Part 4 (1/2)
”I must go.”
”No, dearest, you must not.”
She looked round, taking the room in one swift circular glance, her eyes resting one moment on the crucifix.
”This is cruel of you,” he said. ”I dreamed of you madly, and why do you destroy my dream? What shall I do?--where shall I go?--how shall I live if I don't get you?”
”Men do not mind whom they love; even in the convent we knew that.”
”You seem to have known a good deal in that convent; I am not astonished that you left it.”
”What do you mean?” She settled her shawl on her shoulders.
”Merely this; you are in a young man's room alone, and I love you.”
”Love! You profane the word; loose me, I am going.”
”No, you are not going, you must remain.” There was an occasional nature in him, that of the vicious dog, and now it snarled. ”If you did not love me, you should not have come here,” he said interposing, getting between her and the door.
Then she entreated him to let her go. He laughed at her; then suddenly her face flamed with a pa.s.sion he was unprepared for, and her eyes danced with strange lights. Few words were spoken, only a few ejaculatory phrases such as ”How dare you?” ”Let me go!” she said, as she strove to wrench her arms from his grasp. She caught up one of the gla.s.ses; but before she could throw it Mike seized her hand; he could not take it from her, and unconscious of danger (for if the gla.s.s broke both would be cut to the bone), she clenched it with a force that seemed impossible in one so frail. Her rage was like wildfire. Mike grew afraid, and preferring that the gla.s.s should be thrown than it should break in his hand, he loosed his fingers. It smashed against the opposite wall. He hoped that Frank had not heard; that he had left the chambers. He seized the second gla.s.s. When she raised her arm, Mike saw and heard the shattered window falling into the court below. He antic.i.p.ated the porter's steps on the staircase and his knock at the door, and it was with an intense relief and triumph that he saw the bottle strike the curtain and fall harmless.
He would win yet. Lily screamed piercingly.
”No one will hear,” he said, laughing hoa.r.s.ely.
She escaped him and she screamed three times. And now quite like a mad woman, she s.n.a.t.c.hed a light chair and rushed to the window. Her frail frame shook, her thin face was swollen, and she seemed to have lost control over her eyes. If she should die! If she should go mad!
Now really terrified, Mike prayed for forgiveness. She did not answer; she stood clenching her hands, choking.
”Sit down,” he said, ”drink something. You need not be afraid of me now--do as you like, I am your servant. I will ask only one thing of you--forgiveness. If you only knew!”
”Don't speak to me!” she gasped, ”don't!”
”Forgive me, I beseech you; I love you better than all the world.”
”Don't touch me! How dare you? Oh! how dare you?”
Mike watched her quivering. He saw she was sublime in her rage, and torn with desire and regret he continued his pleadings. It was some time before she spoke.
”And it was for this,” she said, ”I left my convent, and it was of him I used to dream! Oh! how bitter is my awakening!”
She grasped one of the thin columns of the bed and her att.i.tude bespoke the revulsion of feeling that was pa.s.sing in her soul; beneath the heavy curtains she stood pale all over, thrown by the shock of too coa.r.s.e a reality. His perception of her innocence was a goad to his appet.i.te, and his despair augmented at losing her. Now, as died the fulgurant rage that had supported her, and her normal strength being exhausted, a sudden weakness intervened, and she couldn't but allow Mike to lead her to a seat.
”I am sorry; words cannot tell you how sorry I am. Why do you tremble so? You are not going to faint, say--drink something.” Hastily he poured out some wine and held it to her lips. ”I never was sorry before; now I know what sorrow is--I am sorry, Lily. I am not ashamed of my tears; look at them, and strive to understand. I never loved till I saw you. Ah! that lily face, when I saw it beneath the white veil, love leaped into my soul. Then I hated religion, and I longed to scale the sky to dispossess Heaven of that which I held the one sacred and desirable thing--you! My soul! I would have given it to burn for ten thousand years for one kiss, one touch of these snow-coloured hands. When I saw, or thought I saw, that you loved me, I was G.o.d. I said on reading your sweet letter, 'My life shall not pa.s.s without kissing at least once the lips of my chimera.'”
Words and images rose in his mind without sensation or effort, and experiencing the giddiness and exultation of the orator, he strove to win her with eloquence. And all his magnetism was in his hands and eyes--deep blue eyes full of fire and light were fixed upon her--hands, soft yet powerful hands held hers, sometimes were clenched on hers, and a voice which seemed his soul rose and fell, striving to sting her with pa.s.sionate sound; but she remained absorbed in, and could not be drawn out of, angry thought.
”Now you are with me,” he said, ”nearly mine; here I see you like a picture that is mine. Around us is mighty London. I saved you from G.o.d, am I to lose you to Man? This was the prospect that faced me, that faces me, that drove me mad. All I did was to attempt to make you mine. I hold you by so little--I could not bear the thought that you might pa.s.s from me. A s.h.i.+p sails away, growing indistinct, and then disappears in the shadows; in London a cab rattles, appears and disappears behind other cabs, turns a corner, and is lost for ever. I failed, but had I succeeded you would have come back to me; I failed, is not that punishment enough? You will go from me; I shall not get you--that is sorrow enough for me; do not refuse me forgiveness. Ah!
if you knew what it is to have sought love pa.s.sionately, the high hopes entertained, and then the depth of every deception, and now the supreme grief of finding love and losing. Seeing love leave me without leaving one flying feather for token, I strove to pluck one--that is my crime. Go, since you must go, but do not go unforgiving, lest perhaps you might regret.”