Can I put into words what passed within my soul as we two sat by the
fire, she holding my hand in her own--holding it as innocently as a
child holds the hand of its mother? Can I put into words my mingled
feelings of love and pity and wild grief, as I sat looking at her and
murmuring, 'Yes; if God will only give her to me like _this_, I will
be content'?
'Prince,' said she, 'your eyes look very kind!--Sweet, sweet eyes,'
she continued, looking at me. 'The Prince of the Mist has love-eyes,'
she repeated, as she placed the seats before the fire again.
Then I heard her murmur, 'Love-eyes! love-eyes! Henry's love-eyes!'
Then a terrible change came over her. She sprang up and came and
peered in my face. An indescribable expression of terror overspread
her features, her nostrils expanded, her lips were drawn tightly over
her teeth, her eyes seemed starting from their sockets; her throat
suddenly became fluted like the throat of an aged woman, then veined
with knotted, cruel cords. Then she stood as transfixed, and her face
was mimicking that appalling look on her father's face which I had
seen in the moonlight. With a yell of 'Father!' she leapt from me.
Then she rushed from the house, and I could hear her run by the
window, crying, 'Cursed, cursed, cursed by Henry's father!'
For an instant the movement took away my breath; but I soon recovered
and sprang after her to the door.
There, in the distance, I saw her in the rain, running along the
road. My first impulse was to follow her and run her down. But
luckily I considered the effect this might have in increasing her
terror, and stopped. She was soon out of sight. I wandered about the
road calling her name, and calling on Heaven to have a little pity--a
little mercy.