Part 36 (1/2)

He stood before her accusingly, almost, the pa.s.sion of the long fight surging up in him as he felt the weapon drop from his hand.

Fulvia had sat motionless under his appeal; but as he paused she rose with an impulsive gesture. ”Oh, why do you torment me with questions?”

she cried, half-sobbing. ”I venture to counsel a delay, and you arraign me as though I stood at the day of judgment!”

”It IS our day of judgment,” he retorted. ”It is the day on which life confronts us with our own actions, and we must justify them or own ourselves deluded.” He went up to her and caught her hands entreatingly.

”Fulvia,” he said, ”I too have doubted, wavered--and if you will give me one honest reason that is worthy of us both--”

She broke from him to hide her weeping. ”Reasons! reasons!” she stammered. ”What does the heart know of reasons? I ask a favour--the first I ever asked of you--and you answer it by haggling with me for reasons!”

Something in her voice and gesture was like a lightning-flash over a dark landscape. In an instant he saw the pit at his feet.

”Some one has been with you. Those words were not yours,” he cried.

She rallied instantly. ”That is a pretext for not heeding them!” she returned.

The lightning glared again. He stepped close and faced her.

”The d.u.c.h.ess has been here,” he said.

She dropped into a chair and hid her face from him. A wave of anger mounted from his heart, choking back his words and filling his brain with its fumes. But as it subsided he felt himself suddenly cool, firm, attempered. There could be no wavering, no self-questioning now.

”When did this happen?” he asked.

She shook her head despairingly.

”Fulvia,” he said, ”if you will not speak I will speak for you. I can guess what arguments were used--what threats, even. Were there threats?”

burst from him in a fresh leap of anger.

She raised her head slowly. ”Threats would not have mattered,” she said.

”But your fears were played on--your fears for my safety?--Fulvia, answer me!” he insisted.

She rose suddenly and laid her arms about his shoulders, with a gesture half-tender, half-maternal.

”Oh,” she said, ”why will you torture me? I have borne much for our love's sake, and would have borne this too--in silence, like the rest--but to speak of it is to relieve it; and my strength fails me!”

He held her hands fast, keeping his eyes on hers. ”No,” he said, ”for your strength never failed you when there was any call on it; and our whole past calls on it now. Rouse yourself, Fulvia: look life in the face! You were told there might be troubles tomorrow--that I was in danger, perhaps?”

”There was worse--there was worse,” she shuddered.

”Worse?”

”The blame was laid on me--the responsibility. Your love for me, my power over you, were accused. The people hate me--they hate you for loving me! Oh, I have destroyed you!” she cried.

Odo felt a slow cold strength pouring into all his veins. It was as though his enemies, in thinking to mix a mortal poison, had rendered him invulnerable. He bent over her with great gentleness.

”Fulvia, this is madness,” he said. ”A moment's thought must show you what pa.s.sions are here at work. Can you not rise above such fears? No one can judge between us but ourselves.”

”Ah, but you do not know--you will not understand. Your life may be in danger!” she cried.