Volume I Part 11 (2/2)
Bona started as if a blow had struck her heart, and was still silent.
”In the name of heaven, woman, what made you seek out me in particular?
You are fair enough, unfortunately, to be able to dispense with such means with thousands of my s.e.x. Why must you fling into my breast the scorpion--which must poison the peace of my future days?”
”I loved you, as I now abhor you,” was hollowly murmured from beneath the pillows.
”Profane not the sacred word,” retorted Tausdorf indignantly; ”I cannot, besides, rest contented with this answer. What you did yesterday, the way in which you prepared and accomplished it, the danger to which you exposed yourself if discovered, all this points to something very different. You had some great, and, as my warning angel tells me, some terrible, design upon me, and that it is which you must confess this very hour.”
At this Bona started up with wild looks, and her long auburn locks hung down in disorder, like so many living snakes, about her fair pale face, and gave it the convulsed appearance of a raging Medusa. ”Kill me,” she cried, defyingly, ”or accuse me at the tribunal as a poisoner--I am silent.”
Tausdorf could not refrain from shuddering as her figure stood up thus before him, like some horrid spectre,--that figure which but a few hours since had appeared so kind and graceful: he turned away from her, and at length said--
”You understand us German knights badly, in thinking us capable of such wretched measures. If you do not choose to unburthen your heart by a frank confession of your evil intentions, persist then in your obduracy. I leave you to your conscience; and however late may come the moment in which you hear its voice, yet the moment will come. If in such an hour you repent of the evil you have already done me, and of that which you yet purpose, may heaven not remember against you your heavy sin in abusing the fair body it has given you--abusing it as a bait for vice, and to the destruction of the souls of your fellow-creatures. I for my part forgive you now as becomes a Christian; but we never see each other again.”
He went. With the rolling eyes of a lioness, whose prey has escaped, Bona watched after him.
”So then, this sin has been in vain. I have not even earned the fruits of the evil harvest. My machines have been in play to no purpose. The awkward footsteps of this rough man have crushed to pieces the artificial wheelwork. Let it go. I meant it better with you than you deserved. The a.s.sailant has always the advantage, because he can choose time and place. If you will not be set upon my victim, he must be set upon you, that self-defence may force the sword of vengeance into your hand. May you both perish in it!”
The old gardener thrust his head in at the door with a crafty, inquiring laugh. Bona called out to him--”I am alone, Sylvester. What is Ra.s.selwitz doing?”
”Awake at last!” replied the gardener, coming into the room. ”He complained of head-ache, begged of me to excuse him to you, and tottered off. But in his place some one else has come again--Mr.
Christopher Friend, splendidly tricked out, and dressed in sky-blue velvet, waits below in the green-house, and begs for a morning audience.”
”So early?” asked Bona, surprised. ”What can he want?”
”He inquired of me so circ.u.mstantially about your fortune,” replied the gardener, ”and looked withal so smart and gay, and made such little twinkling eyes, that I think in a short time you may expect proposals of marriage.”
Bona smiled scornfully. After a brief consideration she replied--”He does indeed mistake, but he comes in good time. Beg of him to excuse me till I am dressed.”
”Number three, in so short a period!” said the gardener smirking. ”If this goes on, you'll soon draw after you the core of the Schweidnitz male population, as Punch does the children with his trumpet.”
”Think you so?” rejoined Bona, with self-satisfaction.
”And yet,” continued the old man, ”you don't altogether understand it.
You entice the birds in a masterly way, but you forget to pluck them, which yet is the princ.i.p.al part of the business. With the exception of the easy fool of a Spaniard, your love-affairs have brought you in marvellously little. The handsome pagan courtesans of the old time were much wiser. Though you may not exactly wish to build pyramids of the oblations of your adorers, yet a comfortable house for a refuge to your old age is in truth not to be despised.”
”I hope never to be old to need it,” said Bona hastily.
”But don't reckon without your host,” rejoined the gardener. ”The quantum of wealth from the new world, left you by Don Alonzo, has melted away confoundedly in the old world, as must naturally be the case with your pa.s.sion for appearing as a rich heiress. If this is to last long, you will be forced to sell the rich jewels with which you blind the eyes of people. What then is to become of you if you do not betimes think of some new acquisition?”
”He who follows _much_ at once,” replied Bona, ”attains _nothing_. I follow _one_ object only, but that one I follow so stedfastly, with such inflexible purpose, that I _must_ gain it, and when I have gained it, I need nothing more in this world.”
”And this _one_?” asked the gardener with sly importunity.
”I pay you as my servant, not as my confessor,” replied Bona with angry pride, and pointed to the door.
<script>