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"Will you not answer me, Isora?" said I, trembling. "/Be/ silent, then; but give me one look, one glance of hope, of pardon, from those dear eyes, and I ask no more."
Mourner, your child was to you what my early and only love was to me; and could you pierce down, down through a thousand fathom of ebbing thought, to the far depths of my heart, you would there behold a sorrow /and a consolation/ that have something in unison with your own! When the light of the next morning broke into our room, Isora was still sleeping.
When I expressed this wish to Isora, she looked at me long and wistfully, and then burst into tears. "/You/ will not deceive us," said she, "and I accept your kindness at once, from /him/ I rejected the same offer." "Him? of whom speak you? this Barnard, or rather but I know him!" A startling expression passed over Isora's speaking face.
"There and then," said Isora, candidly, "I might have yielded at last, for my poor father's sake, if you had not saved me." From the woman of the house she at last learned the cause.
It seemed to me as if all living kind but ourselves had, by a spell, departed from the earth, and we were left alone with the breathless and inaudible Nature from which spring the love and the life of all things. Isora slowly recovered; her eyes in opening dwelt upon mine; her blood rushed at once to her cheek, and as suddenly left it hueless as before.
I was certainly somewhat amazed by Gerald's hardihood and assurance, but I continued, with a smile, "And Donna Isora, how long, if not very intrusive on your confidence, have you known her?" "I tell you," answered Gerald, doggedly, "that I will answer no questions."
Now my good uncle knew as much of love as L. Mummius did of the fine arts,* and it was impossible to persuade him that if one wanted to indulge the tender passion, one woman would not do exactly as well as another, provided she were equally pretty. I knew therefore that he was incapable, on the one hand, of understanding my love for Isora, or, on the other, of acknowledging her claims upon me.
By a table, on which stood two or three phials of medicine, I beheld Isora, listening with an eager, a most eager and intent face to a man whose garb betrayed his healing profession, and who, laying a finger on the outstretched palm of his other hand, appeared giving his precise instructions, and uttering that oracular breath which mere human words to him was a message of fate itself, a fiat on which hung all that makes life life to his trembling and devout listener.
Still Don Diego, inhaling the fragrant weed with renewed vehemence, only like Pion's tomb, recorded by Pausanias replied to the request of his petitioner /by smoke/. I did not venture to renew my interrogatories, and there was a long silence. My eyes fixed their gaze on the door by which Isora had disappeared.
Again, I had only striven to detach Isora from Morton; had I ever attempted the much easier task of detaching Morton from Isora? No, never;" and Montreuil repeated his panegyric on my generous surrender of my rights. I interrupted him; I had not surrendered: I never would surrender while a hope remained. But, where was that hope, and how was it to be realized?
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