Part 24 (2/2)
As she saw this, she smiled contemptuously, and her injured maiden honor overcame her love and tenderness. ”Ah! now I understand!” said she, with cutting scorn. ”I have been told of the hunt after human beings which is carried on in the town. Colonel Feodor von Brenda plays a worthy part in this game!”
Feodor wished to approach her and take her hand, but she repulsed him sternly. ”Do not touch me,” cried she, haughtily; ”do not seek to take my hand. You are no longer he whom I love. You are a kidnapper. But let me tell you, though you have compelled my body to suffer this dishonorable deed, yet my soul remains free, and that despises you!”
It was a splendid sight to see her in her n.o.ble wrath, which seemed to elevate her whole frame, and drive a deep glow to her cheeks.
Feodor looked at her with ardent gaze. Never had he seen her so fascinating, so charmingly beautiful. Even her wrath delighted him, for it was a token of her purity and innocence.
He wanted again to draw near to her, to take her to his heart, but she drew back in pride and anger. ”Go,” said she, ”I have nothing to do with a man who violates the most sacred laws of human honor, and like a vile thief sneaks in to destroy innocence.” Her voice failed her, her eyes filled with tears, but she shook them from her. ”I weep,”
said she, ”but not for grief, nor yet for love; anger it is alone which extorts tears from me, and they are bitter--far more bitter than death.” And as she thus spoke, she pressed her hands to her face, and wept bitterly.
Feodor pa.s.sed his arm gently around her trembling form. In the excess of her grief she did not feel it. ”No, Elise,” said he, ”you weep because you love me. You weep because you think me unworthy of your love. But before you condemn me, listen to me. I swear to you by the memory of my mother, the only woman in whom, besides yourself, I ever believed, that I had no part in this treachery which has been committed toward you. You must believe me, Elise! Look at me, beloved one--I can bear your looks. I dare raise my eyes to you. I am not guilty of this crime.”
Her hands glided slowly from her face, and she looked at him. Their looks met, and rested for a long time on each other. She read in his eyes that he was innocent, for love is confiding, and she loved him.
With a charming smile she extended both hands toward him, and he read in her looks the words of love and tenderness which her timid lips did not dare give expression to.
Feodor drew her warmly to his heart. ”You believe me,” cried he, pa.s.sionately; and as he raised her with irresistible strength in his arms, he murmured low, ”Now let us enjoy the sacred hour of happiness without inquiring what divinity we have to thank for it.”
But the instinct of modesty prevailed over love. ”No,” cried she, as she struggled out of his arms, trembling with excitement--”no, Feodor, it is no hour of happiness in which my honor and good name are to be buried--no hour of happiness when scandal can tell from mouth to mouth how a German maiden let herself be carried into the Russian camp, and shamelessly rushed into the arms of dishonor; for so will they tell it, Feodor. No one will believe that you had no hand in this outrage.
The world never believes in innocence. Whoever is accused is already condemned, even if the judge's sentence should a thousand times p.r.o.nounce him innocent, No, they will point at me with the finger of scorn, and with an exultant laugh will say to each other, 'Behold the barefaced woman who deserted to the Russians, and revelled with her lover, while her native town was groaning amidst blood and tears. Look at the rich man's child, who is so poor in honor!'”
Deeply moved by her own words, she drew herself up still more in the power of her dignity and innocence, and gazed at Feodor with flas.h.i.+ng eyes. ”Count Feodor von Brenda,” cried she, firmly, ”will you allow your bride to be suspected and defamed? that a stain should be allowed to rest upon the name of her who is to become your wife?”
In her proud excitement she did not perceive the rapid motion of his lips, nor the blush of shame which suffused his cheeks; she remarked not that he cast down his eyes and spoke to her with broken and trembling voice.
”Elise,” said he, ”you are beside yourself. Your excited fancy paints every thing to you in sombre colors. Who will dare to defame you? Who knows that you are here?”
”But the whole world will know it. Scandal has a thousand tongues to spread evil reports. Feodor, let me go. You say that no one knows that I am here; then no one will know that I go. Be merciful with me, let me go!”
”No,” cried he, almost rudely. ”I will not let you. You ask what is impossible. I were a fool if I were thus madly to cast the happiness away which I would fain purchase with my heart's blood. Twice have I risked my life to see you, to be able to kneel for one happy, undisturbed hour at your feet, and gaze on you, and intoxicate myself with that gaze. And now you ask that I shall voluntarily give up my happiness and you!”
”My happiness! my happiness! yes, even my life I ask you to preserve by letting me go hence, and return to my father's house,” cried Elise, eagerly.
As she perceived that he shook his head in refusal, and met his wild, pa.s.sionate looks, reading in them that she might expect no mercy from him, her anger flashed forth. Imploringly she raised her arms to heaven, and her voice sounded full and powerful: ”Feodor, I swear to you by G.o.d in heaven, and the memory of my mother, that I will only become the wife of that man whom I follow of my free will out of the house of my father. I am capable of leaving my father's house; but it must be my own free choice, my free determination.”
”No,” said Feodor, wildly; ”I will not let you go. You are mine, and you shall remain.”
Elise drew nearer to him with bashful tenderness. ”You must let me go now, in order one of these days to demand your pure wife from out her father's house,” said she. There was something so touching, so confiding in her manner that Feodor, against his will, felt himself overcome by it; but even while submitting to this fascination he was almost ashamed of himself, and deep sadness filled his soul.
Silently they stood opposite to each other, Elise looking at him with tenderness, yet with fear--he his head bowed, wrestling with his own heart. Suddenly this silence was interrupted by a loud and violent knocking at the door. The voices of his wild companions and mad comrades were calling out loudly Feodor's name, and demanding, with vehement impetuosity, the opening of the closed door. Feodor turned pale. The thought that his Elise, this young, innocent, and modest girl, should be exposed to the insolent gaze of his riotous companions, irritated him.
Casting his angry glances around the room to seek for a hiding-place in which to conceal Elise, he perceived that this was in vain, that no escape was possible. Sadly he sank his head upon his breast, and sighed. Elise understood him; she comprehended her disconsolate and Desperate position.
”There is then no place where I can hide myself?” said she in despair.
”Shame awaits me. The whole world will know that I am here!”
<script>