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- 8445
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- 2026-01-30T20:48:52.921Z
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- 8367
- text
- I.
When on the previous night Pierre had left the farm-house where Isabel
harbored, it will be remembered that no hour, either of night or day, no
special time at all had been assigned for a succeeding interview. It was
Isabel, who for some doubtlessly sufficient reason of her own, had, for
the first meeting, assigned the early hour of darkness.
As now, when the full sun was well up the heavens, Pierre drew near the
farm-house of the Ulvers, he descried Isabel, standing without the
little dairy-wing, occupied in vertically arranging numerous glittering
shield-like milk-pans on a long shelf, where they might purifyingly meet
the sun. Her back was toward him. As Pierre passed through the open
wicket and crossed the short soft green sward, he unconsciously muffled
his footsteps, and now standing close behind his sister, touched her
shoulder and stood still.
She started, trembled, turned upon him swiftly, made a low, strange cry,
and then gazed rivetedly and imploringly upon him.
"I look rather queerish, sweet Isabel, do I not?" said Pierre at last
with a writhed and painful smile.
"My brother, my blessed brother!--speak--tell me--what has
happened--what hast thou done? Oh! Oh! I should have warned thee before,
Pierre, Pierre; it is my fault--mine, mine!"
"_What_ is thy fault, sweet Isabel?"
"Thou hast revealed Isabel to thy mother, Pierre."
"I have not, Isabel. Mrs. Glendinning knows not thy secret at all."
"Mrs. Glendinning?--that's,--that's thine own mother, Pierre! In
heaven's name, my brother, explain thyself. Knows not my secret, and yet
thou here so suddenly, and with such a fatal aspect? Come, come with me
into the house. Quick, Pierre, why dost thou not stir? Oh, my God! if
mad myself sometimes, I am to make mad him who loves me best, and who, I
fear, has in some way ruined himself for me;--then, let me no more stand
upright on this sod, but fall prone beneath it, that I may be hidden!
Tell me!" catching Pierre's arms in both her frantic hands--"tell me, do
I blast where I look? is my face Gorgon's?"
"Nay, sweet Isabel; but it hath a more sovereign power; that turned to
stone; thine might turn white marble into mother's milk."
"Come with me--come quickly."
They passed into the dairy, and sat down on a bench by the honey-suckled
casement.
"Pierre, forever fatal and accursed be the day my longing heart called
thee to me, if now, in the very spring-time of our related love, thou
art minded to play deceivingly with me, even though thou should'st fancy
it for my good. Speak to me; oh speak to me, my brother!"
"Thou hintest of deceiving one for one's good. Now supposing, sweet
Isabel, that in no case would I affirmatively deceive thee;--in no case
whatever;--would'st thou then be willing for thee and me to piously
deceive others, for both their and our united good?--Thou sayest
nothing. Now, then, is it _my_ turn, sweet Isabel, to bid thee speak to
me, oh speak to me!"
"That unknown, approaching thing, seemeth ever ill, my brother, which
must have unfrank heralds to go before. Oh, Pierre, dear, dear Pierre;
be very careful with me! This strange, mysterious, unexampled love
between us, makes me all plastic in thy hand. Be very careful with me. I
know little out of me. The world seems all one unknown India to me. Look
up, look on me, Pierre; say now, thou wilt be very careful; say so, say
so, Pierre!"
"If the most exquisite, and fragile filagree of Genoa be carefully
handled by its artisan; if sacred nature carefully folds, and warms, and
by inconceivable attentivenesses eggs round and round her minute and
marvelous embryoes; then, Isabel, do I most carefully and most tenderly
egg thee, gentlest one, and the fate of thee! Short of the great God,
Isabel, there lives none who will be more careful with thee, more
infinitely considerate and delicate with thee."
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