Four Phases of Love Part 16

"Trust!" he said. The hope that spoke so sweetly to her, came to his a.s.sistance. She forced herself gently from him, and followed him into the house. As soon as she reached his chamber, still in darkness, she seated herself on a stool close by the door, her bundle, which she had carried with her, resting on her lap. He struck a light, and spoke not again, but turned over his papers mechanically, purposeless. His forehead glowed when he thought of Bianchi's deed. The exquisite consciousness of his utter devotion, which the past hour had taught him, supported him, when the feeling that Mary was lost to him for ever would have crushed him.

Whilst he was thus dreaming about the future and nerving himself to bear his fate, he heard a light breathing from the door. He looked up and saw that Caterina had wept herself into a heavy sleep. Gently he stepped to her side--her head had sunk upon her shoulder, her arms hung down, her breast heaved with sorrow-laden dreams. He raised her gently and cautiously, and bore her in his arms to a sofa which stood near the wall. As he laid her down his face approached her cheek, he felt the warm breath from her lips, the scent from her hair swept around him, the beauty of her limbs rested blooming before him; but all ill pa.s.sion had gone from him--he raised himself, spread out his cloak over the sleeping girl, and went to his room. Not until the lesser stars were dwindling into darkness did he s.n.a.t.c.h a short and restless sleep; but no thought of Caterina disturbed it.

CHAPTER VIII.

In the bright morning he entered Bianchi's workshop. He started as the haggard, pallid face of his friend looked up to him from the work-table. His hair seemed to have grown suddenly greyer, his eyes darker; and yet a kindly expression played about the compressed lips when he recognised Theodore.

"You have pa.s.sed a bad night." said Theodore, "and I am the cause of it."

"I lay awake." said Bianchi, calmly; "but why do you trouble yourself about the fancies that now and then drive my rest from me? Let us talk about better things--talk, read, and, above all, stay if you can. Let it be so--it gives me a strange pleasure to-day to hear your voice."

"Bianchi, it is useless to hide yourself under a cloak of words when your whole heart lies open before me--I know all!"

"You know all!--then keep secret what you know," said Bianchi, vehemently; "keep it secret--never speak a word to me about it. It lies behind me, far behind me! Ay!" he continued, "think of it as you will, only let all be as it was--promise me that."

Theodore stood deeply pained; he remembered that he, too, in a few days would look upon all here as if it lay far, far behind him; but he could not confess that to him, for fear of being unable to perform what he had now to do.

"I must speak, nevertheless," he said, at last. "Had I kept silent yesterday, when I s.h.i.+vered your happiness with my foolish words, I should have spared you much; then you had not cast away the pearl, to which I, poor fool! in a presumptuous, self-forgetting moment, stretched out my hand."

Bianchi was silent--a hot flush pa.s.sed over him, he tried to speak. "If I brought her back to you, and said, 'there you have her again; I do not envy you, for my heart hangs on another jewel, and it requires no sacrifice to bind us to each other,'--would you believe me, Carlo?"

He saw the s.h.i.+fting of overwhelming emotions flit across the face of his friend. The artist supported himself against the table, his head pressed against his breast which laboured violently; his lips moved themselves, soundless. Theodore went to the door, and called "Caterina!" She had stood without, death and life before her; as she stepped slowly and with hesitating foot over the threshold, she saw Carlo standing by the table with arms outstretched towards her. His knees shook under him--with a cry of joy she cast herself upon his neck.

The door had remained open--Theodore had his back turned towards it, lost in reverie over the relief of Edward, which stood sideways on its scaffolding. He heard a light rustling behind him, and turned round. At the same moment Caterina freed herself from Bianchi's arms, and started. They saw three stranger forms standing hesitating in the open doorway--an elderly pair and a fair young girl. Theodore remembered her.

"We disturb you," said the old gentleman; "pray pardon us; but the door was wide open--we will come again at a more convenient time, Signor Bianchi."

"Enter," said Bianchi; "you do not disturb me. Those whom you see here are a friend and--my wife--Signora Bianchi." He laid an emphasis on the last words, and glanced at Caterina, who looked up to him in a transport of happiness. Meanwhile, Theodore had retreated from before the monument. The father greeted him with his old heartiness, and then turned towards the relief. He exchanged no greeting with the women. The old lady had, at Bianchi's first word, advanced towards the artist's work, and stood speechless before it. Mary's glance rested but for a short time on the statue of her brother, and then flew to Caterina. She remembered her well. Whilst her parents stood leaning upon each other, deeply affected, before the relief, unable to tear themselves away from it, she approached Theodore; she spoke gently to him, she took his hand, her eyes overflowed. They interchanged vows, confessions, self-accusations--each antic.i.p.ating the other, each outbidding the other in a.s.surances of boundless love.

No one overheard them; for even Bianchi, though he spoke not, forgot all in the eyes of his wife.

At last Mary's father went to him and pressed his hand--his eyes were moistened--the mother wept silently in her handkerchief. "You know enough," said the old man; "it is needless for us to speak only one thing--when do you begin its execution in marble! I have altered my plan; I only wish a stone to be placed over my son's grave, bearing a simple inscription. This relief I must place in the room where he lived, on the place where stood his couch; we cannot consecrate the spot better. But the time will seem very long to me till it is our own.

You will be the best judge of the marble. Do not delay for an hour!"

Meanwhile the mother had recovered her composure. She turned and gave Theodore her hand, drew him towards her and kissed him on the lips, which she had done but once before, on the day when she betrothed her child to him--then they all left the studio. The sky was clear and serene, and brightly shone the sun over the banks of the Tiber.

THE END.