For an instant only. When from Ænone's troubled gaze, the half-blinding
film which the agitation of her apprehensive mind had gathered there,
passed away, she no longer saw before her a proudly erect figure,
flashing out from dark, wild eyes its defiant mastery, but a form again
bent low in timorous supplication, and features once more overspread
with a mingled imprint of sorrowful resignation, trusting devotion, and
pleading humility.
That gleam of malicious triumph which had so brightened up the face of
the slave, had come and gone like the lightning flash, and, for the
moment, Ænone was almost inclined to believe that it was some
bewildering waking dream. But her instinct told her that it was no mere
imagination or fancy which could thus, at one instant, fill the heart
with dread and change her bright anticipations of coming joy into a
dull, aching foreboding of misery. It was rather her inner nature
warning her not to be too easily ensnared, but to wait for coming evil
with unfaltering watchfulness, and, for the purpose of baffling enmity,
to perform the hardest task that can be imposed upon a guileless
nature--that of repressing all outward sign of distrust, hiding the
torture of the heart within, and meeting smile with smile.
But day after day passed on, and even to her watchful and strained
attention there appeared no further sign of anything that could excite
alarm. From morning until night there rested upon the face of the young
Greek slave no expression other than that of tender, faithful, and
pleased obedience. At the morning toilet, at the forenoon task of
embroidery, or at the afternoon promenade, there was ever the same
serene gaze of earnest devotion, and the same delighted alacrity to
anticipate the slightest wish. Until at last Ænone began again to think
that perhaps her perception of that one fleeting look might, after all,
be but a flickering dream. And when, at times, she sat and heard the
young girl speak, not with apparent method, but rather as one who is
unwittingly drawn into discursive prattle, about her cottage home in
Samos, and the lowly lover from whom the invading armies had torn her,
and watched the moistened eye and the trembling lip with which these
memories were dwelt upon, an inward pity and sympathy tempted her to
forget her own distrust; until one day she was impelled to act as she
had once desired, and began to pour out her whole heart to the young
slave as to a friend. The words seemed of themselves to flow to her
lips, as, bidding the girl be comforted, she told, in one short
sentence, how she too had once lived in a tranquil cottage home, away
from the bustle and fever of that imperial Rome, and had had her lover
of low degree, and that both were still innocently dear to her.
All the while that the story had been welling forth from her lips, that
inner instinct which so seldom deceives, told her that she was doing
wrong; and when she had ended, she would have given worlds not to have
spoken. But the words were beyond recall, and she could only gaze
stealthily at the listener, and, with a dull feeling of apprehension
nestling at the bottom of her heart, endeavor to mark their effect, and
to imagine the possible consequences of her indiscretion. But Leta sat
bending over her embroidery, and apparently still thinking, with tearful
eye, upon her own exile from home. Perhaps she had not even heard all
that had been said to her; though, if the words had really caught her
ear, where, after all, could be the harm? It was no secret in Rome that
Sergius Vanno had brought his spouse from a lowly home; and it was
surely no crime, that, during those years of poverty which Ænone had
passed through before being called to fill her present station, she had
once suffered her girlish fancy to rest for a little while upon one of
her own class. And fortunately she had not gone further in her story,
but at that point had left it to rest; making no mention of how that
long-forgotten lover had so lately reappeared and confronted her.
Still there remained in her heart the irrepressible instinct that it
would have been better if she had not spoken. And now, as she silently
pondered upon her imprudence, it seemed as though her anxiety had
suddenly endowed her brain with new and keener faculties of perception,
so many startling ideas began to crowd in upon her. More particularly,
full shape and tone seemed for the first time given to one terrible
suspicion, which she had hitherto known only in a misty, intangible, and
seldom recurring form--the suspicion that, if the passive girl before
her were really an enemy, it was not owing to any mere ordinary impulse
of fear, or envy, or inexplicable womanish dislike, but rather to secret
rivalry.
That, within the past few days, Sergius had more and more exhibited
toward her an indifference, which even his studied attempts to conduct
himself with an appearance of his former interest and affection did not
fully hide, Ænone could not but feel. That within her breast lurked the
terrible thought that perhaps the time had forever passed for her to
come to him as to a loving friend, and there fearlessly pour out her
tribulations, her secret tears confessed. But throughout all this
change, though it became each day more strongly marked, she had tried to
cheat herself into the belief that the romantic warmth of a first
attachment could not in any case be expected to last for many
years--that in meeting indifference she was merely experiencing a common
lot--that beneath his coolness there still lurked the old affection, as
the lava will flow beneath the hardened crust--and that, if she were
indeed losing the appearance of his love, it was merely because the
claims of the court, the exigencies of the social world, or the demands
of ambition had too much usurped his attention.
But now a thousand hitherto unregarded circumstances began to creep into
her mind as so many evidences that his affection seemed passing from
her; not simply because the claims of duty or ambition were stifling in
his heart all power to love, but because he had become secretly attached
elsewhere. The interested gaze with which he followed the motions of the
Greek girl--the solicitude which he seemed to feel that in all things
she should be treated, not only tenderly, but more luxuriously than ever
fell to the lot of even the highest class of slaves--his newly acquired
habit of strolling into the room and throwing himself down where he
could lazily watch her--all these, and other circumstances, though
individually trivial, could not fail, when united, to give cogency to
the one terrible conviction of secret wrong. Whether Leta herself had
any perception of all this, who could yet tell? It might be that she was
clothed in innocent unconsciousness of her master's admiration, or that,
by the force of native purity, she had resisted his advances. And, on
the other hand, it might be that not merely now, but long before she had
been brought into the house, there had been a secret understanding
between the two; and that, with undeviating and unrelenting cunning, she
was still ever drawing him still closer within the folds of her
fascinations. Looking upon her, and noting the humble and almost
timorous air with which she moved about, as though seeking kindness and
protection, and the eloquence of mute appeal for sympathy which lay half
hidden in her dark eyes beneath the scarcely raised lids, and rested in
her trembling lips, who could doubt her? But marking the haughtiness of
pride with which at times she drew up her slight figure to its utmost
height, the ray of scorn and malice which flashed from those eyes, and
the lines of firm, unpitying determination which gathered about the
compressed corners of those lips, who could help fearing and distrusting
her?
Time or chance alone could resolve the question, and meanwhile, what
course could Ænone take? Not that of sending the object of her suspicion
to another place; for even if she had the power to do so, she might not
be able to accomplish it without such open disturbance that the whole
social world of Rome would learn the degrading fact that she had been
jealous of her own slave. Not--as she was sometimes almost tempted--that
of forgetting her pride, and humbling herself before her enemy, to beg
that she would not rob her of all that affection which had once been
lavished upon herself; for, if the Greek girl were innocent, useless and
feeble pity would be the only result, while, if she were guilty, it
would but lead to further secret wiles and malicious triumph. Nor that
of accusing her husband of his fault; for such a course, alas! could
never restore lost love. There could, indeed, be but one proper way to
act. She must possess her soul in patience and prudent dissimulation;
and, while affecting ignorance of what she saw and heard, must strive by
kindness and attention to win back some, if not all, of the true
affection of former days.
Thus sorrowfully reflecting, she left the room, not upon any especial
intent, but simply to avoid the presence of the Greek, who, she could
not help feeling, was all the while, beneath the disguise of that demure
expression, closely watching her. Passing into another apartment, she
saw that Sergius had there sauntered in, and had thrown himself down
upon a lounge at the open window, where, with one hand resting behind
his head, he lay half soothed into slumber by the gentle murmur of the
courtyard fountain. Stealing up gently behind him, with a strange
mingling of affectionate desire to gain his attention, and a morbid
dread of bringing rebuke upon herself by awakening him, Ænone stooped
down and lightly touched his forehead with her lips.
'Ah, Leta!' he exclaimed, starting up as he felt the warm pressure.
Then, perceiving his mistake, he lowered his eyes with some confusion,
and perhaps a slight feeling of disappointment, and tried to force a
careless laugh; which died away, however, as he saw how Ænone stood pale
and trembling at receiving a greeting so confirmatory of all her
apprehensions.
'It is not Leta--it is only I,' she murmured at length, in a tone of
plaintive sadness, which for the moment touched his heart. 'I am sorry
that I awakened you. But I will go away again.'
'Nay, remain,' he exclaimed, restraining her by the folds of her dress,
and, with a slight effort, seating her beside him upon the lounge. 'You
are not--you must not feel offended at such a poor jest as that?'
'Is it all a jest?' she inquired. 'Can you say that the greeting you
gave me did not spring inadvertently from the real preoccupation of your
mind?'
'Of the mind? Preoccupation?' said Sergius. 'By the gods! but it is a
difficult question to answer. I might possibly, in some dreamy state,
have been thinking carelessly of that Greek girl whom you have so
constantly about you. Even you cannot but acknowledge that she has her
traits of beauty; and if so, it is hard for a man not to admire them.'
'For mere admiration of her, I care but little,' she responded. 'But I
would not that she should learn to observe it. And what could I do, if
she, perceiving it, were to succeed in drawing your love from me? What
then would there be for me to do, except to die?'
'To die? This is but foolish talk, Ænone,' he said; and he fastened an
inquiring gaze upon her, as though wishing to search into her soul, and
find out how much of his actions she already knew. Evidently some
fleeting expression upon her countenance deceived him into believing
that she had heard or seen more than he had previously supposed, for,
with another faint attempt at a careless laugh, he continued:
'And if, at the most, there has been some senseless trifling between the
girl and myself--a pressure of the hand, or a pat upon the cheek, when
meeting by any chance in hall or garden--would you find such fault with
this as to call it a withdrawal of my love from you? To what, indeed,
could such poor, foolish pastime of the moment amount, that it should
bring rebuke upon me?'
To nothing, indeed, if judged by itself alone, for that was not the age
of the world when every trivial departure from correctness of conduct
was looked upon as a crime; and had this been all, and the real
affection of his heart had remained with her, Ænone would have taken
comfort. But now she knew for certain that, in uncomplainingly enduring
any familiarities, Leta could not, at all times, have maintained her
customary mien of timorous retirement, and must, therefore, to some
extent, have shown herself capable of acting a deceitful part; and that
even though the deceit may have stopped short of further transgression,
it was none the less certain that in future no further trust could be
reposed in her. Gone forever was that frail hope to which, against all
warnings of instinct, Ænone had persisted in clinging--the hope that in
the Greek girl she might succeed in finding a true and honest friend.
Seeing that she remained absorbed and speechless, Sergius believed that
she was merely jealously pondering upon these trivial transgressions,
and endeavored, by kind and loving expressions, to remove the evil
effects of his unguarded admission. Gathering her closer in his arms, he
strove once more, by exerting those fascinations which had hitherto so
often prevailed, to calm her disturbed fancies, and bring back again her
confidence in him. But now he spoke almost in vain. Conscious, as Ænone
could not fail to be, of the apparent love and tenderness with which he
bent his eyes upon her, and of the liquid melody of his impassioned
intonations, and half inclined, as she felt, at each instant to yield to
the impulse which tempted her to throw her arms about his neck and
promise from henceforth to believe unfalteringly all that he might say,
whatever opposing evidences might stand before her, there was all the
while the restraining feeling that this show of affection was but a
pretence wherewith to quiet her inconvenient reproaches--that at heart
he was playing with deceit--that the husband was colluding with the
slave to blind her eyes--and that the love and friendship of both lord
and menial had forever failed her.
'But hold to your own suspicions, if you will,' he said, at length, with
testy accent, as he saw how little all his efforts had moved her. 'I
have spoken in my defence all that I need to speak, even if excuse were
necessary; and it is an ill reward to receive only cold and forbidding
responses in return.'
'Answer me this,' she exclaimed, suddenly rousing into action, and
looking him earnestly in the face; 'and as you now answer, I will
promise to believe you, for I know that, whatever you may have done, you
will not, if appealed to upon your honor, tell me that which is not
true. About the trivial actions which you have mentioned I care little;
but is there in your heart any real affection for that girl? If you say
that there is not, I will never more distrust you, but will go out from
here with a soul overflowing with peace and joy as when first you came
to take me to your side. But if, on the contrary, you say that you love
her, I will--'
'Will do what?' he exclaimed, seeing that she hesitated, and almost
hoping that she would utter some impatient threat which in turn would
give him an excuse for anger.
'Will pass out from this room, sad and broken hearted, indeed--but not
complaining of or chiding you; and will only pray to the gods that they
may, in their own time, make all things once more go aright, and so
restore your heart to me.'
Sergius hesitated. Never before had he been so tempted to utter an
untruth. If he now did so, he knew that he would be believed, and that
not only would she be made once more happy, but he would be left
unwatched and unsuspected to carry on his own devices. But, on the other
hand, he had been appealed to upon his honor, and, whatever his other
faults, he had too much nobility of soul to lie. And so, not daring to
confess the truth, he chose the middle path of refusing any direct
response at all.
'Now is not this a singular thing,' he exclaimed, 'that no man can ever
let his eyes rest upon a pretty face without being accused of love for
it? While, if a woman does the same, no tongue can describe the clamor
with which she repels the insinuation of aught but friendly interest.
Can you look me in the eye and tell me that mine is the only voice you
ever listened to with love?'
'Can you dare hint to me that I have ever been unfaithful to you, even
in thought or word?' cried Ænone, stung with sudden anger by the
imputation, and rendered desperate by her acute perception of the
evasiveness of his answer. 'Do you not know that during the months which
you so lately passed far away from me, there was not one person admitted
here into society with me who would not have had your firm approval--and
that I kept your image so lovingly before my eyes, and your memory so
constant in my heart, as to become almost a reproach and a sarcasm to
half who knew me?'
'But before that--before I came to you--can you say that no other eyes
had ever looked lovingly into yours, and there met kindred response?'
'Have you the right to inquire into what may have happened before you
met me? What young girl is there who, some time or other, has not
modestly let her thoughts dwell upon innocent love? Is there wrong in
this? Should there have been a spirit of prescience in my mind to
forewarn me that I must keep my heart free and in vacant loneliness,
because that, after many years, you were to come and lift me from my
obscurity?'
'Then, upon your own showing, you acknowledge that there was once
another upon whom your eyes loved to look?' he cried, half gladdened
that he had found even this poor excuse to transfer the charge of blame
from himself. 'And how can I tell but that you have met with him since?'
'I have met him since,' she quietly answered, driven to desperation by
the cruel insinuation.
In his heart attaching but little importance to such childish affections
as she might once have cherished, and having had no other purpose in his
suggestion than that of shielding himself from further inquiry by
inflicting some trifling wound upon her, Sergius had spoken
hesitatingly, and with a shamefaced consciousness of meanness and
self-contempt. But when he listened to her frank admission--fraught, as
it seemed to him, with more meaning than the mere naked words would, of
themselves, imply, an angry flush of new-born jealousy overspread his
features.
'Ha! You have met him since?' he exclaimed. 'And when, and where? And
who, then, is this fortunate one?'
Ænone hesitated. Now, still more bitterly than ever before, she felt the
sad consciousness of being unable to pour out to her husband her more
secret thoughts and feelings. If she could have told, with perfect
assurance of being believed, that in so lately meeting the man whom she
had once imagined she loved, she had looked upon him with no other
feeling than the dread of recognition, joined to a friendly and sisterly
desire to procure his release from captivity and his restoration to his
own home, she would have done so. But she felt too well that the
once-aroused jealousy of her lord might now prevent him from reposing
full and generous trust and confidence in her--that he would be far more
likely to interpret all her most innocent actions wrongly, and to
surround her with degrading espionage--and that, in the end, the
innocent captive would probably be subjected to the bitterest
persecutions which spite and hatred could invent.
'I have met him,' she said at length, 'but only by chance, and without
being recognized or spoken to by him. Nor do I know whether I shall ever
chance to meet him again. Is this a crime? Oh, my lord, what have I done
that you should thus strive to set your face against me? Do you not, in
your secret soul, know and believe that there is no other smile than
yours for which I live, and that, without the love with which you once
gladdened me, there can be no rest or peace for me on earth? Tell me,
then, that all this is but a cruel pleasantry to prove my heart, and
that there has nothing come between us--or else let me know the worst,
in order that I may die.'
Sliding down, until her knees touched the floor, and then winding one
arm slowly about his neck, she hid her face in his breast, and, bursting
into tears, sobbed aloud. It was not merely the reactionary breaking
down of a nervous system strung to the highest point of undue
excitement. It was the half consciousness of a terrible fear lest the
day might come in which, goaded by injustice and neglect, she might
learn no longer to love the man before her--the wail of a stricken soul
pleading that the one to whom her heart had bound her might not fail in
his duty to her, but, by a resumption of his former kindness and
affection, might retain her steadfastly in the path of love.
Touched by the spectacle of her strong agony--aroused for the moment to
the true realization of all the bitterness and baseness of his
unkindness toward her--moved, perhaps, by memories of that time when
between them there was pleasant and endearing confidence, and when it
was not she who was obliged to plead for love--Sergius drew his arm more
closely about her, and, bending over, pressed his lips upon her
forehead. If at that moment the opportunity had not failed, who can tell
what open and generous confessions might not have been uttered,
unrestrained forgiveness sealed, and future miseries prevented? But at
the very moment when the words seemed trembling upon his lips, the door
softly opened, and Leta entered.