name, but evidently could not recall it.

      "Cospetto! Signore, I have the memory of Beppo, who forgot the mother who bore him; but the name will be here, Illustrious, for certain."

      "See if you can find it, Peppino," I replied, sitting down on a stone near the iron door. "I am anxious to know to whom this tomb belongs."

      Peppino, being more conversant with Italian tombs than myself, went to look for the name, and in a wonderfully short space of time came back with a satisfied smile on his face.

      "Signore, the tomb is that of the Morone."

      "The Morone?"

      "Yes, Signore, they were a great family of Verona, as great as the cursed Medici of my beautiful Florence."

      "And this Count, who died last year, was their descendant?"

      "Dio! Illustrious, he was the last of them. No father, no brother, no child. He was the last. Basta, basta!"

      "Had he a wife?" I asked, thinking of the woman who had emerged from this tomb.

      "Yes, Signore, a beautiful wife, but when he died she left Verona for Rome I heard. She is not now here."

      Well, I had found out the name of the family buried in the tomb, and that the wife was the sole representative of the race, so I naturally thought she was the only person who would have been able to enter the tomb; although why she did so, unless it was to pray beside the corpse of her late husband, I could not understand. Besides, Peppino, who was one of the greatest gossips in the town, said she had left Verona, so perhaps the midnight visitor was not the Contessa Morone at all.

      "Were the Count and Countess an attached couple, Peppino?"

      The Italian shrugged his shoulders.

      "Dio! I know not indeed," he replied carelessly; "the Signor Conte was certainly mad. I saw him at times, and he had the evil eye. Diamine! often have I made horns for that eye, Illustrious."

      "And the Countess, Peppino? Have you ever seen the Countess?"

      "No, Signore! The Conte let her not out. Ah! he was jealous, that madman. He was old and the Signora was young. Per Bacco! the husband was afraid of the handsome officers. Ecco!"

      A mad and jealous husband, old, too, into the bargain. With such a trinity of imperfections a young and beautiful woman could hardly be much in love with him, and, a year after his death, would certainly not have taken the trouble to pray at his tomb. No! the unknown lady could not possibly have been the Contessa. Who, then was this mysterious visitant? I had now quite got over my fancy that she was a spectre, and felt profoundly curious to find out who she was, and why she had come to this ancient burial-place at midnight.

      "Is there a Palazzo Morone, Peppino?"

      Peppino changed colour.

      "What do you know of the Palazzo Morone, Signore?"

      "Oh, there is one then!"

      "Yes, Illustrious! It is haunted!"

      "Haunted! Nonsense!"

      "Dio! Signore, I speak the truth. No one has lived there for the last two hundred years. It is shut up for the rats and the owls and the spectres of the tomb."

      "What tomb--this one?"

      "Ah, Signore, do not jest, I pray you, or the illustrious Signori Morone will hear us."

      Peppino looked so serious that I forebore to smile at this absurdity, lest I should offend his pride and thus lose the story.

      "Well, Peppino, tell me all about this haunted palace."

      "Not here, Signore, I am afraid!"

      "Then help me back to the carriage."

      He obeyed with great alacrity, and, when I was once more in the fiacre, prepared to loosen his horse.

      "No, no! Peppino," I said, smiling; "the ghosts can't hear us here, so tell me the story of the Morone."

      Peppino cast a doubtful glance in the direction of the burial-ground, and then, seating himself on the step of the carriage, began his story. His Italian, as I have said before, was very good, so, making him speak slowly, I was easily able to understand the strange legend he related.

      "Signore," he began, with a solemn look on his usually merry face, "the Morone were very famous in Verona four hundred years ago. Dio! they fought with the Scaligers, and afterwards with the Visconti. They were Podestas of the city before the Della Scala, and several of them were great Cardinals. One would have been his Holiness himself, but the Borgia asked him to supper and he died of their poison. About two hundred years ago Mastino Morone wedded the Donna Renata della Moneta, who was said to have been descended on the wrong side from Donna Lucrezia herself."

      "You mean that this Renata was an illegitimate descendant of Lucrezia Borgia?"

      "Yes, Signore. Ah! she was a devil of a woman, that Madonna Lucrezia. Ebbene! Signore. This Donna Renata wedded with Count Mastino Morone, and a pleasant life she led him, for she loved all other men but him. Cospetto! he would have strangled her, but he was afraid of her many lovers. There was a room in the Palazzo Morone, without any windows, where Donna Renata supped with those she favoured."

      "And the room is there still?" I said, thinking of that mysterious chamber.

      "Of a surety, Signore! It is haunted by the ghost of the Marchese Tisio!"

      "Who was he?"

      "Signore, he was the last lover of Donna Renata, whom she killed with the Borgia poison because he was faithless. Eh!