_Arrival of the Duke and Duchess_
THE crest of the palm tree in the garden of Eva glittered in the
declining sun; and the lady of Bethany sat in her kiosk on the margin
of the fountain, unconsciously playing with a flower, and gazing in
abstraction on the waters. She had left Tancred with her father, now
convalescent. They had passed the morning together, talking over the
strange events that had occurred since they first became acquainted
on this very spot; and now the lady of Bethany had retired to her own
thoughts.
A sound disturbed her; she looked up and recognised Tancred.
‘I could not refrain from seeing the sun set on Arabia,’ he said; ‘I had
almost induced the noble Besso to be my companion.’
‘The year is too old,’ said Eva, not very composed.
‘They should be midsummer nights,’ said Tancred, ‘as on my first visit
here; that hour thrice blessed!’ ‘We know not what is blessed in this
world,’ said Eva, mournfully.
‘I feel I do,’ murmured Tancred; and he also seated himself on the
margin of the fountain.
‘Of all the strange incidents and feelings that we have been talking
over this day,’ said Eva, ‘there seems to me but one result; and that
is, sadness.’
‘It is certainly not joy,’ said Tancred.
‘There comes over me a great despondency,’ said Eva, ‘I know not why,
my convictions are as profound as they were, my hopes should not be less
high, and yet----’
‘And what?’ said Tancred, in a low, sweet voice, for she hesitated.
‘I have a vague impression,’ said Eva, sorrowfully, ‘that there have
been heroic aspirations wasted, and noble energies thrown away; and yet,
perhaps,’ she added, in a faltering tone, ‘there is no one to blame.
Perhaps, all this time, we have been dreaming over an unattainable end,
and the only source of deception is our own imagination.’
‘My faith is firm,’ said Tancred; ‘but if anything could make it falter,
it would be to find you wavering.’
‘Perhaps it is the twilight hour,’ said Eva, with a faint smile. ‘It
sometimes makes one sad.’
‘There is no sadness where there is sympathy,’ said Tancred, in a low
voice. ‘I have been, I am sad, when I am alone: but when I am with you,
my spirit is sustained, and would be, come what might.’
‘And yet----’ said Eva; and she paused.
‘And what?’
‘Your feelings cannot be what they were before all this happened; when
you thought only of a divine cause, of stars, of angels, and of our
peculiar and gifted land. No, no; now it is all mixed up with intrigue,
and politics, and management, and baffled schemes, and cunning arts of
men. You may be, you are, free from all this, but your faith is not the
same. You no longer believe in Arabia.’
‘Why, thou to me art Arabia,’ said Tancred, advancing and kneeling at
her side. ‘The angel of Arabia, and of my life and spirit! Talk not
to me of faltering faith: mine is intense. Talk not to me of leaving a
divine cause: why, thou art my cause, and thou art most divine! O Eva!
deign to accept the tribute of my long agitated heart! Yes, I too, like
thee, am sometimes full of despair; but it is only when I remember that
I love, and love, perhaps, in vain!’
He had clasped her hand; his passionate glance met her eye, as he looked
up with adoration to a face infinitely distressed. Yet she withdrew not
her hand, as she murmured, with averted head, ‘We must not talk of these
things; we must not think of them. You know all.’
‘I know of nothing, I will know of nothing, but of my love.’
‘There are those to whom I belong; and to whom you belong. Yes,’ she
said, trying to withdraw her hand, ‘fly, fly from me, son of Europe and
of Christ!’
‘I am a Christian in the land of Christ,’ said Tancred, ‘and I kneel to
a daughter of my Redeemer’s race. Why should I fly?’
‘Oh! this is madness!’
‘Say, rather, inspiration,’ said Tancred, ‘for I will not quit this
fountain by which we first met until I am told, as you now will tell
me,’ he added, in a tone of gushing tenderness, ‘that our united
destinies shall advance the sovereign purpose of our lives. Talk not to
me of others, of those who have claims on you or on myself. I have no
kindred, no country, and, as for the ties that would bind you, shall
such world-worn bonds restrain our consecrated aim? Say but you love me,
and I will trample them to the dust.’
The head of Eva fell upon his shoulder. He impressed an embrace upon her
cheek. It was cold, insensible. Her hand, which he still held, seemed to
have lost all vitality. Overcome by contending emotions, the principle
of life seemed to have deserted her. Tancred laid her reclining figure
with gentleness on the mats of the kiosk; he sprinkled her pale face
with some drops from the fountain; he chafed her delicate hand. Her eyes
at length opened, and she sighed. He placed beneath her head some of
the cushions that were at hand. Recovering, she slightly raised herself,
leant upon the marble margin of the fountain, and looked about her with
a wildered air.
At this moment a shout was heard, repeated and increased; soon the sound
of many voices and the tramp of persons approaching. The vivid but brief
twilight had died away. Almost suddenly it had become night. The voices
became more audible, the steps were at hand. Tancred recognised his
name, frequently repeated. Behold a crowd of many persons, several of
them bearing torches. There was Colonel Brace in the van; on his right
was the Rev. Mr. Bernard; on his left, was Dr. Roby. Freeman and Trueman
and several guides and native servants were in the rear, most of them
proclaiming the name of Lord Montacute.
‘I am here,’ said Tancred, advancing from the kiosk, pale and agitated.
‘Why am I wanted?’
Colonel Brace began to explain, but all seemed to speak at the same
time.
The Duke and Duchess of Bellamont had arrived at Jerusalem.
[Illustration: front-backplate]