They needed no second bidding; for she told them to do that which had lain as a longing at their hearts ever since she had begun to read. Not a year before, when they had last parted, they would have waited no command--nay, no permission; but would at once, in the unconscious liberty of the young heart, bound forth to enjoy the scenes they loved, in the society that they loved not less--that of each other. But a change had come over their feelings since then, rendering all their intercourse more sweet, a thousand times more sweet, but more timid also. Theodore, indeed, knew why; for his father's parting words--the solemn sanction which Paulinus had given to his future union with Ildica, in case death should prevent a father's lips from pronouncing the blessing at their marriage feast--had opened his eyes to the nature of his own sensations. No sooner had the few first words been uttered by Paulinus than he had felt at once that his love for Ildica was more than fraternal affection; that it was different--how different!--from that which he experienced towards Eudochia; how different from that which he entertained towards any other human being! With Ildica, the knowledge was more vague: it was more a sensation than a certainty. So long as Theodore had been with her she had gone on treating him as a brother; but with the feelings of her heart changing towards him still, as imperceptibly, but still as completely, as the green small berry changes to the purple grape, the verdant bud to the expanded and to the yellow leaf. So long as he had been with her she had felt no alteration, though it took place; but during his absence she meditated on those things long and deeply; and on his return she met him with not less affection, but with deep and timid emotions, mingling a consciousness with her every look, which was sweet to the eye that saw it, and that wished it to be so.
Theodore raised the curtain, and Ildica passed out; but ere she had taken two steps in that grand moonlight hall, Theodore's hand clasped hers, and he led her on through all those splendid apartments--which have been, even in ruins, the wonder and the admiration of all after days--to the vast colonnade, six hundred feet in length, which fronted and overlooked the beautiful Adriatic. As they passed, in the various apartments of the slaves and domestics were to be seen lights, and to be heard many a gay voice laughing; and at the end of the principal streets of the palace, for it had its streets as well as corridors, two or three groups were seen playing in the moonlight with polished pieces of bone, or, with loud and vehement gesticulations, disputing about their game. Theodore almost feared that the portico itself might be tenanted by some such party; and his heart had anticipated an hour of lonely wandering with her he loved so eagerly, that he might not have brooked disappointment with old and stoical patience. That portico, however, was considered by the general inhabitants of the palace, and those also of the neighbouring village, as in some degree sacred ground. It was there that the great emperor, after having conquered and reigned in glory through the prime of life, after having satisfied the vengeful zeal of his counsellors against the Christian sects, which now, in spite of all his persecutions, peopled the whole land, after having made his name awful by deeds of blood not less than by deeds of magnificence, had been accustomed to sit, self-stripped of his power, and to gaze out, after having been an emperor, upon nearly the same scene which his eyes beheld before he was anything but a slave. Although little more than a century had elapsed since the death of Diocletian, his fate and history, his acts and his character, had been strangely distorted by tradition; and though the peasantry had not learned to look upon him as a bad man, or to execrate him as a tyrant, yet the extraordinary vicissitudes which he had hewn out for himself, the vague legends of his acts during life, and the mystery attaching to his death, surrounded his memory with a fearful awe, which held the people of the neighbourhood aloof from the spot for which he had shown such peculiar fondness, when night covered the world with her dim and fanciful shades.
The portico was vacant; happy sounds rose up from the shore, where the fishermen were lingering beside their boats; and a merry laugh, or snatches of some light song, were heard from the neighbouring village, sinking into the hearts of Ildica and Theodore with the power of a charm, waking associations of sweet domestic joy, dim and undefined, but thrilling--potent--overpowering. Oh! who can tell the many magic avenues through which all the external things of the wide universe find, at some time or other, means of communicating with the inmost heart--avenues, the gates of which are shut till, at some cabalistic word of grief, or joy, or hope, or fear, they suddenly fly open, and we find in our bosom a thousand sweet and kindred fellowships, with things which had never learned to touch or agitate us before.
Glad and cheerful, yet calm, were the sounds that broke occasionally upon the listening ear of night; and grand and solemn, but still gentle, was the scene which lay stretched beneath the risen moon; but the sensations which were in the breasts of the two rendered those sounds and sights a thousand fold sweeter, a thousand fold more dear; and, in return, the gay, distant voices, and the calm, wide, moonlight sea, seemed to draw forth and render intense, even to overwhelming, in the souls of Theodore and Ildica,
"Into the mighty vision passing,"
the inborn joy of all the new emotions to which that day had given life within their hearts. They paused and listened to the melody of innocent mirth, and paused and gazed upon the bright world before them. Ildica's hand trembled in that of Theodore, and her heart beat quick; but he felt that she was his, and that she was agitated; and with the gentleness of true affection, though without any definite plan for sparing her, he took the very means of telling his first tale of love so as to agitate as little as possible the young and tender being, all whose deepest feelings were given to him alone.
"Hark!" he said, "hark, dear Ildica! how gay and sweet those merry voices sound! Some lover come back from wandering like me, tells the glad story of his journey done to the ear of her who has watched for him in absence."
Ildica grew more calm, and raised her eyes, too, to Theodore, not without some feeling of surprise, so different was his tone, so much more manly were his words than when they had parted. There had been, up to that moment, one thing, perhaps, wanting in her love towards him--the conscious feeling of man's ascendency: she had loved with passion deep, sincere, and ardent; but she had loved as a girl, and looked upon him still as the companion of her early sports. His words and tone--the words and tone of one who had mingled with, and taken his place among men--put the last rose to the wreath. She felt that thenceforth to him she could cling for protection--to him she could turn for guidance and direction.
But Theodore went on. "Some lover," he said, "or perhaps some husband, Ildica, returned from the labours of the day to home, and happiness, and sweet domestic love! Oh, dear Ildica, since I have been away, often have I, in wandering through different provinces, lodged in the dwellings of traders in the towns, or in the cottages of shepherds and labourers in the mountains and the plains; and the most beautiful, the most blessed thing that I have ever seen has been found as often, if not oftener, in the hut of the herd, or the house of the common merchant, as in the marble palaces of the Cæsars, and within the walls of imperial cities. Oh, that sweet domestic love! that blessing--that bright blessing! which, like the glorious light of the sun, shines alike on every condition and on every state, cheering, enlivening, enlightening, all who shut it not out from their own dark hearts by vices and by crimes. Hark, hark! dear Ildica, how those gay voices seem to chime to my words, speaking of love, and joy, and hope! Oh, Ildica, dear Ildica! may not such things be also for you and me?"
Ildica sunk down on the stone seat by which they had been standing, but she left her hand still in his, and he felt it tremble. Nor did he himself speak unmoved; for his ardent nature, and the first breaking forth of those dear and treasured thoughts, shook his whole frame; and scarcely daring to trust his lips with further words, he placed himself by her side, murmuring only, "Dearest Ildica!" She answered only with a long-drawn, agitated sigh; and, gliding his arm round her soft waist, he drew her gently to his bosom.