"It is she," murmured he softly, "it is Elise. Now she is mine, and no one can take her from me. She belongs to me, my wife, my beloved. Fate itself bears her to my arms, and I were a fool to let her escape again."
With passionate impetuosity he pressed her to his heart, and covered her lips and face with his kisses. But the violence of his affection aroused Elise. Slowly and stunned she raised herself in his arms, and looked around, as if awakened from a dream. "Where am I?" asked she, languidly.
Feodor, still kneeling before her, drew her more closely to his heart. "You are with me," said he, passionately, and as he felt her trembling in his arms, he continued still more warmly: "Fear nothing; my Elise, look not so timidly and anxiously about you. Look upon me, me, who am lying at your feet, and who ask nothing more from Fortune than that this moment should last an eternity."
Elise scarcely understood him. She was still stunned—still confused by the dreams of her swoon. She passed her hand over her forehead, and let it drop again list-less and powerless. "My senses are confused," whispered she in a low voice, "I do not hear; what has happened to me?"
"Do not ask, do not inquire," cried Feodor, ardently. "Think only that love has sent an angel to you, on whose wings you have reposed on your passage hither to me. Why will you ask after the nature of the miracle, when the miracle itself brings delight to our eyes and hearts? Therefore, fear nothing, gentle, pure being. Like an angel do you come to me through the deluge of sin. You bear the olive-branch of peace, and love and happiness are before us."
But as he was about to press her still more closely to his heart, a shudder pervaded her whole frame. "Oh, now, I recollect," she cried, vehemently; "now I know all! I was alone in the garden. There came those terrible men. They seized me with their rude hands. They wounded my heart with their horrible looks, which made me shudder. Whither have they brought me? where am I?"
"You are with me," said Feodor, carrying her hand to his lips.
For the first time, then, she looked at him—for the first time, she recognized him. A deep blush of joy suffused her cheeks, and an angelic smile beamed on her lips. She felt, she knew nothing further than that her lover was at her side, that he was not dead—that he was not lost to her. With an outcry of delight she threw herself into his arms, and greeted the lost, the found one, with warm and happy words of love. She raised her eyes and hands to heaven. "Oh, my God, he lives!" cried she, exultingly. "I thank Thee, God, I thank Thee. Thou hadst pity on my sufferings."
"Love protected me," said Feodor, gazing at her passionately. "Love saved me by a miracle. Still more miraculously, it brings you to my arms. Fear not, Elise. No other eye than mine has seen you. No one knows your name. That sweet secret, is only known to Love and ourselves."
Elise trembled. This imprudent speech woke her out of the stupor which had so long had possession of her; it recalled her to the world, and dispelled the charm which his presence, his looks, and his words had thrown around her. She was now aroused, and hurried from a state of dreamy delight to one of cruel and dread reality. The ray of joy faded from her cheek, the smile died on her lips, and, extricating herself forcibly from his arms, she stood before him in her pride and anger. "Feodor," said she, terrified, "you sent those fearful men! You caused me to be kidnapped!" With an angry, penetrating glance, she looked at Feodor, who sank his eyes in confusion to the ground.