Aniela hastened her steps, as if she wanted to return home, and said almost in a whisper,—
"Do not say that, Leon; please do not. You know I cannot do it."
"Why can you not? Do not understand me wrongly. You are and always will be a very dear sister to me. It is only this I wanted you to know."
Aniela almost feverishly gave me her hand, which I raised reverently to my lips.
"Yes, I will be that,—always that," she replied quickly.
And I saw what a heavy weight I had lifted from her mind; how that one word "sister" had calmed and moved her. This made me recover all my self-possession; for, when I had touched her hand with my lips, it almost grew dark before my eyes, and I wanted to take her in my arms, and tell her the whole truth. In the mean time Aniela's face had grown brighter and more cheerful. As we came nearer the house, her trouble seemed to slip off from her, and seeing how much I had gained by taking this way with her, I continued in the same strain of friendly conversation.
"You see, little sister, there is such a void around me. My father is no more; my aunt is a saintly woman; but she does not understand new times and new people. Her ideas are different from mine. I shall never marry,—think only what a lonely man I am. I have nobody near me,—nobody to share my thoughts, my plans, or my sorrows; nothing but loneliness around me. Is it not natural that I look for sympathy where I might expect to find it? I am like the crippled beggar, who stands waiting at the gate until they give him a small coin. At this moment the beggar is very poor indeed, and he stands under your window, and begs for a little friendliness, sympathy, and pity. A very small coin will satisfy him,—you will not refuse him that, Aniela, will you?"
"I will not, Leon; I will not, since you are so unhappy—"
Her voice broke, and she began to tremble. Again I had to make a great effort to restrain myself; and as I looked at her, something like unshed tears took me by the throat.
"Aniela! little Aniela!" I exclaimed, not knowing what to say.