One evening, toward the close of the summer,
she remained out longer and later than usual. Her walk, sometimes alone and sometimes with me, was through the more secluded parts of the park. On this occasion, the twilight was setting in, and she had not returned. With a dark and sulky apprehension brooding in my mind, I resolved to go out in search of her. We had not been confidential with each other of late; the old dreariness had come back upon us, embittered with a captiousness and acerbity which extracted all the sweets from our intercourse. A new element had found its way between us: we had thoughts which we concealed from each other: my distrust—her secret, whatever it was. This was a great evil; it filled every hour of the day with lurking jealousies on both sides, which one word would have dispelled forever.
I seized my hat, and was about to leave the house, when I heard a sudden noise at the street-door, and a flurry of agitated steps up the stairs. Immediately afterward, the door of the room was thrown violently open, and Astræa rushed in, pale and disheveled. She was evidently in a state of great alarm and consternation, and turning wildly round, beckoned me to see that the door was made fast. She could not speak, drawing her breath hysterically, like a person laboring under the effects of a serious fright.
"Tranquilize yourself, Astræa," I cried; "there is nothing to fear here. What is it? What has alarmed you?"
"It is he," she replied, fixing her eyes wildly upon me—"he is coming."
"Who?"
"He who has been upon our track ever and ever—who has never quitted us—who never will leave us till we are dead."
I did not dare to ask in words, but I asked with my eyes if it was the dwarf she meant.
"Ay, it is he. Be calm. It is your turn now to show your strength of mind—to show whether you value the life I have devoted to you. I hoped to have concealed this from you. We have suffered enough, and I hoped to have hidden from you what I have suffered. But it is too late now. Hush! O God!—that was his voice. You do not hear it—I do! It rings through and through my brain. He is here—he has followed me. If you ever loved me—and I know you did once!—prove it to me now. Go into the next room, and promise me to stay there whatever happens. Listen; but speak not—stir not. He is on the stairs!—will you not give me your promise? Trust all to me—rely on me—be sure of me. Let go the door—he is here!"
I made no answer, but conveying to Astræa by a searching look that it was my purpose to watch the issue, I withdrew by one door, while the dwarf entered by the other. His voice, as he approached her, sounded in my ears like the hiss of a serpent.