Volume I Part 23 (1/2)
The freedman had withdrawn abruptly the very moment that the lady entered; and, closing the door firmly behind him, stood on guard out of earshot, lest any one should break upon his young lord's privacy. But Paullus knew not this; scarce knew, indeed, that they were alone; when, as she ceased, he made two steps forward, exclaiming in a piercing voice-
”Ye G.o.ds! ye G.o.ds! Lucia Orestilla!”
”Aye! Paul,” replied the girl, raising her veil, and showing her beautiful face, no longer burning with bright amorous blushes, her large soft eyes, no longer beaming unchaste invitation, but pale, and quiet, and suffused with tender sadness, ”it is indeed Lucia. But wherefore this surprise, I might say this terror? You were not, I remember, so averse, the last time we were alone together.”
Her voice was steady, and her whole manner perfectly composed, as she addressed him. There was neither reproach nor irony in her tones, nor anything that betokened even the sense of injury endured. Yet was Arvina more unmanned by her serene and tranquil bearing, than he would have been by the most violent reproaches.
”Alas! alas! what shall I say to you,” he faltered, ”Lucia; Lucia, whom I dare not call mine.”
”Say nothing, Paullus Arvina,” she replied, ”thou art a n.o.ble and generous soul?-Say nothing, for I know what thou would'st say. I have said it to myself many times already. Oh! wo is me! too late! too late! But I have come hither, now, upon a brief and a pleasant errand. For it _is_ pleasant, let them scoff who will! I say, it _is_ pleasant to do right, let what may come of it. Would G.o.d, that I had always thought so!”
”Would G.o.d, indeed!” answered the young man, ”then had we not both been wretched.”
”Wretched! aye! most, most wretched!” cried the girl, a large bright tear standing in either eye. ”And art thou wretched, Paullus.”
”Utterly wretched!” he said, with a deep groan, and buried his face for a moment in his hands. ”Even before I looked upon you, thought of you, I was miserable! and now, now-words cannot paint my anguish, my self-degradation!”
”Aye! is it so?” she said, a faint sad smile flitting across her pallid lips. ”Why I should feel abased and self-degraded, I can well comprehend.
I, who have fallen from the high estate, the purity, the wealth, the consciousness of chaste and virtuous maidenhood! I, the despised, the castaway, the fallen! But thou, thou!-from thee I looked but for reproaches-the just reproaches I have earned by my faithless folly! I thought, indeed, to have found you wretched, writhing in the dark bonds which I, most miserable, cast around you; and cursing her who fettered you!”
”Cursing myself,” he answered, ”rather. Cursing my own insane and selfish pa.s.sion, which alone trammelled me, which alone ruined one, better and brighter fifty fold than I!-alas! alas! Lucia.”
And forgetful of all that he had heard to her disparagement from her bad father's lips, or, if he half remembered discrediting all in that moment of excitement, he flung himself at her feet, and grovelled like a crushed worm on the floor, in the degrading consciousness of guilt.
”Arise, arise for shame, young Arvina!” she said. ”The ground, at a woman's feet, is no place for a man ever; least of all _such_ a woman's.
Arise, and mark me, when I tell you that, which to tell you, only, I came hither. Arise, I say, and make me not scorn the man, whom I admire, whom-wo is me! I love.”
Paullus regained his feet slowly, and abashed; it seemed that all the pride and haughtiness of his character had given way at once. Mute and humiliated, he sank into a chair, while she continued standing erect and self-sustained before him by conscious, though new, rect.i.tude of purpose.
”Mark me, I say, Arvina, when I tell you, that you are as free as air from the oath, with which I bound you. That wicked vow compels you only so long as I hold you pledged to its performance. Lo! it is nothing any more-for I, to whom alone of mortals you are bound, now and forever release you.
The G.o.ds, above and below, whom you called to witness it, are witnesses no more against you. For I annul it here; I give you back your plight. It is as though it never had been spoken!”
”Indeed? indeed? am I free?-Good, n.o.ble, generous, dear, Lucia, is it true? can it be? I am free, and at thy bidding?”
”Free as the winds of heaven, Paullus, that come whence no man knoweth, and go whither they will soever, and no mortal hindereth them! As free as the winds, Paullus,” she repeated, ”and I trust soon to be as happy.”
”But wherefore,” added the young man, ”have you done this? You said you would release me _never_, and now all unsolicited you come and say 'you are free, Paullus,' almost before the breath is cold upon my lips that swore obedience. This is most singular, and inconsistent.”
”What in the wide world _is_ consistent, Paullus, except virtue? That indeed is immutable, eternal, one, the same on earth as in heaven, present, and past, and forever. But what else, I beseech you, is consistent, or here or anywhere, that you should dream of finding me, a weak wild wanton girl, of firmer stuff than heroes? Are you, even in your own imagination, are you, I say, consistent?”
She spoke eagerly, perhaps wildly; for the very part of self-denial, which she was playing, stirred her mind to its lowest depths; and the great change, which had been going on within for many hours, and was still in powerful progress, excited her fancy, and kindled all her strongest feelings; and, as is not unfrequently the case, all the profound vague thoughts, which had so long lain mute and dormant, found light at once, and eloquent expression.
Paullus gazed at her, in astonishment, almost in awe. Could this be the sensual, pa.s.sionate voluptuary he had known two days since?-the strange, unprincipled, impulsive being, who yielded like the reed, to every gust of pa.s.sion-this deep, clear, vigorous thinker! It was indeed a change to puzzle sager heads than that of Arvina! a transformation, sudden and beautiful as that from the torpid earthy grub, to the swift-winged etherial b.u.t.terfly! He gazed at her, until she smiled in reply to his look of bewilderment; and then he met her smile with a sad heavy sigh, and answered-
”Most inconsistent, I! alas! that I should say it, far worse than inconsistent, most false to truth and virtue, most recreant to honor! Have not I, whose most ardent aspirations were set on glory virtuously won, whose soul, as I fancied, was athirst for knowledge and for truth, have not I bound myself by the most dire and dreadful oaths, to find my good in evil, my truth in a lie, my glory in black infamy?-Have not I, loving another better than my own life, won thee to love, poor Lucia, and won thee by base falsehood to thy ruin?”
”No! no!” she interrupted him, ”this last thing you have not done, Arvina.
Awake! you shall deceive yourself no longer! Of this last wrong you are as innocent as the unspotted snow; and I, I only, own the guilt, as I shall bear the punishment! Hear first, why I release you from your oath; and then, if you care to listen to a sad tale, you shall know by what infamy of others, one, who might else have been both innocent and happy, has been made infamous and foul and vile, and wretched; a thing hateful to herself, and loathsome to the world; a being with but one hope left, to expiate her many crimes by one act of virtue, and then to die! to die young, very young, unwept, unhonored, friendless, and an orphan-aye! from her very birth, more than an orphan!”
”Say on,” replied the young man, ”say on, Lucia; and would to heaven you could convince me that I have not wronged you. Say on, then; first, if you will, why you have released me; but above all, speak of yourself-speak freely, and oh! if I can aid, or protect, or comfort you, believe me I will do it at my life's utmost peril.”