The San Francisco call. [volume] (San Francisco [Calif.]) 1895-1913, 1905-04-23

pierce the Stiffness. - SclSC VI AACo-
ness rushed upon him. His arm, out
stretched touched something yielding
Teresa" he cried and his hands
found hers and drew her close to him.
In that first moment of silence he was
keenly conscious of her breath against
his cheek, hurried and warm.
II kuow-I know" he said in choked
voice. "Tita told me all / would give
my body inch by inch, my blood drop
by drop to give back to your life what
! have taken from it!''
She shook her head. you have taken
nothing from 1t. Before that night on
the square it held nothing-I have
learned that since
She was feeling a sense OF expecta-
ton. Since the day at San LaZarrO
she had never expected to see him
again. To her he had been glorious
spirit, struggling for lost foothold on
the causeways of redemption In her
Z mental picture he had stood always
as she had seen him on the monastery
path, pale, clad in monks coarse
robe, the vesture of earthly penance.
This picture had blotted out his past.
whatever it had been, whatever Of r1-
NOR was true or false. whatever she
may for q time have believed. Every
word he had spoken remained living
iterate memory. And the thought that
her hand had drawn him to his better
self had filed her with a painful &C.
stasy.
Teresa" he said unsteadily, IT long
ago forfeited every right to hope and
happiness. And if this were not true,
by tie that holds me, and by bond
you believe in, have still no right to
stand here now But fate drew me here
to-day-as 1t drew me to you that
morning at La Mira. It is stronger
than I-stronger than US both. Yet
have brought you nothing but mis-
ery!"
'You have brought me much more
than that" she interrupted II knew
nothing of life when 1 met you. have
learned 1t now as you must have known
1t to write as you have. / know that it
Is vaster than / ever dreamed-more
sorrowful, but sweeter, too"
A stone bench showed near, wound
with moonbeams, and she sat down,
making room beside her. In the, white
light she seemed unreal fantasy in
wild-rose brocade. A chain of dull gold
girdIed her russell hair, dropping sin
gle emerald to CULVER and sparkle on
her forehead. Her face was pale, but
with a shadowy something born of
those weeks. 1.,s<
What he saw there was awakened
self-reliance and mettle,. the birthright
of clean inheritance. The wedding gon-
doIa that had borne a girl to San La
zarro had carried back a woman, re-
: bellious, agonized, flushed to every
nerve She had opposed a woman'S
pride to the hatred that otherwise
would have made the ensuing time a
slow unrolIing nightmare; had taken
her place pasSively as mistress or the
gloomy casa with its atmosphere of
cold grandeur and miserliness, thank
full that its host was niggardly OF en-
he
might the petty persecution with which
the old count surrounded her. His an
ger, soured by the acid sponge of jeal-
ousy, had fed itself daily with this bait
ing He believed she had come
smirched from the very altar to. his
name and place. Yet he had no proof,
and to make the scandal public-to put
her away-would have scared his pride,
laid him open to the wrath of her kin.
brought her brother back to Italy to
avenge the slight upon their house,
and. most Of all to be dreaded, would
have necessitated the repayment Of her
dowry. A slow and secret satisfaction
was all he had, and under 1t her spirit
had CALLED and chafed him. In this
strait she had had no confidant. for
her father, aging rapidly and failing,
she would not sadden. and whenever
he drove to Casa Guiccioi from his
villa, some miles from the town-sole
relic of his wasted properties-had
striven to conceal all evidence or un-
happiness. Even when she had deter
mined on a momentous step-a secret
appeal to the papal court for such
measure of freedom as was possible
she had determined not to tell him yet.
Grief and repression had called to the
surface the latent capabilities which
in the girl had been but promises, and
these spoke now to Gordon in beauty
strong, eager and far-divining.
What / have known OF life is not
its sweets" he answered in bitterness.
st have gathered it's poison-fowers and
their perfume clings to the life 1--we
now
But it will not be So she said ear
nestly. I believe more than you told
me at La Mira-when you said IT had
been one of your faults that you had
never justified yourself. You were
never all they said. Something tells
me that. If you did evil it was not
because you chose it or took pleasure
in it. For while I doubted every
thing, but that day at San Lazzarros
when / saw you-the moment you
spoke-it came back to me. No mat
ter what 1 might think or hear again.
in my heart 1 should always believe
that now!
He put out his hand. gesture Of
hopelessnesS and protest His mind
was crying out against the twin i'm
placables, time and space If man
could but push back the now to then.
enweave the there and here, IL in
such a reformed universe he and she
might this hour be standing-no ir-
revocable past, only the new nowi
What might not life yield up for him.
of it's burgeoning, not Of its corrup
ton, its hope, not of its despair.
.Hrhat day. he repeated Il saw you
in the gondola. / would have spared
you that meeting.
"Yet that was what told me- If
had not seen you there" She paused.
The chains of his repression chung
about him like the load of broken
wings. The knowledge that had come
as he walked the floor of his monas-
tery-room with the burn of a blow on
his forehead had spelled abnegation.
She must never know the secret he car
ried-must in time forget her own.
once out he could never shaclxIe 1t
again. He completed her sentence:
You would have forgotten the SOON
err"
II should never have forgotten" she