He walked beside her through two or three streets, holding her hand in
his. But neither looked at the other, nor did a word pass between them,
till suddenly he released her hand, and asked, "Whither shall I take
you, Caterina?"
"I know not," she answered.
"To the Via Margatta?"
"No!" and she shrank together: "the old woman would find me there--or
he."
"Who?"
"I may not name him--least of all to you--he has forbidden me."
"Then it is Bianchi." said Theodore, in a hollow voice. She did not
deny it.
As they passed along, the misgiving which had arisen in his breast
became stronger. The strange silence of the artist, while he described
to him the scene at the Circus, and his meeting with the girl, were now
explained and obvious for the first time. "Had we but confided to each
other what was nearest to our hearts!" he sighed of himself and his
friend. He knew not all as yet.
When they reached the house where Theodore lodged, he produced a key,
and opened the door. Caterina stepped back. "I do not enter with you,"
she said. "No! rather would I sleep on the steps of Santo Maria
Maggiore, than there within"--
"Child," he said, "I am no longer now what I might have seemed but a
few hours ago! Thou art as safe with me as with a brother."
She looked at him in the darkness, as keenly as she could, and it
seemed as if some strange light struck her. "I know," she said,
remaining still some steps from the door; "he has arranged it all with
you. He came and tried to persuade me that he had sold me to you, or
given me to you. I was to love you as I had loved him. '_I cannot_,' I
told him, and I swore it in my soul, and he saw clearly enough that it
was true. Then he wished to entrap me, and brought me down to the boat,
and ran to tell you that I was below, and that you might go and take
me.--But I will never be yours--no, though you were a thousand times
his friend, and though he should murder me a thousand times when I did
not do his will! Go! I can find my way back to my mountains again, and
you can tell him--what you will, and--farewell!"
She turned away. Hardly had Theodore time to arouse himself from his
astonishment, and to overtake her. He seized her by the hand.
"Caterina," he said, "when I swear that you shall be to me as a sister,
and that I will take you back to your Carlo again as you left him--you
cannot hesitate to enter my house!"
"You could do that? you would do that?" she asked, stopping
hesitatingly. "It is impossible; you do not know him; no one can alter
_him_!"
"Trust!" he said. The hope that spoke so sweetly to her, came to his
assistance. 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 passion
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 snatch a short and restless sleep; but
no thought of Caterina disturbed it.