RUPERT'S JOURNAL--_Continued_.
_July_ 2, 1907.
When I was outside the church, I looked at my watch in the brightmoonlight, and found I had one minute to wait. So I stood in the shadowof the doorway and looked out at the scene before me. Not a sign of lifewas visible around me, either on land or sea. On the broad plateau onwhich the church stands there was no movement of any kind. The wind,which had been pleasant in the noontide, had fallen completely, and not aleaf was stirring. I could see across the creek and note the hard linewhere the battlements of the Castle cut the sky, and where the keeptowered above the line of black rock, which in the shadow of the landmade an ebon frame for the picture. When I had seen the same view onformer occasions, the line where the rock rose from the sea was a fringeof white foam. But then, in the daylight, the sea was sapphire blue; nowit was an expanse of dark blue--so dark as to seem almost black. It hadnot even the relief of waves or ripples--simply a dark, cold, lifelessexpanse, with no gleam of light anywhere, of lighthouse or ship; neitherwas there any special sound to be heard that one coulddistinguish--nothing but the distant hum of the myriad voices of the darkmingling in one ceaseless inarticulate sound. It was well I had not timeto dwell on it, or I might have reached some spiritually-disturbingmelancholy.
Let me say here that ever since I had received my Lady's messageconcerning this visit to St. Sava's I had been all on fire--not, perhaps,at every moment consciously or actually so, but always, as it were,prepared to break out into flame. Did I want a simile, I might comparemyself to a well-banked furnace, whose present function it is to containheat rather than to create it; whose crust can at any moment be broken bya force external to itself, and burst into raging, all-compelling heat.No thought of fear really entered my mind. Every other emotion therewas, coming and going as occasion excited or lulled, but not fear. WellI knew in the depths of my heart the purpose which that secret quest wasto serve. I knew not only from my Lady's words, but from the teachingsof my own senses and experiences, that some dreadful ordeal must takeplace before happiness of any kind could be won. And that ordeal, thoughmethod or detail was unknown to me, I was prepared to undertake. Thiswas one of those occasions when a man must undertake, blindfold, waysthat may lead to torture or death, or unknown terrors beyond. But, then,a man--if, indeed, he have the heart of a man--can always undertake; hecan at least make the first step, though it may turn out that through theweakness of mortality he may be unable to fulfil his own intent, orjustify his belief in his own powers. Such, I take it, was theintellectual attitude of the brave souls who of old faced the tortures ofthe Inquisition.
But though there was no immediate fear, there was a certain doubt. Fordoubt is one of those mental conditions whose calling we cannot control.The end of the doubting may not be a reality to us, or be accepted as apossibility. These things cannot forego the existence of the doubt."For even if a man," says Victor Cousin, "doubt everything else, at leasthe cannot doubt that he doubts." The doubt had at times been on me thatmy Lady of the Shroud was a Vampire. Much that had happened seemed topoint that way, and here, on the very threshold of the Unknown, when,through the door which I was pushing open, my eyes met only an expanse ofabsolute blackness, all doubts which had ever been seemed to surround mein a legion. I have heard that, when a man is drowning, there comes atime when his whole life passes in review during the space of time whichcannot be computed as even a part of a second. So it was to me in themoment of my body passing into the church. In that moment came to mymind all that had been, which bore on the knowledge of my Lady; and thegeneral tendency was to prove or convince that she was indeed a Vampire.Much that had happened, or become known to me, seemed to justify theresolving of doubt into belief. Even my own reading of the books in AuntJanet's little library, and the dear lady's comments on them, mingledwith her own uncanny beliefs, left little opening for doubt. My havingto help my Lady over the threshold of my house on her first entry was inaccord with Vampire tradition; so, too, her flying at cock-crow from thewarmth in which she revelled on that strange first night of our meeting;so, too, her swift departure at midnight on the second. Into the samecategory came the facts of her constant wearing of her Shroud, even herpledging herself, and me also, on the fragment torn from it, which shehad given to me as a souvenir; her lying still in the glass-covered tomb;her coming alone to the most secret places in a fortified Castle whereevery aperture was secured by unopened locks and bolts; her verymovements, though all of grace, as she flitted noiselessly through thegloom of night.
All these things, and a thousand others of lesser import, seemed, for themoment, to have consolidated an initial belief. But then came thesupreme recollections of how she had lain in my arms; of her kisses on mylips; of the beating of her heart against my own; of her sweet words ofbelief and faith breathed in my ear in intoxicating whispers; of . . . Ipaused. No! I could not accept belief as to her being other than aliving woman of soul and sense, of flesh and blood, of all the sweet andpassionate instincts of true and perfect womanhood.
And so, in spite of all--in spite of all beliefs, fixed or transitory,with a mind whirling amid contesting forces and compelling beliefs--Istepped into the church overwhelmed with that most receptive ofatmospheres--doubt.
In one thing only was I fixed: here at least was no doubt or misgivingwhatever. I intended to go through what I had undertaken. Moreover, Ifelt that I was strong enough to carry out my intention, whatever mightbe of the Unknown--however horrible, however terrible.
When I had entered the church and closed the heavy door behind me, thesense of darkness and loneliness in all their horror enfolded me round.The great church seemed a living mystery, and served as an almostterrible background to thoughts and remembrances of unutterable gloom.My adventurous life has had its own schooling to endurance and upholdingone's courage in trying times; but it has its contra in fulness ofmemory.
I felt my way forward with both hands and feet. Every second seemed asif it had brought me at last to a darkness which was actually tangible.All at once, and with no heed of sequence or order, I was conscious ofall around me, the knowledge or perception of which--or even speculationon the subject--had never entered my mind. They furnished the darknesswith which I was encompassed with all the crowded phases of a dream. Iknew that all around me were memorials of the dead--that in the Cryptdeep-wrought in the rock below my feet lay the dead themselves. Some ofthem, perhaps--one of them I knew--had even passed the grim portals oftime Unknown, and had, by some mysterious power or agency, come backagain to material earth. There was no resting-place for thought when Iknew that the very air which I breathed might be full of denizens of thespirit-world. In that impenetrable blackness was a world of imaginingwhose possibilities of horror were endless.
I almost fancied that I could see with mortal eyes down through thatrocky floor to where, in the lonely Crypt, lay, in her tomb of massivestone and under that bewildering coverlet of glass, the woman whom Ilove. I could see her beautiful face, her long black lashes, her sweetmouth--which I had kissed--relaxed in the sleep of death. I could notethe voluminous shroud--a piece of which as a precious souvenir lay eventhen so close to my heart--the snowy woollen coverlet wrought over ingold with sprigs of pine, the soft dent in the cushion on which her headmust for so long have lain. I could see myself--within my eyes thememory of that first visit--coming once again with glad step to renewthat dear sight--dear, though it scorched my eyes and harrowed myheart--and finding the greater sorrow, the greater desolation of theempty tomb!
There! I felt that I must think no more of that lest the thought shouldunnerve me when I should most want all my courage. That way madness lay!The darkness had already sufficient terrors of its own without bringingto it such grim remembrances and imaginings . . . And I had yet to gothrough some ordeal which, even to her who had passed and repassed theportals of death, was full of fear.
It was a merciful relief to m
e when, in groping my way forwards throughthe darkness, I struck against some portion of the furnishing of thechurch. Fortunately I was all strung up to tension, else I should neverhave been able to control instinctively, as I did, the shriek which wasrising to my lips.
I would have given anything to have been able to light even a match. Asingle second of light would, I felt, have made me my own man again. ButI knew that this would be against the implied condition of my being thereat all, and might have had disastrous consequences to her whom I had cometo save. It might even frustrate my scheme, and altogether destroy myopportunity. At that moment it was borne upon me more strongly than everthat this was not a mere fight for myself or my own selfish purposes--notmerely an adventure or a struggle for only life and death against unknowndifficulties and dangers. It was a fight on behalf of her I loved, notmerely for her life, but perhaps even for her soul.
And yet this very thinking--understanding--created a new form of terror.For in that grim, shrouding darkness came memories of other moments ofterrible stress.
Of wild, mystic rites held in the deep gloom of African forests, when,amid scenes of revolting horror, Obi and the devils of his kind seemed toreveal themselves to reckless worshippers, surfeited with horror, whoselives counted for naught; when even human sacrifice was an episode, andthe reek of old deviltries and recent carnage tainted the air, till evenI, who was, at the risk of my life, a privileged spectator who had comethrough dangers without end to behold the scene, rose and fled in horror.
Of scenes of mystery enacted in rock-cut temples beyond the Himalayas,whose fanatic priests, cold as death and as remorseless, in the reactionof their phrenzy of passion, foamed at the mouth and then sank intomarble quiet, as with inner eyes they beheld the visions of the hellishpowers which they had invoked.
Of wild, fantastic dances of the Devil-worshippers of Madagascar, whereeven the very semblance of humanity disappeared in the fantastic excessesof their orgies.
Of strange doings of gloom and mystery in the rock-perched monasteries ofThibet.
Of awful sacrifices, all to mystic ends, in the innermost recesses ofCathay.
Of weird movements with masses of poisonous snakes by the medicine-men ofthe Zuni and Mochi Indians in the far south-west of the Rockies, beyondthe great plains.
Of secret gatherings in vast temples of old Mexico, and by dim altars offorgotten cities in the heart of great forests in South America.
Of rites of inconceivable horror in the fastnesses of Patagonia.
Of . . . Here I once more pulled myself up. Such thoughts were no kindof proper preparation for what I might have to endure. My work thatnight was to be based on love, on hope, on self-sacrifice for the womanwho in all the world was the closest to my heart, whose future I was toshare, whether that sharing might lead me to Hell or Heaven. The handwhich undertook such a task must have no trembling.
Still, those horrible memories had, I am bound to say, a useful part inmy preparation for the ordeal. They were of fact which I had seen, ofwhich I had myself been in part a sharer, and which I had survived. Withsuch experiences behind me, could there be aught before me more dreadful?. . .
Moreover, if the coming ordeal was of supernatural or superhuman order,could it transcend in living horror the vilest and most desperate acts ofthe basest men? . . .
With renewed courage I felt my way before me, till my sense of touch toldme that I was at the screen behind which lay the stair to the Crypt.
There I waited, silent, still.
My own part was done, so far as I knew how to do it. Beyond this, whatwas to come was, so far as I knew, beyond my own control. I had donewhat I could; the rest must come from others. I had exactly obeyed myinstructions, fulfilled my warranty to the utmost in my knowledge andpower. There was, therefore, left for me in the present nothing but towait.
It is a peculiarity of absolute darkness that it creates its ownreaction. The eye, wearied of the blackness, begins to imagine forms oflight. How far this is effected by imagination pure and simple I knownot. It may be that nerves have their own senses that bring thought tothe depository common to all the human functions, but, whatever may bethe mechanism or the objective, the darkness seems to people itself withluminous entities.
So was it with me as I stood lonely in the dark, silent church. Here andthere seemed to flash tiny points of light.
In the same way the silence began to be broken now and again by strangemuffled sounds--the suggestion of sounds rather than actual vibrations.These were all at first of the minor importance of movement--rustlings,creakings, faint stirrings, fainter breathings. Presently, when I hadsomewhat recovered from the sort of hypnotic trance to which the darknessand stillness had during the time of waiting reduced me, I looked aroundin wonder.
The phantoms of light and sound seemed to have become real. There weremost certainly actual little points of light in places--not enough to seedetails by, but quite sufficient to relieve the utter gloom. Ithought--though it may have been a mingling of recollection andimagination--that I could distinguish the outlines of the church;certainly the great altar-screen was dimly visible. Instinctively Ilooked up--and thrilled. There, hung high above me, was, surely enough,a great Greek Cross, outlined by tiny points of light.
I lost myself in wonder, and stood still, in a purely receptive mood,unantagonistic to aught, willing for whatever might come, ready for allthings, in rather a negative than a positive mood--a mood which has anaspect of spiritual meekness. This is the true spirit of the neophyte,and, though I did not think of it at the time, the proper attitude forwhat is called by the Church in whose temple I stood a "neo-nymph."
As the light grew a little in power, though never increasing enough fordistinctness, I saw dimly before me a table on which rested a great openbook, whereon were laid two rings--one of sliver, the other of gold--andtwo crowns wrought of flowers, bound at the joining of their stems withtissue--one of gold, the other of silver. I do not know much of theritual of the old Greek Church, which is the religion of the BlueMountains, but the things which I saw before me could be none other thanenlightening symbols. Instinctively I knew that I had been broughthither, though in this grim way, to be married. The very idea of itthrilled me to the heart's core. I thought the best thing I could dowould be to stay quite still, and not show surprise at anything thatmight happen; but be sure I was all eyes and ears.
I peered anxiously around me in every direction, but I could see no signof her whom I had come to meet.
Incidentally, however, I noticed that in the lighting, such as it was,there was no flame, no "living" light. Whatever light there was camemuffled, as though through some green translucent stone. The wholeeffect was terribly weird and disconcerting.
Presently I started, as, seemingly out of the darkness beside me, a man'shand stretched out and took mine. Turning, I found close to me a tallman with shining black eyes and long black hair and beard. He was cladin some kind of gorgeous robe of cloth of gold, rich with variety ofadornment. His head was covered with a high, over-hanging hat drapedclosely with a black scarf, the ends of which formed a long, hanging veilon either side. These veils, falling over the magnificent robes of clothof gold, had an extraordinarily solemn effect.
I yielded myself to the guiding hand, and shortly found myself, so far asI could see, at one side of the sanctuary.
In the floor close to my feet was a yawning chasm, into which, from sohigh over my head that in the uncertain light I could not distinguish itsorigin, hung a chain. At the sight a strange wave of memory swept overme. I could not but remember the chain which hung over the glass-coveredtomb in the Crypt, and I had an instinctive feeling that the grim chasmin the floor of the sanctuary was but the other side of the opening inthe roof of the crypt from which the chain over the sarcophagus depended.
There was a creaking sound--the groaning of a windlass and the clankingof a chain. There was heavy breathing close to me somewhere. I was sointent on what was going on that
I did not see that one by one, seemingto grow out of the surrounding darkness, several black figures in monkishgarb appeared with the silence of ghosts. Their faces were shrouded inblack cowls, wherein were holes through which I could see dark gleamingeyes. My guide held me tightly by the hand. This gave me a feeling ofsecurity in the touch which helped to retain within my breast somesemblance of calm.
The strain of the creaking windlass and the clanking chain continued forso long that the suspense became almost unendurable. At last there cameinto sight an iron ring, from which as a centre depended four lesserchains spreading wide. In a few seconds more I could see that these werefixed to the corners of the great stone tomb with the covering of glass,which was being dragged upward. As it arose it filled closely the wholeaperture. When its bottom had reached the level of the floor it stopped,and remained rigid. There was no room for oscillation. It was at oncesurrounded by a number of black figures, who raised the glass coveringand bore it away into the darkness. Then there stepped forward a verytall man, black-bearded, and with head-gear like my guide, but made intriple tiers, he also was gorgeously arrayed in flowing robes of cloth ofgold richly embroidered. He raised his hand, and forthwith eight otherblack-clad figures stepped forward, and bending over the stone coffin,raised from it the rigid form of my Lady, still clad in her Shroud, andlaid it gently on the floor of the sanctuary.
I felt it a grace that at that instant the dim lights seemed to growless, and finally to disappear--all save the tiny points that marked theoutline of the great Cross high overhead. These only gave light enoughto accentuate the gloom. The hand that held mine now released it, andwith a sigh I realized that I was alone. After a few moments more of thegroaning of the winch and clanking of the chain there was a sharp soundof stone meeting stone; then there was silence. I listened acutely, butcould not hear near me the slightest sound. Even the cautious,restrained breathing around me, of which up to then I had been conscious,had ceased. Not knowing, in the helplessness of my ignorance, what Ishould do, I remained as I was, still and silent, for a time that seemedendless. At last, overcome by some emotion which I could not at themoment understand, I slowly sank to my knees and bowed my head. Coveringmy face with my hands, I tried to recall the prayers of my youth. It wasnot, I am certain, that fear in any form had come upon me, or that Ihesitated or faltered in my intention. That much I know now; I knew iteven then. It was, I believe, that the prolonged impressive gloom andmystery had at last touched me to the quick. The bending of the kneeswas but symbolical of the bowing of the spirit to a higher Power. When Ihad realized that much, I felt more content than I had done since I hadentered the church, and with the renewed consciousness of courage, tookmy hands from my face, and lifted again my bowed head.
Impulsively I sprang to my feet and stood erect--waiting. All seemed tohave changed since I had dropped on my knees. The points of light abouttime church, which had been eclipsed, had come again, and were growing inpower to a partial revealing of the dim expanse. Before me was the tablewith the open book, on which were laid the gold and silver rings and thetwo crowns of flowers. There were also two tall candles, with tiniestflames of blue--the only living light to be seen.
Out of the darkness stepped the same tall figure in the gorgeous robesand the triple hat. He led by the hand my Lady, still clad in herShroud; but over it, descending from the crown of her head, was a veil ofvery old and magnificent lace of astonishing fineness. Even in that dimlight I could note the exquisite beauty of the fabric. The veil wasfastened with a bunch of tiny sprays of orange-blossom mingled withcypress and laurel--a strange combination. In her hand she carried agreat bouquet of the same. Its sweet intoxicating odour floated up to mynostrils. It and the sentiment which its very presence evoked made mequiver.
Yielding to the guiding of the hand which held hers, she stood at my leftside before the table. Her guide then took his place behind her. Ateither end of the table, to right and left of us, stood a long-beardedpriest in splendid robes, and wearing the hat with depending veil ofblack. One of them, who seemed to be the more important of the two, andtook the initiative, signed to us to put our right hands on the openbook. My Lady, of course, understood the ritual, and knew the wordswhich the priest was speaking, and of her own accord put out her hand.My guide at the same moment directed my hand to the same end. Itthrilled me to touch my Lady's hand, even under such mysteriousconditions.
After the priest had signed us each thrice on the forehead with the signof the Cross, he gave to each of us a tiny lighted taper brought to himfor the purpose. The lights were welcome, not so much for the solace ofthe added light, great as that was, but because it allowed us to see alittle more of each other's faces. It was rapture to me to see the faceof my Bride; and from the expression of her face I was assured that shefelt as I did. It gave me an inexpressible pleasure when, as her eyesrested on me, there grew a faint blush over the grey pallor of hercheeks.
The priest then put in solemn voice to each of us in turn, beginning withme, the questions of consent which are common to all such rituals. Ianswered as well as I could, following the murmured words of my guide.My Lady answered out proudly in a voice which, though given softly,seemed to ring. It was a concern--even a grief--to me that I could not,in the priest's questioning, catch her name, of which, strangelyenough,--I was ignorant. But, as I did not know the language, and as thephrases were not in accord literally with our own ritual, I could notmake out which word was the name.
After some prayers and blessings, rhythmically spoken or sung by aninvisible choir, the priest took the rings from the open book, and, aftersigning my forehead thrice with the gold one as he repeated the blessingin each case, placed it on my right hand; then he gave my Lady the silverone, with the same ritual thrice repeated. I suppose it was the blessingwhich is the effective point in making two into one.
After this, those who stood behind us exchanged our rings thrice, takingthem from one finger and placing them on the other, so that at the end mywife wore the gold ring and I the silver one.
Then came a chant, during which the priest swung the censer himself, andmy wife and I held our tapers. After that he blessed us, the responsescoming from the voices of the unseen singers in the darkness.
After a long ritual of prayer and blessing, sung in triplicate, thepriest took the crowns of flowers, and put one on the head of each,crowning me first, and with the crown tied with gold. Then he signed andblessed us each thrice. The guides, who stood behind us, exchanged ourcrowns thrice, as they had exchanged the rings; so that at the last, as Iwas glad to see, my wife wore the crown of gold, and I that of silver.
Then there came, if it is possible to describe such a thing, a hush overeven that stillness, as though some form of added solemnity were to begone through. I was not surprised, therefore, when the priest took inhis hands the great golden chalice. Kneeling, my wife and I partooktogether thrice.
When we had risen from our knees and stood for a little while, the priesttook my left hand in his right, and I, by direction of my guide, gave myright hand to my wife. And so in a line, the priest leading, we circledround the table in rhythmic measure. Those who supported us moved behindus, holding the crowns over our heads, and replacing them when westopped.
After a hymn, sung through the darkness, the priest took off our crowns.This was evidently the conclusion of the ritual, for the priest placed usin each other's arms to embrace each other. Then he blessed us, who werenow man and wife!
The lights went out at once, some as if extinguished, others slowlyfading down to blackness.
Left in the dark, my wife and I sought each other's arms again, and stoodtogether for a few moments heart to heart, tightly clasping each other,and kissed each other fervently.
Instinctively we turned to the door of the church, which was slightlyopen, so that we could see the moonlight stealing in through theaperture. With even steps, she holding me tightly by the left arm--whichis the wife's arm, we passed throug
h the old church and out into the freeair.
Despite all that the gloom had brought me, it was sweet to be in the openair and together--this quite apart from our new relations to each other.The moon rode high, and the full light, coming after the dimness ordarkness in the church, seemed as bright as day. I could now, for thefirst time, see my wife's face properly. The glamour of the moonlightmay have served to enhance its ethereal beauty, but neither moonlight norsunlight could do justice to that beauty in its living human splendour.As I gloried in her starry eyes I could think of nothing else; but whenfor a moment my eyes, roving round for the purpose of protection, caughtsight of her whole figure, there was a pang to my heart. The brilliantmoonlight showed every detail in terrible effect, and I could see thatshe wore only her Shroud. In the moment of darkness, after the lastbenediction, before she returned to my arms, she must have removed herbridal veil. This may, of course, have been in accordance with theestablished ritual of her church; but, all the same, my heart was sore.The glamour of calling her my very own was somewhat obscured by thebridal adornment being shorn. But it made no difference in her sweetnessto me. Together we went along the path through the wood, she keepingequal step with me in wifely way.
When we had come through the trees near enough to see the roof of theCastle, now gilded with the moonlight, she stopped, and looking at mewith eyes full of love, said:
"Here I must leave you!"
"What?" I was all aghast, and I felt that my chagrin was expressed inthe tone of horrified surprise in my voice. She went on quickly:
"Alas! It is impossible that I should go farther--at present!"
"But what is to prevent you?" I queried. "You are now my wife. This isour wedding-night; and surely your place is with me!" The wail in hervoice as she answered touched me to the quick:
"Oh, I know, I know! There is no dearer wish in my heart--there can benone--than to share my husband's home. Oh, my dear, my dear, if you onlyknew what it would be to me to be with you always! But indeed I maynot--not yet! I am not free! If you but knew how much that which hashappened to-night has cost me--or how much cost to others as well as tomyself may be yet to come--you would understand. Rupert"--it was thefirst time she had ever addressed me by name, and naturally it thrilledme through and through--"Rupert, my husband, only that I trust you withall the faith which is in perfect love--mutual love, I dare not have donewhat I have done this night. But, dear, I know that you will bear meout; that your wife's honour is your honour, even as your honour is mine.My honour is given to this; and you can help me--the only help I can haveat present--by trusting me. Be patient, my beloved, be patient! Oh, bepatient for a little longer! It shall not be for long. So soon as evermy soul is freed I shall come to you, my husband; and we shall never partagain. Be content for a while! Believe me that I love you with my verysoul; and to keep away from your dear side is more bitter for me thaneven it can be for you! Think, my dear one, I am not as other women are,as some day you shall clearly understand. I am at the present, and shallbe for a little longer, constrained by duties and obligations put upon meby others, and for others, and to which I am pledged by the most sacredpromises--given not only by myself, but by others--and which I must notforgo. These forbid me to do as I wish. Oh, trust me, my beloved--myhusband!"
She held out her hands appealingly. The moonlight, falling through thethinning forest, showed her white cerements. Then the recollection ofall she must have suffered--the awful loneliness in that grim tomb in theCrypt, the despairing agony of one who is helpless against theunknown--swept over me in a wave of pity. What could I do but save herfrom further pain? And this could only be by showing her my faith andtrust. If she was to go back to that dreadful charnel-house, she wouldat least take with her the remembrance that one who loved her and whomshe loved--to whom she had been lately bound in the mystery ofmarriage--trusted her to the full. I loved her more than myself--morethan my own soul; and I was moved by pity so great that all possibleselfishness was merged in its depths. I bowed my head before her--myLady and my Wife--as I said:
"So be it, my beloved. I trust you to the full, even as you trust me.And that has been proven this night, even to my own doubting heart. Ishall wait; and as I know you wish it, I shall wait as patiently as Ican. But till you come to me for good and all, let me see you or hearfrom you when you can. The time, dear wife, must go heavily with me as Ithink of you suffering and lonely. So be good to me, and let not toolong a time elapse between my glimpses of hope. And, sweetheart, whenyou _do_ come to me, it shall be for ever!" There was something in theintonation of the last sentence--I felt its sincerity myself--someimplied yearning for a promise, that made her beautiful eyes swim. Theglorious stars in them were blurred as she answered with a fervour whichseemed to me as more than earthly:
"For ever! I swear it!"
With one long kiss, and a straining in each others arms, which left metingling for long after we had lost sight of each other, we parted. Istood and watched her as her white figure, gliding through the deepeninggloom, faded as the forest thickened. It surely was no optical delusionor a phantom of the mind that her shrouded arm was raised as though inblessing or farewell before the darkness swallowed her up.