"Forbear, forbear, Theodore," she cried; "for Ildica's life must be given up to God. From this day forth no hour shall fly--but those in which He sends his blessed sleep to allay the fiery memories of the past--without some prayer for pardon, without some petition for light in this world of darkness, without some act of penitence, of adoration, of thanksgiving. What I have told thee, Theodore, should make thee know that in this I can never change; that I have thought deeply over all that is past; and with restored reason and a clear intellect, there is but one place for me on earth--the calm and tranquil cell in some solitary sisterhood, where I may devote, as far as love for thee will let me, all my thoughts to God. Oh, Theodore, be contented! In those thoughts thou wilt share enough. Thou, thou alone art my object upon earth, round which still cling the garlands of sweet flowers that fond hope and young affection twined in the days gone by. Oh, Theodore! those flowers are all immortals: the dew of memory shall preserve them still, as bright as when first we wreathed them in the golden past. Their sweet odour shall still endure to perfume the very latest hours of life; and let us hope--ay, let us hope, that, with a garland in our hand, a garland of those same immortal flowers of love, we may meet ere long in heaven! Oh, Theodore! that life may have been terrible, painful, disastrous, but never can be useless, that makes us look forward with hope and joy to a better being and a nobler state." She gazed upward for a moment, then cast herself upon his bosom and wept.
He held her to his heart in silence, for there was a sacredness in her sorrow, an elevation in her purpose, which he dared not combat at that moment, though the hope of changing it was not extinct. Gladly, however, did he hear her, after a long pause given to the bursting forth of that deep emotion--gladly did he hear her revert to a less painful, a less agitating theme. "Eudochia," she said--"Eudochia and Ammian; tell me, Theodore, are they well and happy?"
"I left them so, beloved," he replied, "and trust they are so still; but that is long ago, for I have been delayed by every disaster that can befall the traveller on his way. Tempest and shipwreck, storm and enemies, the darkness of sixteen days upon the wide sea, a host of insidious foes lining the shore, obstacles which the might of man could not overcome, tortured, impeded, delayed me; and I am here with scarce ten of all my followers left alive, and with my own life a miracle even unto myself. When I left my sister and thy brother, however, they were well and happy; she full of smiles and hopes; and he, though graver--calmer I should say, than he was, yet, looking thoughtful happiness whenever he gazed on his own dear bride. They are both happy--most happy; and we may be so too. Yes, yes, my Ildica, brighter thoughts will come: I will see thee this night depart towards our own land with joy and thankfulness; and will follow thee with a more rapid pace ere two days be over. We have none but each other left, my Ildica, to cling to in the world; and our prayers, our thanksgiving, our adoration, will rise as gratefully to the heavenly throne, from two united hearts, thankful for mutual love and mutual happiness, as from two separate beings, torn asunder when they loved the most, and ending in solitary misery a life that has already known some sorrows."
She shook her head and murmured, "It cannot be!"
But Theodore would not believe aught but the voice of hope; and he pressed her closer to his heart. "Hark!" he said, after a moment; "there is the litter and the train of horsemen that accompany thee! Ardaric has fully provided for our safety till we reach the borders of our own land."
There was the sound of a step in the outer tent, and the curtain which divided it was raised. So often had misfortune stricken her, so continually had the wave of evil tidings been poured upon her ear, that, even at that slight sound, Ildica started, crept closer to the breast of her lover, and gazed forward with a frightened glance upon the moving curtain. The form that appeared, however, was not one to inspire fear; it was that of Neva, now pale as Ildica herself, but scarcely less lovely. She was covered with a mantle of furs, and a hood of fine sable was drawn partly over her head.
On seeing Theodore with Ildica, she paused and hesitated; and either the lamp, flickering with the wind of the moving curtain, cast for a moment a red light upon her countenance, or else the blood mounted up into her cheek, and then, rushing back again, left it as pale as before.
"Ildica, dear Ildica," she said, again advancing, "all is ready!"
Ildica's fortitude returned. It was only in anticipation she was timid. "And must I part with thee, too, dear Neva?" she said; "with thee, to whom all my consolation during the last sad month is owing? Must I part with thee, too--and for ever?"
"No, Ildica, no," answered Neva. "I go with thee, wherever thou goest. Whatever be thy fate, dear sister of my heart, sister in misfortune and disappointed hopes, with thee will I go, if it be to the uttermost parts of the earth. Thy lot I will share, thy sorrows I will sooth, till I see thee at length rewarded with happiness; and then, as a distant gazer upon a beautiful scene, I will look on from afar, and thank God for the brightness of the evening."