CHAPTER XXVII.
LETTER OF LEONORA D'ORCO TO LORENZO VISCONTI.
"It has come--it has come! Oh, yes, it has come at length. Dear Lorenzo, my own Lorenzo, forgive me if I am wild with joy. How I have longed, how I have looked for this letter! longed and looked, till hope itself grew very like despair! and yet what a fool I was to expect it sooner. You would not write till you reached Naples. I knew it well; you told me so. But what a time has it seemed! Oh, those three months between the day of your departure and the day when you wrote--three short months, people would say; three long ages to me--how slowly, how heavily have they passed away!
"I believe the sun has shone and the sky been clear, and winter has gone and spring has come again, and the earth, grown weary of having no flowers, is putting out blossoms on every spray, and sprinkling the ground with gems; but every day has been a day of mist and darkness to me, a night of fear and dread.
"Consider that I knew nought of your fate--that in every siege or battle that took place my whole hopes, my whole happiness was perilled upon each stroke that fell. I could bear it, dear Lorenzo, if I were near. I could ride with you through the thickest of the fight; no weak terror, no idle cautions should keep you back, or distract your mind, or bate your daring, or paralyse your arm, were I but near to bathe your brow, or pillow your head, or soothe your pain, if you came back sick and wounded. But you were alone, with none but menials near you. In the hour of anguish or of death there was no Leonora to console, to comfort, to tend you, and, at the last, to go hand in hand with you on high, and be your sister in a better world. This is what gave poignancy to all the sorrows of absence.
"But why should I plead my cause with you as if you would blame my terror; or think hardly of the anxieties I have felt? I know you can understand them--I know you can sympathise with them. Yes, yes, you have been apprehensive and anxious for me--I see it in every line of your letter--for me, whose days have passed without event or incident, without danger and without fear.
"Oh, my beloved, what can be more wearisome, what can be more full of dark, dull dread than those still, eventless days, when, like a prisoner in his solitary cell, our soul sits expecting the blow of fate.
"But it has come--the dear assuaging letter has come to tell me that you are safe, that you are well, that you love me still, that your heart yearns for our meeting. It was long upon its way; but I, do believe poor Antonio brought it as fast as he could. I think he knew how I longed for its coming--how I longed for yours.
"Oh, how I long for it still, my Lorenzo; and yet there is a pleasure in having to write. I can tell you on this page--I can dare to own to you more than I could by spoken words. This paper cannot see my cheek glow, nor, though cold and unsympathetic as the world, can it smile coldly at feelings it cannot comprehend. Oh yes, there are many hundred miles between us, and I dare pour out my whole heart to you. I dare tell you how much I love you; how you have become part of my happiness--of my being; how my existence is wrapped up in yours.
"When I think of that long journey together--of that journey which your noble nature made safe for me, and oh! how happy too, I thank Heaven, which has made me know a man whom I can reverence as well as love.
"Even as I write, the memory of those sweet days comes back, every act, every word, every look is remembered. The tones that were music to me, the look that was light, are present to my eye and ear; my head upon your bosom; your eyes look into mine, and the burning kisses go thrilling through my veins into my heart.
"Oh come soon, Lorenzo, come and realize all our dreams; blot out this long period of anxious absence from my memory, or only leave it as a dark contrast to our bright joy. I can part with you no more, my beloved; I must go with you where you go. Nothing now opposes our union; you say my father's consent is given. Let me have the right to be with you everywhere, whether in the city or the camp. Let me be your companion, your friend, your consolation, and you shall be my guide, my protector, my husband.
"How wildly, how madly I write! some would say how unwomanly. Let them say what they please. They who blame have never loved as we have loved--have never trusted as we trust; or else they have never known you, and cannot comprehend how worthy you are of seeing a clear picture of Leonora's heart, how little capable of misinterpreting one word she writes, or abusing one feeling which you yourself have inspired.
"Perhaps, were you here, I could not tell you all this; my tongue might hesitate, my voice might fail me, but the same sensations would be within, and the words, unspoken, would be written in my heart.
"It is hard to come forth from our own separate world, and speak of the things of the common, every-day life. Indeed, I have nothing to tell, for I have lived in my own dear world ever since you left me; but one thing I must mention. Tell the Marquis de Vitry that I have heard from my dear cousin Blanche Marie, and she wishes to know if he wears her glove still, and what fortune it has found. She says, if he has not forgotten her, and any couriers pass by Pavia, she would fain hear of his health.
"This is the way in which I ought to write to you, I suppose, Lorenzo; but I cannot do so; and yet, Heaven bless the dear girl, and grant that her union with De Vitry may be as happy as ours. She well deserves as much happiness as can be found on earth, for she has ever preferred others to herself. I almost feel selfish when I compare myself with her, and consider how completely your love has absorbed every thought and feeling of your
Leonora."