A Castle in Spain Part 42

Brooke was silent for a time. He made a movement, then checked himself, and then said,

"Are you? Odd, too, isn't it?"

"I am miserable," said Talbot again; "and it is strange, for your life has been saved, and we are out of immediate danger. Yet I am now more miserable than I was last night when your life was in danger.

Can you tell me why it is so, Brooke?"

Again Brooke made a movement, which he checked, as before, by a strong impulse.

"Give it up," said he, shortly.

"I know," said Talbot. "I'll tell you. It was this," and her voice dropped as she spoke to a lower tone. "Last night I had made up my mind to die for you, Brooke."

Brooke drew a long breath. For an instant his eyes lowered. They caught the gaze which Talbot had fixed on him--deep, intense, unfathomable. It was but for a moment, and then it was as though he made a violent effort, and tore them away.

One of his hands caught at the other, and held it in a tight grip.

"Too much Talbot in that," he said at length, in a harsh voice. "If you go on dying for people, what'll become of you?"

"And now," continued Talbot, in a dreamy way--"now, when suspense and danger seem over, I am miserable--simply miserable, Brooke. Why should my mind have such strange alternations, feelings so contradictory, so unreasonable? I ought to be happy--why am I not?"

"Now," said Brooke, in the same harsh tone as before, "you're beginning to talk metaphysics, and I'm all at sea there."

Talbot was silent.

Brooke began to sing:

"How doth the little busy bee Improve the s.h.i.+ning hour.

But I prefer The caterpil-ler That feeds on the self-same flower.

The bee he slaves for all his life;-- Not so the other one; For he soars to the sky, A b.u.t.terfly, Ere half his days are done."

Silence now followed for a very long time. It was at length broken by Brooke.

"Talbot," said he, in a soft, low voice.

"Well, Brooke," said Talbot.

"Will you be silent if I say something?"

"Yes, Brooke."

"Not speak a word?"

"No, Brooke."

"Not move an inch?"

"No, Brooke."

"Well," said Brooke, on second thoughts, "I think I won't say it."

Talbot said nothing.

Brooke sat looking away, as usual, but now, at last, his eyes, which had so long avoided hers, sank down till they met her gaze. They rested there, and these two sat in silence, regarding one another with a strange, sad look of longing, as though there was between them a barrier over which they dared not pa.s.s. And that barrier arose there, invisible yet impa.s.sable--the pledge of honor and fidelity already given by each to another, at the thought of which they had now to crush down the surging pa.s.sions within.

"Talbot," said Brooke once more.

"Well, Brooke," was the answer.

"Oh, Talbot! Talbot! Do you know what I wish to say?"

"Yes, Brooke," said Talbot. "I know it. I know it--all."

"Well, I will say it," said Brooke, "for I cannot keep it. Oh, Talbot! it is this--it is part of my Puritan education, perhaps. Oh, Talbot"--and his eyes rested on hers with a devouring gaze, and his voice trembled and died out into almost inaudible tones--"oh, Talbot, my younger brother Talbot! Very pleasant hast thou been unto me. Thy love to me is wonderful--pa.s.sing the love of women!"

Talbot was true to her promise. She did not move an inch and she did not speak a word. But her eyes were fixed upon his; and in those eyes Brooke saw once again what he had seen before--the look of a love that had already shown itself stronger than life.

It was evening.

Suddenly there arose a noise outside. Brooke started up and went to the window, where he stood looking out. It was Lopez, with all his followers, who were returning.

Brooke, in his usual fas.h.i.+on, sang:

"Oh, little Jack he climbed so high, Up the beanstalk into the sky, And there he saw an ogre grim A comin' to make mince-meat of him.

Singing fe-fi-fo-fum-- I smell the blood of nu Englishmun!"

CHAPTER XXVI.

HOW MR. ASHBY MEETS WITH A GREAT SURPRISE AND A VERY GREAT CONSOLATION.

Ashby was alone in his chamber. His room opened from the lower hall, and was directly beneath that in which Harry was confined. It was of the same dimensions in all save height, in which respect it was much inferior. The room had also a gloomier character, for the high stonewalls, as they rose and arched overhead, had the aspect of some cathedral crypt or burial-place. The windows here were narrow slits, as above, through which the different court-yards might be seen. The floor was of stone, and at one end there was a huge fireplace, very similar to the others already mentioned, though not so high.

It had been a long, long day for Ashby. Evening came, and found him weary and worn out with _ennui_. Without any occupation for his energies, his mind preyed upon itself, and there certainly was sufficient occupation for his fancy. His mind was in a whirl, and speedily became a prey to every variety of conflicting feeling. He remembered Katie's bright smile, and also the dark glance of Dolores.

He was jealous of the smiles which Katie had so lavishly bestowed on Harry. He was offended with her for being so gay under such circ.u.mstances. But, in his loneliness, there were other feelings which were stronger than even this resentment and jealousy. There were certain strange and indefinable longings after some society; and the society which now seemed most desirable was the gentle presence of Dolores. Her last looks remained deeply impressed upon his memory; her last deep, earnest glance had sunk into his soul. He could not throw aside this recollection.

Dolores was in all his thoughts, though he had tried to thrust her aside.

He found himself continually comparing these two. Would Katie be so glad at seeing him again as Dolores had been at meeting him? Would Katie take so much trouble for the sake of speaking to him? On the other hand, would Dolores be so gay, so happy, and so merry when torn from him? and would Dolores look upon him in his loneliness with such a smile of indifference and light-hearted mirth? Never! Dolores had a deeper nature. In the glance of Dolores her inmost soul had been revealed. At its recollection his nerves thrilled, his heart throbbed faster. He longed to hear her voice again. And thus, as the hours pa.s.sed, the image of Katie faded away, and that of Dolores grew more strongly defined; the image of Dolores as she had last appeared to him--pale, sad, anxious, earnest, her eyes fixed upon him with deep, intense melancholy and profound pity.