Part 23 (1/2)
She laughed gayly. ”A la bonne heure! You ARE a lover without knowing it! Your dignity will not allow you to believe that you are actually in love with me, but in spite of yourself you ARE--you know you are!”
I stood before her in almost somber silence. At last I said: ”If YOU say so, contessa, then it must be so. I have had no experience in affairs of the heart, as they are called, and I find it difficult to give a name to the feelings which possess me; I am only conscious of a very strong wish to become the absolute master of your destiny.” And involuntarily I clinched my hand as I spoke. She did not observe the action, but she answered the words with a graceful bend of the head and a smile.
”I could not have a better fortune,” she said, ”for I am sure my destiny will be all brightness and beauty with YOU to control and guide it!”
”It will be what you desire,” I half muttered; then with an abrupt change of manner I said: ”I will wish you goodnight, contessa. It grows late, and my state of health compels me to retire to rest early.”
She rose from her seat and gave me a compa.s.sionate look.
”You are really a great sufferer then?” she inquired tenderly. ”I am sorry! But perhaps careful nursing will quite restore you. I shall be so proud if I can help you to secure better health.”
”Rest and happiness will no doubt do much for me,” I answered, ”still I warn you, cara mia, that in accepting me as your husband you take a broken-down man, one whose whims are legion and whose chronic state of invalidism may in time prove to be a burden on your young life. Are you sure your decision is a wise one?”
”Quite sure!” she replied firmly. ”Do I not LOVE you! And you will not always be ailing--you look so strong.”
”I am strong to a certain extent,” I said, unconsciously straightening myself as I stood. ”I have plenty of muscle as far as that goes, but my nervous system is completely disorganized. I--why, what is the matter?
Are you ill?”
For she had turned deathly pale, and her eyes look startled and terrified. Thinking she would faint, I extended my arms to save her from falling, but she put them aside with an alarmed yet appealing gesture.
”It is nothing,” she murmured feebly, ”a sudden giddiness--I thought--no matter what! Tell me, are you not related to the Romani family? When you drew yourself up just now you were so like--like FABIO! I fancied,” and she shuddered, ”that I saw his ghost!”
I supported her to a chair near the window, which I threw open for air, though the evening was cold.
”You are fatigued and overexcited,” I said calmly, ”your nature is too imaginative. No; I am not related to the Romanis, though possibly I may have some of their mannerisms. Many men are alike in these things. But you must not give way to such fancies. Rest perfectly quiet, you will soon recover.”
And pouring out a gla.s.s of water I handed it to her. She sipped it slowly, leaning back in the fauteuil where I had placed her, and in silence we both looked out on the November night. There was a moon, but she was veiled by driving clouds, which ever and anon swept asunder to show her gleaming pallidly white, like the restless spirit of a deceived and murdered lady. A rising wind moaned dismally among the fading creepers and rustled the heavy branches of a giant cypress that stood on the lawn like a huge spectral mourner draped in black, apparently waiting for a forest funeral. Now and then a few big drops of rain fell-sudden tears wrung as though by force from the black heart of the sky. My wife s.h.i.+vered.
”Shut the window!” she said, glancing back at me where I stood behind her chair. ”I am much better now. I was very silly. I do not know what came over me, but for the moment I felt afraid--horribly afraid!--of YOU!”
”That was not complimentary to your future husband,” I remarked, quietly, as I closed and fastened the window in obedience to her request. ”Should I not insist upon an apology?”
She laughed nervously, and played with her ring of rose-brilliants.
”It is not yet too late,” I resumed, ”if on second thoughts you would rather not marry me, you have only to say so. I shall accept my fate with equanimity, and shall not blame you.”
At this she seemed quite alarmed, and rising, laid her hand pleadingly on my arm.
”Surely you are not offended?” she said. ”I was not really afraid of you, you know--it was a stupid fancy--I cannot explain it. But I am quite well now, and I am only TOO happy. Why, I would not lose your love for all the world--you MUST believe me!”
And she touched my hand caressingly with her lips. I withdrew it gently, and stroked her hair with an almost parental tenderness; then I said quietly:
”If so, we are agreed, and all is well. Let me advise you to take a long night's rest: your nerves are weak and somewhat shaken. You wish me to keep our engagement secret?”
She thought for a moment, then answered musingly:
”For the present perhaps it would be best. Though,” and she laughed, ”it would be delightful to see all the other women jealous and envious of my good fortune! Still, if the news were told to any of our friends--who knows?--it might accidentally reach Guido, and--”
”I understand! You may rely upon my discretion. Good-night, contessa!”
”You may call me Nina,” she murmured, softly.