On our return we traversed the road skirting the fortress, and paused
for a few moments, resting upon a disused gun-carriage. The moon had
reappeared and cast its long line of pale light upon the rippling waters
of the Mediterranean.
Suddenly, as we were seated side by side, her dark eyes met mine, and by
some inexplicable intuition, some mysterious _rapport_ between my soul
and hers, I knew I was something more to her than a mere casual
acquaintance. My reason answered me that I must be mad to think she
loved me, but my heart told me different, and gradually all my
misgivings vanished before the hope and confidence that the conviction
of her love raised in my mind.
"I have just been wondering," I said, "whether, when we part in a few
days, we shall ever meet again, for, believe me, I shall cherish the
fondest memory of this evening we have passed together. It is
charming."
"And I also," she replied, "but as you say in English, the best of
friends must part."
It is useless to repeat the words I uttered. Suffice it to say that I
could restrain my feelings no longer, and there, in the bright Italian
moonlight, I declared my ecstatic passion, and asked her to be my wife.
Had I taken her unawares? Probably so; for, when I had finished, she
rose with an effort, and withdrawing her hand gently, said, "No, Frank--
for I may call you by that name--your request I am unable to grant, and
the reason I cannot now explain. There is, alas! an insurmountable
barrier between us, and had you known more of me you would not have
asked me this."
"But, Vera, you love me, you can't deny it!" I passionately exclaimed.
Tears stood in her eyes, as she answered, "Yes, yes, I do--I love you
dearly!"
"Then what is this obstacle to our happiness?"
"No! no!" she cried, covering her face with her hands. "Request no
explanation, for, I--I cannot give it. It would be fatal."
"But why?" I asked, for it was a cruel and bitter disappointment. All
my hopes had been shattered in those brief moments.
"From the day we first met I have known we loved one another," she said
slowly, "yet it would have been better had we never become acquainted,
since it causes pain to both."
"But, surely, if you love me, Vera, this obstacle can be removed! Tell
me what it is; if a secret, it will be safe with me," I said earnestly.
She dashed the tears from her eyes, and with an effort stood erect
before me, saying:
"No! it is impossible. Think no more of marriage, Frank; regard me only
as a dear friend who loves you."
"Then you will not tell me why we cannot marry?" I said, gravely,
rising and taking her hand.
"It--it is a secret. I would rather die than divulge it; though, some
day, perhaps, the circumstances will alter, and I shall be at liberty to
tell you everything. For the present we love one another, but it must
end there; marriage is entirely out of the question."
I saw it was useless to press for any further explanation. Evidently
she was prepared for any self-sacrifice, to protect her secret, because,
when finding herself wavering, she had summoned all her strength, and
with a mighty effort overcame her emotion, resolutely giving her answer.
As we rose and turned towards the city, a circumstance, slight in
itself, occurred, which afterwards caused me not a little perturbation
and surprise, and which considerably enhanced the mystery surrounding
the fair Russian.
We were passing a buttress of the fort when my attention was arrested by
what appeared to be a man standing bolt upright in the shadow.
I was too engrossed with thoughts of our _tete-a-tete_ to allow the
discovery of an eavesdropper--probably only a peasant--to cause me any
alarm, but, seeing my eyes upon him, for I had halted to make sure, the
figure suddenly drew from the shadow, and, with its face averted from
the moonlight, walked rapidly away.
Vera, uttering an exclamation of surprise or alarm,--which it was I
could not tell--seized my arm with a convulsive energy that caused me no
small pleasure at the feeling of dependence it implied, and drew a deep
breath.
"Do you know him?" I asked.
"No, no; not at all," she quickly replied. "He might have heard us; but
never mind."
I endeavoured to learn the cause of her alarm thinking that so much
agitation could not be created by such a trivial circumstance; but
whether my knowledge of feminine nature was imperfect, or whether she
knew who the listener was, and concealed his identity, I could not
learn, her answers being of the most evasive kind.
It was plain that the fact of our being discovered together had caused
her the greatest consternation, and I was considerably puzzled to assign
to this a reason.
I did not broach the subject again, however, but walked straight to the
hotel, where we bade each other _buona notte_.
We met daily, and I, most prosaic of bachelors, found myself thinking of
her every moment.
Though in a dejected, perplexed mood, I felt utterly happy when at her
side; for had she not given me words of hope for the future, and in
these was a certain amount of consolation, however slight. Our
clandestine meetings were so skilfully arranged as to keep the
ever-grumbling Hertzen in entire ignorance, and Vera admitted such
expeditions were her happiest hours.
One evening, a fortnight afterwards, we had driven to Pegli, a quaint
old fishing village four miles from Genoa. It was a gorgeous sunset,
the sea a glittering expanse of blue and gold stretching out toward the
descending sky, with nothing to fleck its surface but the gleam of a
white sail or two; and as we walked together, close to the lapping
waves, I fancied she looked a trifle wan and anxious.
At first I took no heed of it, but presently her agitation became so
apparent that I asked whether she were well.
"Yes, well enough in health," she sighed, "but very unhappy."
"Why, how is that?" I asked in concern.
"Ah! Frank," she said, with her eyes fixed sorrowfully upon the ground,
"I must not tell you all, so you cannot understand but I am one of those
born to unhappiness."
"Tell me something of this sorrow, that I may sympathise with you," I
said, looking into her eyes. "If it is in my power to help you I will
do so willingly."
"Ah! if you would?" she exclaimed wistfully, her face brightening at a
suggestion which appeared to flash across her mind. "There is indeed
one way by which you might render me a service, but it is impossible. I
am afraid the commission is too great for you to undertake."
"I am ready to serve you in any way, Vera. If a test of my devotion is
required, I'm prepared for the ordeal," I replied seriously.
She halted, and gazing into my face with eyes brimming with tears, said:
"Believe me, I am in sore need of a friend. I will tell you something
of my trouble, but do not ask for further explanations now, as I cannot
give them. The man whom you know as my uncle holds me in his power. He
is harsh, cruel, and--and--"
"_He is your husband_!" I interrupted in a low voice, for somehow I
felt convinced that such was the case.
"No! no!" she cried hoarsely; "no, I swear that is not so. He is
neither husband, nor even friend. Though my uncle, he is unworthy the
name of relation. I am unfortunately in his thrall, and dare not
disobey his will. To do so would mean--"
"What?--tell me."
"Impossible. The longer I live the more I learn to hate his presence.
Ah, if you could but know!"
There was an intensity of bitterness in that utterance, a flash in her
clear dark eyes that spoke of a fierce passion. Could it be hatred?
"Vera; why not trust me?" I implored, taking her hand, and seeking to
penetrate the indomitable reserve in which her words were shrouded.
"Once and for all, Frank, it cannot be."
Her answer came short, sharp, decisive, firm, yet with ineffable
sadness.
"Heaven knows! I would willingly share your burden, Vera."
She paused, as if in doubt.
The silence grew painful, and I watched the mobile features which so
plainly indexed the passing emotions of her mind. A blush, like that of
shame, tinged her cheek and pallid brow as she lifted her face to mine,
although her eyes were downcast.
"Frank," she said, slowly, "will you help me?"
"With heart and soul, dearest."
"Then you _can_ do so." And she drew a deep breath.
"How?"
She hesitated, wavering even then, as it seemed; and the colour left her
cheeks as suddenly as it had appeared.