With constant nursing and brooding upon, her fascination for the Englishman increased; it seemed, indeed, to be the one thing which kept her thin thread of life from finally breaking.
‘If I could see him again,’ she murmured to herself, ‘only once again, and then (as Salem says) die!’
The wish of her heart was destined to be realised: she did at least see Bradley once again.
She was sitting at home one day alone, when the door of the room opened, and more like a spectre than a man he walked in.
At the first glimpse of his face Eustasia uttered a wild cry and staggered a few steps forward, as if about to throw herself into his arms; but suddenly she controlled herself, and sank half swooning into a chair.
‘You have come!’ she said at length, raising her eyes wistfully to his; ‘you have come at last!’
He did not answer, but kept his eyes fixed upon hers with a look which made her shudder.
‘How—how did you find me?’ she asked faintly.
‘I came to Paris, and by accident I heard of you,’ he answered in a hollow voice.
Again there was silence. Bradley kept his eyes fixed upon the sibyl with a look which thrilled her to the soul. There was something about him which she could not understand; something which made her fear him. Looking at him more closely, she saw that he was curiously changed; his eyes were sunken and hollow; and though they were fixed upon her they seemed to be looking at something far away; his hair, too, had turned quite grey.