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Three Weeks

<h2 id="id00629" style="margin-top: 4em">CHAPTER XIII</h2> Do you know the Belvedere at the Rigi Kaltbad, looking over the corner to a vast world below, on a fair day in May, when the air is clear as crystal and the lake ultra-marine? When the Bernese Oberland undulates away in unbroken snow, its pure whiteness like cold marble, the shadows grey-blue? Have you seen the tints of the beeches, of the pines, of the firs, clinging like some cloak of life to the hoary-headed mountains, a reminder that spring is eternal, and youth must have its day, however grey beards and white heads may frown? Ah—it is good! And so is the air up there. Hungry and strong and—young. Paul and his lady stood and looked down in rapt silence. It was giving her, as she said, an emotion, but of what sort he was not sure. They were all alone. No living soul was anywhere in view. She had been in a mood, all day when she seldom raised her eyes. It reminded him of the first time he had seen her, and wonder grew again in his mind. All the last night her soul had seemed melted into his in a fusion of tenderness and trust, exalted with the exquisite thought of the wish which was between them. And he had felt at last he had fathomed its inmost recess. But to-day, as he gazed down at her white-rose paleness, the heavy lashes making their violet shadow on her cheek—her red mouth mutinous and full—the conviction came back to him that there were breadths and depths and heights about which he had no conception even. And an ice hand clutched his heart. Of what strange thing was she thinking? leaning over the parapet there, her delicate nostrils quivering now and then. "Paul," she said at last, "did you ever want to kill any one? Did you ever long to have them there at your mercy, to choke their life out and throw them to hell?" "Good God, no!" said Paul aghast. Then at last she looked up at him, and her eyes were black with hate. "Well, I do, Paul. I would like to kill one man on earth—a useless, vicious weakling, too feeble to deserve a fine death—a rotting carrion spoiling God's world and encumbering my path! I would kill him if I could—and more than ever today." "Oh, my Queen, my Queen!" said Paul, distressed. "Don't say such things—you, my own tender woman and love—" "Yes, that is one side of me, and the best—but there is another, which he draws forth, and that is the worst. You of calm England do not know what it means—the true passion of hate." "Can I do nothing for you, beloved?" Paul asked. Here was a phase which he had not yet seen. "Ah!" she said, bitterly, and threw up her head. "No! his high place protects him. But for his life I would conquer all fate." "Darling, darling—" said Paul, who knew not what to say. "But, Paul, if a hair of your head should be hurt, I would kill him myself with these my own hands." Once Paul had seen two tigers fight in a travelling circus-van which came to Oxford, and now the memory of the scene returned to him when he looked at his lady's face. He had not known a human countenance could express such fierce, terrible rage. A quiver ran through him. Yes, this was no idle boast of an angry woman—he felt those slender hands would indeed be capable of dealing death to any one who robbed her of her mate. But what passion was here! What force! He had somehow never even dreamt such feelings dwelt in women—or, indeed, in any human creatures out of sensational books. Yet, gazing there at her, he dimly understood that in himself, too, they could rise, were another to take her from him. Yes, he could kill in suchlike case. They were silent for some moments, each vibrating with passionate thoughts; and then the lady leant over and laid her cheek against the sleeve of his coat. "Heart of my heart," she said, "I frighten and ruffle you. The women of your country are sweet and soft, but they know not the passion I know, my Paul—the fierceness and madness of love—" Paul clasped her in his arms. "It makes me worship you more, my Queen," he said. "Englishwomen would seem like wax dolls now beside you and your exquisite face—they will never again be anything but shadows in my life. It can only hold you, the one goddess and Queen." Her eyes were suffused with a mist of tenderness, the passion was gone; her head was thrown back against his breast, when suddenly her hand inadvertently touched against the pocket where Dmitry's pistol lay. She started violently, and before he could divine her purpose she snatched the weapon out, and held it up to the light. Her face went like death, and for a second she leant against the parapet as if she were going to faint. "Paul," she gasped with white lips, "this is Dmitry's pistol. I know it well. How did you come by it?—tell me, beloved. If he gave it to you, then it means danger, Paul—danger—" "My darling," said Paul, in his strong young pride "fear nothing, I shall never leave you. I will protect you from any danger in the world, only depend upon me, sweetheart. Nothing can hurt you while I am here." "Do you think I care a sou for my life?" she said, while she stood straight up again with the majesty of a queen. "Do you think I feared for me—for myself? Oh! no, my own lover, never that! They can kill me when they choose, but they won't; it is you for whom I fear. Only your danger could make me cower, no other in the whole world." Paul laughed with joy at her speech. "There is nothing to fear at all then, darling," he said. "I can take care of myself, you know. I am an Englishman." And even in the tumult of her thoughts the lady found time to smile with tender amusement at the young insular arrogance of his last words. An Englishman, forsooth! Of course that meant a kind of god untouched by the failings of other nations. A great rush of pride in him came over her and gladdened her. He was indeed a splendid picture of youth and strength, as he stood there, the sunlight gilding his fair hair, and all the magnificent proportions of his figure thrown into relief against the background of grey stone and sky, an insouciante smile on his lips, and all the light of love and self-confidence in his fine blue eyes. She responded to the fire in them, and appeared to grow comforted and at peace. But all the way back through the wood to the Kalibad Hotel she glanced furtively into the shadows, while she talked gaily as she held Paul's arm. And he never asked her a question as to where she expected the danger to come from. No anxiety for his own safety troubled him one jot—indeed, an unwonted extra excitement flooded his veins, making him enjoy himself with an added zest. Dmitry as usual awaited them at the hotel; his face was serene, but when Paul's back was turned for a moment while he lit a cigarette, the lady questioned her servant with whispered fierceness in the Russian tongue. Apparently his answer was satisfactory, for she looked relieved, and presently, seated on the terrace, they had a merry tea—the last they would have on mountain tops, for she broke it gently to Paul that on the morrow she must return to Lucerne. Paul felt as if his heart had stopped beating. Return to Lucerne! O God! not to part—surely not to part—so soon! "No, no," she said, the thought making her whiten too. "Oh no! my Paul, not that—yet!" Ah—he could bear anything if it did not mean parting, and he used no arguments to dissuade her. She was his Queen and must surely know best. Only he listened eagerly for details of how matters could be arranged there. Alas! they could never be the same as this glorious time they had had. "You must wait two days, sweetheart," she said, "before you follow me. Stay still in our nest if you will, but do not come on to Lucerne." "I could not stand it," said Paul. "Oh! darling, don't kill me with aching for your presence two whole days! It is a lifetime! not to be endured—" "Impatient one!" she laughed softly. "No—neither could I bear not to see you, sweetheart, but we must not be foolish. You must stay on in our rooms and each morning I will meet you somewhere in the launch. Dmitry knows every inch of the lake, and we can pass most of days thus, happy at last—" "But the nights!" said Paul, deep distress in his voice. "What on earth do you think I can do with the nights?" "Spend them in sleep, my beloved one," the lady said, while she smiled a soft fine smile. But to Paul this idea presented the poorest compensation—and in spite of his will to the contrary his thoughts flew ahead for an instant to the inevitable days and nights when—Ah! no, he could not face the picture. Life would be finished for him when that time came. The thought of only a temporary parting on the morrow made them cling together for this, their last evening, with almost greater closeness and tenderness than usual. Paul could hardly bear his lady out of his sight, even while she dressed for dinner, when they got back to the Bürgenstock, and twice he came to the door and asked plaintively how long she would be, until Anna took pity on him, and implored to be allowed to ask him to come in while she finished her mistress's hair. And that was a joy to Paul! He sat there by the dressing-table, and played with the things, opening the lids of gold boxes, and sniffing bottles of scent with an air of right and possession which made his lady smile like a purring cat. Then he tried on her rings, but they would only go on to the second joint of his little finger, as he laughingly showed her—and finally he pushed Anna aside, and insisted upon putting the last touches himself to the glorious waves of black hair. And all the while he teased the maid, and chaffed her in infamous French, to her great delight, while his lady looked at him, whole wells of tenderness deep in her eyes. Paul had adorable ways when he chose. No wonder both mistress and maid should worship him. The moon was growing larger, her slender contours more developed, and the stars seemed fainter and farther off. Nothing more exquisite could be dreamed of, thought Paul, than the view from their balcony windows, the light on the silver snows. And he would let no thought that it was the last night they would see it together mar the passionate joy of the hours still to be. His lady had never been more sweet; it was as if this wayward Undine had at last found her soul, and lay conquered and unresisting in her lover's strong arms. Thus in perfect peace and happiness they; passed their last night on the Bürgenstock. <div style="break-after:column;"></div>

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