Part 31 (2/2)
He no more expected, or wished, to avoid a duel than Marcantonio himself. The one virtue which never deserted him was his courage. He would let his adversary have a shot at him if he liked, but he himself would fire in the air, of course. He did not think much about it, to tell the truth, for he accepted the fact as the consequence of his action, and occupied himself in providing for it without any judgment of himself, for good or evil. He had once said to Leonora that the enjoyment belonged to the man who ate, and not to the man who carved, and she had guessed rightly that however well he might a.n.a.lyse the lives of others, he never a.n.a.lysed his own. He had got the forbidden fruit and he was glad of it, and meant to keep it all for himself, inwardly rejoicing at the anger of those who would have prevented him, if they could. And with all this, the fruit gave him an intense delight, independently of the triumph of having obtained it. He was not a man who tired of anything he liked so long as the thing itself did not change and remained as sweet as ever.
There he sat at the helm all through the hours from midnight to dawn, and Leonora slept peacefully in the cool sea air, at rest after all her excitement and fatigue. Gradually the moonlight seemed to lose distinctness, while gaining more strength and permeating the shadows of the boat which had before been dark and well defined. The breeze blew cooler and fresher than ever, bearing a faint chill in its breath, and the water, from being like black velvet strewn with diamonds, turned gradually grey and misty, so that the waves could all be seen with their small crests and sharp rough edges. In front the rocky height of Ischia seemed to tower to the sky, and soon it caught the first soft tinge of the dawn. Quickly the rosy light crept downwards, falling gently from tree to tree and from rock to rock, till it reached the water, and the sea rippled and laughed in the sweetness of the summer morning.
Leonora moved in her sleep, and Julius, who was watching her, saw her lips tremble a little as though she were talking in her dreams. Then she started slightly, put out her hand, and opened her eyes. The blood mounted to her cheeks as she met her lover's glance, and he looked from the colour on the water to the colour on her face, and he saw that the blush of the woman was fairer than the blush of the summer sea. She sat up and turned from him a moment, and her hands were busy with her hair.
”Have you slept well, my dear one?” asked Julius. ”I am afraid you were terribly uncomfortable.”
”Oh, so well,” said she, still looking away and deftly putting a hairpin in its place. ”But I dreamed just as I woke up.”
”What did you dream, sweetheart?” asked Julius, stretching his stiffened limbs. He had scarcely moved for four hours; he could have borne it for four hours longer if he had not wanted anything,--but he had risked waking her in order to get a cigarette.
”I dreamed about you,” said she. ”You behaved so badly, I am not sure I shall forgive you,--ever.” She gave him a hesitating look as she bent her head to arrange her hair.
”Tell me, darling,” said he, laughing.
”It is nothing to laugh at,” she answered. ”And besides,--I don't know whether I ought to tell you.” She stopped and watched him with a little shy laugh.
”Please do.”
”Well,--of course this is in the strictest confidence,--you will never tell any one. Do give me the bag, dear. I want the cologne water.”
”And the hairpins and the handkerchiefs,” added Julius, laughing, as he stooped to get the bag out of the stern-sheets. ”Please tell me the dream.”
Leonora took a handkerchief and wet it from the bottle of cologne water.
Then she began to dab it on her face.
”I dreamed that you”--dab--”picked me up in your arms and”--dab, dab--”carried me down the stairs,”--dab, dab, dab,--”and just as you were putting me into the”--dab--”into the boat, you dropped me into the sea.” A furious succession of dabs, then more cologne water and another handkerchief.
”But you said something about that last night. You made me put you down on the rocks, because you said you had dreamed I dropped you. Was that another dream?”
Julius was watching her operations with a half-amused interest.
”Yes,” said she, drying her face, ”I dreamed it all over again, just now.”
”But when did you dream it first, dear? Yesterday?”
”Oh no! Ever so long ago,--ages ago.” She looked down at the flower she had put in her dress at the last minute. It was still fresh, and she arranged it a little.
”Before you knew me?” asked Julius.
”Oh yes,--that is--before”--she blushed again.
”When was it?” he asked, amused and delighted.
”It was before that evening,” she said at last, ”when you met me in the church. How long ago is that?”
”About ten years, I should think,” said Julius gravely. It seemed an endless time.
”Is it not strange?--and then, that I should dream it all again--it is so funny. Why should you have dropped me? It would have been so easy to carry me into the boat, and yet you seemed to stumble on purpose, and we both fell in and were drowned. Is it not very odd?”
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