Part 5 (1/2)
And the Marquis, after tenderly embracing them, quitted the room, followed by Coursegol. Philip and Dolores were left alone together.
There was a long silence. Seated beside an open window, Dolores, to conceal her embarra.s.sment, fixed her eyes upon the park and the fields that lay quiet and peaceful in the bright moonlight of the clear and balmy summer evening. Philip, even more agitated, paced nervously to and fro, seeking an opportunity to utter the avowal that was eager to leave his lips. At last, he summoned the necessary courage, and, seating himself opposite Dolores, he said:
”You wrote me a long letter. You asked me to bring you the response.
Here it is.”
Dolores looked up and perceived that he was greatly agitated. This discovery increased her own embarra.s.sment, and she could not find a word to say in reply. Philip resumed:
”But, first, explain the cause of the coldness betrayed by that letter.
Why did you address me so formally? Why did you not call me your brother as you had been accustomed to do in the past?”
”How was I to know that you would not regard me as a stranger, as an intruder?” responded Dolores, gently.
”An intruder! You!” exclaimed Philip, springing up. ”I have known the truth for more than four years and never have I loved you so fondly!
What am I saying? I mean that from the day I first knew the truth I have loved you with a far greater and entirely different love!”
Dolores dare not reply. How could she confess that she, too, since she learned she was not his sister, had experienced a similar change of feeling? Philip continued:
”You asked me if I would consent to still regard you as a sister. My sister, no! Not, as my sister, but as my wife, if you will but consent!”
”Your wife!” exclaimed Dolores, looking up at him with eyes radiant with joy.
Then, as if fearing he would read too much there, she hastily covered them with her trembling hands. The next instant Philip was on his knees before her, saying, eagerly:
”I have cherished this hope ever since the day that my father made me acquainted with your history. I told myself that we would never part, that I should always have by my side the loved one I had so long called sister, the gentle girl who had restored my mother's reason, who had cheered her life, consoled her last moments, and comforted my desolate father in his bereavement! Dolores, do not refuse me; it would break my heart!”
She could not believe her ears. She listened to Philip's pleading as if in a dream, and he, alarmed by her silence, added:
”If my mother were here, she would entreat you to make me happy.”
Suddenly Dolores remembered the projects which had been confided to her by the Marquis, who had often made her his confidante--those projects in which Philip's marriage with a rich heiress of ill.u.s.trious birth played such an important part. And yet, in the presence of the profound love she had inspired and which she shared, she had not courage to make Philip wretched by an immediate refusal, or to renounce the hope that had just been aroused in her heart.
”In pity, say no more!” she exclaimed, hastily. ”We are mad!”
”Why is it madness to love you?” demanded Philip.
”Listen,” she replied. ”I cannot answer you now. Wait a little--I must have time to think--to consult my conscience and my heart. You also must have time for reflection.”
”I have reflected for four years.”
”But I have never before thought of the new life you are offering me.”
”Do you not love me?”
”As a sister loves a brother, yes; but whether the love I bear you is of a different character I do not yet know. Go now, my dear Philip,” she added, endeavoring by calming herself to calm him; ”give me time to become accustomed to the new ideas you have awakened in my mind. They will develop there, and then you shall know my answer. Until that time comes, I entreat you to have pity on my weakness, respect my silence and wait.”
Philip instantly rose and said:
”The best proof of love that I can give you is obedience. I will wait, Dolores, I will wait, but I shall hope.”
Having said this he retired, leaving her oppressed by a vague sorrow that sleep only partially dispelled.