This time, Jane remained proof against his irony; she felt only the infinite bitterness whence it came, felt that through all his grim resistance, her triumph was fighting its upward way.
"Yes," she said softly, still keeping her eyes fixed upon him.
He bent down to her, and lifted her gently in his arms. Those arms clasped the slight, delicate form as if they would hold it fast forever, and with strong, irresistible might he pressed her to his heart. His face was again distorted by all the tempestuous passion that had raged through its lineaments on that autumn night; his breast rose and fell as if in fearful conflict; but it was something nobler than fury or revenge that now plowed up the very soul of this man; it was a dumb, torturing sorrow, pulsing through his whole being, and stirring it to its inmost depths.
Jane saw the conflict, and had no heart to go on with her entreaties. She felt that a word from her would decide all, and yet she was silent. Her head sunk unresisting, upon his shoulder, but two heavy tears rolled slowly from her eyes down upon his hand.
Then suddenly, she felt Henry's lips, hot and burning, against her forehead; it was a kiss so unlike that first kiss she had received from him; it burned like a fiery brand upon her forehead. "Farewell!" vibrated in a half-stifled, yet ardent tone, through his voice. Then he let her loose from his arms. With this one word, he had freed her, renounced her forever!--When she glanced up, he had already left the room.--She was alone.
[CHAPTER XXXIII.]
An Unexpected Meeting.
Spring upon the Rhine! How many a heart with fond, irresistible longing reverts to this thought! The spring comes everywhere. In the storms and billows of the ocean, in the soft, aromatic breath of leafy forests; in raging, devastating freshets from the mountains, in the blossoming splendors and jubilant lark-songs of the plain;--but nowhere does it so smile as here, by the cradle of German romance, where a breath of poesy hovers overall. The spring glides through the Rhineland, laying lightly her hand in blessing upon field and vineyard; and the blessing becomes a consecration. She floats sun-kissed, over forest and rocky cliff, and glances smiling down from hoary castles, gray with age. But never had the German spring been so greeted, so enjoyed as now, when she came bringing to a united people the festival of resurrection and of victory;--and peace to the world.
This spring had come to the land prematurely and unannounced, as if in haste to greet the new empire with its sunshine and its flowers. B., that "learned nest," was to-day full of joy and exultation, for it was to receive its university professor, Fernow, as a military hero; but the town being the centre of all rejoicings, its environs were silent as the dead. The day was magnificent, and yet the gentleman and lady who were climbing the path to the Ruènberg, seemed the only pedestrians far and near. Was it through accident or intention? Jane Forest had to-day, for the first time, laid aside her deep mourning; her dress was still sombre and without ornament, but it was no longer of that sable, hopeless black, and it almost seemed as if with the gloomy dress had vanished that stony, melancholy expression which, during the whole winter, had shadowed her face. There brooded over this face something like a breath of the spring; a tender, longing hope timidly ventured forth from beneath the scarce-broken icy covering, but had not as yet courage to look happiness and the future full in the face. There was a strange, wholly new expression on these once proud, resolute features, and it gave the face something which despite its beauty had hitherto been wanting--gentleness.
Mr. Atkins, who trudged along at the young lady's side, looked very grim and morose to-day; he seemed to feel this splendor of the spring a personal affront. Everything he saw annoyed him, and he was still more annoyed by what he did not see. He could not understand why this tender green had started forth so soon; it must certainly be destroyed by the night-frosts. This preposterous shining of the spring sun with a real June heat, only portended speedy and violent rains, and the Rhine, just now, was the object of his utter and supreme aversion. As Mr. Atkins walked along its banks, it had taken the liberty to wet his boots through and through, and had also shown an ardent longing to draw his whole person down into its watery depths, things which naturally excited the American's bitter ire.