Here we rested, listening
to the merles, the falling water, the whispering of the wind. Ghosts of
dead delight seemed to pass us; unseen presences of passionate gallants
and capricious loveliness, hungering hearts wounded by life, by beauty,
by desire, spoke to us through the murmuring water, the stir of the
wind, the intense silence when all sounds were turned away by the
veering of the delicious air.
And Uncle Tom was in Rome at Canape's drinking with his American
cronies! Only myself knew my starved heart, but surely he knew the heart
of Isabel. What was the attitude of mind in allowing this free
association between Isabel and me? Does the heart of age become
deadened? Does it understand; does it but partly divine these secrets;
does it for any of these reasons cease to be sensitive?
Then suddenly, as Isabel and I sat there in these enchanting
surroundings, an uncontrollable emotion seized me, one that had no
regard for a future, that sought only to realize wholly and at once an
ecstatic present. For what could be between us? I could not marry
Isabel; and what could be? Blindly, without a thought of any of these
things, I took Isabel's hands and drew her to me frightened and
trembling. Instantly I saw what I had done. Our life of frank
companionship fell away from us. A new birth was ours; but of what
wonder and terror and danger! Isabel exclaimed: "Oh, my friend!" Then
she lost her voice and whispered, "My friend!" She became relaxed,
leaned back her head, closed her eyes.
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