13. XIII.
All that day he was absent among the neighboring
rocks and woods. She had asked to go
forth with him, but he had resolutely, though gently,
denied her. Her thoughts, during his absence,
were all given, in spite of her will, to the one absorbing
subject — the mystery of his sorrows.
By a strange instinct, her mind continually reverted
to the image of that star, that seemed to cross
the river, and station itself close beside him where
he stood. A next and natural transition of her
thought reviewed the singular sensations which
she had experienced just when sinking into slumber,
and when awakening the previous night and
morning; and she now remembered, among other
circumstances which had attended her sleep, that
it had followed soon after the kind kiss which Albert
had impressed upon her eyes. The more she
meditated this matter, the more perfectly was she
convinced that the kiss of Albert had produced
that obliviousness which she was so very desirous
to avoid; and, as she was resolute, in spite of all
his counsels, to discover what she could of the
occasion of his sorrows, she determined, if possible,
to escape the repetition of that kiss upon her
eyelids when, at a future time, she desired that her
eyes might be kept open. It is not difficult for a
woman to effect her object when she aims to do
wrong; and it will be seen that Anastasia was
only too successful in repressing sleep when her
husband desired to impose it on her.
That very night she determined to try her experiments;
and accordingly, as a first step, she
aimed to set Albert's mind perfectly at rest as to
the degree of quiet which was in hers. When he
returned to the castle, which he did at early evening,
she received him with the fondest and most
satisfying smiles. Her good-humor and cheerfulness,
easy but not obtrusive, delighted him, and
she now saw the truth of what he had told her.
He was happy as he saw her happy, and his sadness
passed away, leaving not the trace of a cloud
upon his brow, as, to his eye, she appeared content
with her condition. Joyfully — ay, with an intoxication
of joy — he clasped her to his bosom,
and his words were never fonder, and his kisses
never half so sweet. She half resolved, if the appearance
of contentment on her part could produce
such a vast improvement on his, to make it
her study to obey him. Alas! why have we not
always the strength to obey good impulses only!
“Be ever thus, my Anastasia — be ever thus,
and we are most happy. You will then see no
sorrow on my brow, and I will secure you against
all that might otherwise assail your heart.”
“I will pray Heaven to be as you wish me, Albert.
I have little else to pray for.”
She retired for the night, and he promised to
follow her very soon. When she had gone, he
clasped his hands, and his eyes looked up in hope
to the blessed starlight that came shining through
the grated window of the castle. He spoke in
low tones of soliloquy as he looked up to the
wheeling and flickering fires.
“Let her but continue thus, and I am safe.
There will then be no more wanderings — no more
flight — no more incertitude. I shall resume my
station — I shall ever more burn with the fixed
fires that the winds move not — that the capricious
seasons check not — beyond the control of the
mortal, beyond the power and caprice of the immortal.
Yes, dearest Anastasia, in thy constancy
— in thy content — in thy love of thy condition,
clamouring for no change-begetting knowledge, I
shall be secure, and we shall both be happy.”
It was not long after this that he retired to the
chamber of his bride.
