The last words of Peschiera were still ringing in Violante's ears when
Harley appeared in sight, and the sound of his voice dispelled the
vague and dreamy stupor which had crept over her senses. At that voice
there returned the consciousness of a mighty loss, the sting of an
intolerable anguish. To meet Harley there, and thus, seemed impossible.
She turned abruptly away, and hurried toward the house. Harley called
to her by name, but she would not answer, and only quickened her steps.
He paused a moment in surprise, and then hastened after her.
"Under what strange taboo am I placed?" said he gayly, as he laid his
hand on her shrinking arm. "I inquire for Helen--she is ill, and can
not see me. I come to sun myself in your presence, and you fly me as
if gods and men had set their mark on my brow. Child!--child!--what is
this? You are weeping?"
"Do not stay me now--do not speak to me," answered Violante through her
stifling sobs, as she broke from his hand and made toward the house.
"Have you a grief, and under the shelter of my father's roof? A grief
that you will not tell to me? Cruel!" cried Harley, with inexpressible
tenderness of reproach in his soft tones.
Violante could not trust herself to reply. Ashamed of her
self-betrayal--softened yet more by his pleading voice--she could have
prayed to the earth to swallow her. At length, checking back her tears
by a heroic effort, she said, almost calmly, "Noble friend, forgive
me. I have no grief, believe me, which--which I can tell to you. I was
but thinking of my poor father when you came up; alarming myself about
him, it may be, with vain superstitious fears; and so--even a slight
surprise--your abrupt appearance, has sufficed to make me thus weak and
foolish; but I wish to see my father!--to go home--home!"
"Your father is well, believe me, and pleased that you are here. No
danger threatens him; and you, _here_, are safe."
"I safe--and from what?"
Harley mused irresolute. He inclined to confide to her the danger which
her father had concealed; but had he the right to do so against her
father's will?
"Give me," he said, "time to reflect, and to obtain permission to
intrust you with a secret which, in my judgment, you should know.
Meanwhile, this much I may say, that rather than you should incur the
danger that I believe he exaggerates, your father would have given you
a protector--even, in Randal Leslie."
Violante started.
"But," resumed Harley, with a calm, in which a certain deep
mournfulness was apparent, unconsciously to himself--"but I trust you
are reserved for a fairer fate, and a nobler spouse. I have vowed to
live henceforth in the common workday world. But for you, bright child,
for you, I am a dreamer still!"
Violante turned her eyes for one instant toward the melancholy speaker.
The look thrilled to his heart. He bowed his face involuntarily. When
he looked up, she had left his side. He did not this time attempt to
follow her, but moved away and plunged amidst the leafless trees.
An hour afterward he re-entered the house, and again sought to see
Helen. She had now recovered sufficiently to give him the interview he
requested.
He approached her with a grave and serious gentleness,
"My dear Helen," said he, "you have consented to be my wife, my life's
mild companion; let it be soon--soon--for I need you. I need all the
strength of that holy tie. Helen, let me press you to fix the time."
"I owe you too much," answered Helen, looking down, "to have a will but
yours. But your mother," she added, perhaps clinging to the idea of
some reprieve--"your mother has not yet--"
"My mother--true. I will speak first to her. You shall receive from my
family all honor due to your gentle virtues. Helen, by the way, have
you mentioned to Violante the bond between us?"
"No--that is, I fear I may have unguardedly betrayed it, against Lady
Lansmere's commands too--but--but--"
"So, Lady Lansmere forbade you to name it to Violante. This should not
be. I will answer for her permission to revoke that interdict. It is
due to Violante and to you. Tell your young friend all. Ah, Helen, if I
am at times cold or wayward, bear with me--bear with me; for you love
me, do you not?"