Sweet is gratitude under any circumstances; how much sweeter when
expressed in the eyes and uttered by the lips of those we love!
I re-entered the room, my heart swelling with delightful emotions.
Gratitude was poured forth in, lavish yet graceful expressions. Before
I could utter a word, or stretch out a hand to hinder, the beautiful
girl had glided across the room, and fallen into a kneeling posture at
my feet! Her thanks came from her heart.
"Rise, lovely Aurore!" said I, taking her unresisting hand, and leading
her to a seat. "What I have done is scarce worth thanks like thine.
Who would have acted otherwise?"
"Ah, Monsieur!--many, many. You know not this land. There are few to
protect the poor slave. The chivalry, so much boasted here, extends not
to _us_. We, in whose veins runs the accursed blood, are beyond the
pale both of honour and protection. Ah me, noble stranger! you know not
for how much I am your debtor!"
"Call me not _stranger_, Aurore. It is true we have had but slight
opportunity of conversing, but our acquaintance is old enough to render
that title no longer applicable. I would you would speak to me by one
more _endearing_."
"Endearing! Monsieur, I do not understand you!"
Her large brown eyes were fixed upon me in a gaze of wonder, but they
also interrogated me.
"Yes, endearing--I mean, Aurore--that you will not shun me--that you
will give me your confidence--that you will regard me as a friend--a--
a--brother."
"You, Monsieur! you as my brother--a white--a gentleman, high-born and
educated! I--I--oh Heavens! what am I? A slave--a slave--whom men love
only to _ruin_. O God!--why is my destiny so hard? O God!"
"Aurore!" I cried, gathering courage from her agony, "Aurore, listen to
me! to me, your friend, your--"
She removed her hands that had been clasped across her face, and looked
up. Her swimming eyes were bent steadfastly upon mine, and regarded me
with a look of interrogation.
At that moment a train of thought crossed my mind. In words it was
thus: "How long may we be alone? We may be interrupted? So fair an
opportunity may not offer again. There is no time to waste in idle
converse. I must at once to the object of my visit."
"Aurore!" I said, "it is the first time we have met alone. I have
longed for this interview. I have a word that can only be spoken to you
alone."
"To me alone, Monsieur! What is it?"
"_Aurore, I love you_!"
"Love _me_! Oh, Monsieur, it is not possible!"
"Ah! more than possible--it is _true_. Listen, Aurore! From the first
hour I beheld you--I might almost say before that hour, for you were in
my heart before I was conscious of having seen you--from, that first
hour I loved you--not with a villain's love, such as you have this
moment spurned, but with a pure and honest passion. And passion I may
well call it, for it absorbs every other feeling of my soul. Morning
and night, Aurore, I think but of you. You are in my dreams, and
equally the companion of my waking hours. Do not fancy my love so calm,
because I am now speaking so calmly about it. Circumstances render me
so. I have approached you with a determined purpose--one long resolved
upon--and that, perhaps, gives me this firmness in declaring my love. I
have said, Aurore, that I love you. I repeat it again--_with my heart
and soul, I love you_!"
"Love _me_! poor girl!"
There was something so ambiguous in the utterance of the last phrase,
that I paused a moment in my reply. It seemed as though the sympathetic
interjection had been meant for some third person rather than herself!
"Aurore," I continued, after a pause, "I have told you all. I have been
candid. I only ask equal candour in return. _Do you love me_?"
I should have put this question less calmly, but that I felt already
half-assured of the answer.
We were seated on the sofa, and near each other. Before I had finished
speaking, I felt her soft fingers touch mine--close upon them, and press
them gently together. When the question was delivered, her head fell
forward on my breast, and I heard murmuring from her lips the simple
words--"_I too from the first hour_!"
My arms, hitherto restrained, were now twined around the yielding form,
and for some moments neither uttered a word. Love's paroxysm is best
enjoyed in silence. The wild intoxicating kiss, the deep mutual glance,
the pressure of hands and arms and burning lips, all these need no
tongue to make them intelligible. For long moments ejaculations of
delight, phrases of tender endearment, were the only words that escaped
us. We were too happy to converse. Our lips paid respect to the
solemnity of our hearts.
It was neither the place nor time for Love to go blind, and prudence
soon recalled me to myself. There was still much to be said, and many
plans to be discussed before our new-sprung happiness should be secured
to us. Both were aware of the abyss that still yawned between us. Both
were aware that a thorny path must be trodden before we could reach the
elysium of our hopes. Notwithstanding our present bliss, the future was
dark and dangerous; and the thought of this soon startled us from our
short sweet dream.
Aurora had no longer any _fear_ of my love. She did not even wrong me
with suspicion. She doubted not my purpose to make her my _wife_. Love
and gratitude stifled every doubt, and we now conversed with a mutual
confidence which years of friendship could scarce have established.
But we talked with hurried words. We knew not the moment we might be
interrupted. We knew not when again we might meet alone. We had need
to be brief.
I explained to her my circumstances--that in a few days I expected a sum
of money--enough, I believed, for the purpose. What purpose? _The
purchase of my bride_!
"Then," added I, "nothing remains but to get married, Aurore!"
"Alas!" replied she with a sigh, "even were I free, we could not be
married _here_. Is it not a wicked law that persecutes us even when
pretending to give us freedom?"