- end_line
- 5114
- extracted_at
- 2026-01-30T20:48:52.918Z
- extracted_by
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- start_line
- 5052
- text
- now, were to lie down and die. Then should I be at peace. Bear with me,
Pierre."
"Eternally will I do that, my beloved Isabel! Speak not to me yet
awhile, if that seemeth best to thee, if that only is possible to thee.
This thy clasping hand, my sister, _this_ is now thy tongue to me."
"I know not where to begin to speak to thee, Pierre; and yet my soul
o'erbrims in me."
"From my heart's depths, I love and reverence thee; and feel for thee,
backward and forward, through all eternity!"
"Oh, Pierre, can'st thou not cure in me this dreaminess, this
bewilderingness I feel? My poor head swims and swims, and will not
pause. My life can not last long thus; I am too full without discharge.
Conjure tears for me, Pierre; that my heart may not break with the
present feeling,--more death-like to me than all my grief gone by!"
"Ye thirst-slaking evening skies, ye hilly dews and mists, distil your
moisture here! The bolt hath passed; why comes not the following
shower?--Make her to weep!"
Then her head sought his support; and big drops fell on him; and anon,
Isabel gently slid her head from him, and sat a little composedly beside
him.
"If thou feelest in endless arrears of thought to me, my sister; so do I
feel toward thee. I too, scarce know what I should speak to thee. But
when thou lookest on me, my sister, thou beholdest one, who in his soul
hath taken vows immutable, to be to thee, in all respects, and to the
uttermost bounds and possibilities of Fate, thy protecting and
all-acknowledging brother!"
"Not mere sounds of common words, but inmost tones of my heart's deepest
melodies should now be audible to thee. Thou speakest to a human thing,
but something heavenly should answer thee;--some flute heard in the air
should answer thee; for sure thy most undreamed-of accents, Pierre, sure
they have not been unheard on high. Blessings that are imageless to all
mortal fancyings, these shall be thine for this."
"Blessing like to thine, doth but recoil and bless homeward to the heart
that uttered it. I can not bless thee, my sister, as thou dost bless
thyself in blessing my unworthiness. But, Isabel, by still keeping
present the first wonder of our meeting, we shall make our hearts all
feebleness. Let me then rehearse to thee what Pierre is; what life
hitherto he hath been leading; and what hereafter he shall lead;--so
thou wilt be prepared."
"Nay, Pierre, that is my office; thou art first entitled to my tale,
then, if it suit thee, thou shalt make me the unentitled gift of thine.
Listen to me, now. The invisible things will give me strength;--it is
not much, Pierre;--nor aught very marvelous. Listen then;--I feel
soothed down to utterance now."
During some brief, interluding, silent pauses in their interview thus
far, Pierre had heard a soft, slow, sad, to-and-fro, meditative stepping
on the floor above; and in the frequent pauses that intermitted the
strange story in the following chapter, that same soft, slow, sad,
to-and-fro, meditative, and most melancholy stepping, was again and
again audible in the silent room.
- title
- Chunk 2