Chapter XXIII: The Parting for Ever

A second, a third day had passed, and it was night; and, kneeling humbly before a small black cross, with tears continually streaming from her eyes, was that fair girl whose unhappy fate had led her from the sweet tranquillity of the domestic home--the home which love, and fancy, and hope had taught her to prize as the brightest lot on earth--to scenes of strife, and turbulence, and toil, to cares unceasing, and to acts which, purchased by the agony of her own spirit and the blasting of her own hopes, had changed the fate and wrought the deliverance of a world.

It was night; and she wept and prayed alone. An hour more, and she was to be borne, guarded in safety by a strong band of warriors, from a camp where, with the light of the ensuing morning, a ceremony was to be performed which might well end in general bloodshed: and she wept and prayed in silence; wept the blighting of her dearest wishes; wept her own fate and the fate of him she loved; prayed forgiveness for an act she had been taught to consider righteous, and holy, and sanctified, but for which her own heart smote her, even though by it she had won her own deliverance. She prayed forgiveness for that act, heroic, mighty, beneficial as it was; and while the whole Christian world raised up the thankful hands, and praised God for their deliverance, she besought his pardon for the deed that had achieved it.

Solemn and sad was the scene presented by that tent, as there, still exquisite in beauty, she knelt before the cross; and the solitary lamp, casting its full light upon her, showed those graceful lines and lovely features too truly expressive of utter despair. After a while, she strove to dry the fountain of her tears; those tears, bitter as they were, had been a relief to her overloaded heart. She thought she heard a sound, and rose from before the cross. It was but to be caught in the arms of him she loved.

He pressed her to his bosom; and for a moment she lay there, while joy ecstatic--joy worth years of suffering--thrilled through her heart, and took away all power to speak, to think, or to resolve.

The next instant, however, she started up, and struggled from his arms, exclaiming wildly, "Touch me not! Touch me not! Oh, Theodore, touch me not! I am unworthy that thou shouldst touch me."

Theodore paused and gazed upon her, and over his face their gathered the cloud of uncertainty and apprehension. A doubt, a suspicion, horrible, fiery, agonizing, maddening, rushed through his brain, and he exclaimed, "Oh, God! is it possible? Have I then lost my Ildica--my pure, my holy, my beloved!"

Written on his countenance, she saw the dreadful thought that crossed his mind; she heard it in the deep despair that shook his voice. "No, no!" she cried, lifting her eyes towards the sky; "no, no! As there is a God in heaven--as there is redemption for all sins--I am thine, thine only, thine faithfully, thine in every thought, in heart, mind, body! thine alone!"

"Then come to my arms!" cried Theodore; "come to my arms, and be my own for ever, brightest, dearest, most beautiful, and most beloved!"

"Oh, no, no, Theodore!" she answered, sadly; "oh, no, no! never can I be thine except in spirit and in love. This hand has lain in the hand of the barbarian. This hand has been died in the blood of his heart. This hand never, never can be given to thee in wedlock, pure, and noble, and virtuous as thou art."

"Nay, nay, Ildica," he said, twining his arms round her, and pressing her closer to his bosom--"nay nay; but hear me. Sit down here by your own Theodore, your brother, your lover, your promised husband."

She sobbed violently, and her tears deluged his bosom. "Listen to me, my Ildica," he continued, seating himself with her on the side of the couch, and still pressing her to his heart. "Is my happiness nothing to Ildica, that now, when fate at length unites us, her hand should sever the dear bond for ever?" Her only answers were sobs. "Hear me," he said--"hear me, Ildica. Thon hast done an act for which all nations bless thee. Nor wert thou to blame for any part therein. Thou hadst no other way to save thyself from a fate far more terrible. Thou thoughtest that I was dead! Flight was impossible, resistance vain!"

"Listen to _me_, Theodore," she said, raising her head and looking on his face more calmly, but still sadly and gloomily--"listen to me, and thou shalt see that I know, and have calculated, and pressed forth the honey from each excuse, for the act that I have committed. I will tell thee all--I can tell thee all--for my reason and my memory are now clear, and I can look back upon the past as upon a picture, wherein I can see my own image acting a part involuntarily in mighty and awful deeds. Listen to me, then, beloved; and while I lie here and repose, for the last time in life, upon that dear resting-place whereon I had hoped to cradle all my after years, I will tell thee all, all the dark thoughts and sad memories of the past. Thou hast heard how my mother died, and how a violent and a raging sickness deprived me for long of sense. Never after that, Theodore--never, after I awoke and found myself alone in all the world, thee absent, my mother gone, Ammian, Eudochia far away--Never do I think that my mind regained its tone. It was as a bow which the strong arm of misfortune had stretched too far; and though it sprang back in a degree, it never became straight and powerful as before. Then came all the horrid visions of the barbarian's love; but under all those trials I struggled, as my Theodore might have seen and approved. Amid them all there is not one memory that lies heavy at my heart. I bore up with fortitude: I resisted with courage: I pleaded, as I fancied, with success. But then at length, as hope, bright hope was rising up, and telling me that a week, a day, an hour might bring thee to me, suddenly, and without preparation, they told me that thou wert dead. They left me to believe that thou hadst been murdered by command of him who sought my love. Oh God! I can scarcely think of it even now," she continued, clasping her hand upon her forehead.

But, after a moment, she went on, with a deep sigh--"Well, there fell upon me a cloud; I walked amid those around me as one walking in a mist. I saw little, I knew little, of all that surrounded me. Brief snatches of what was said I understood. People came and disappeared like figures in a thick fog, and voices sounded in mine ear as of distant persons, that one sees not, heard talking in a dark night. But among those voices was one," and her voice rose, "which taught me a lesson of high daring, which showed me holy authority for a deed of blood, which called upon me night and day to deliver the earth from her scourge, the nations from their destroyer, the people of God from their oppressor and their enemy. Night and day that voice told me that I was the appointed, the chosen of the Lord, to do his will upon his adversary. It told me that for this I had been made hopeless and rendered desolate: for this I had been cast into the hands of the barbarians: for this had the infidel king been made to cast the eyes of passion upon me. Oh Theodore! that voice but strengthened ideas which I had already conceived; it but nerved my heart to deeds that I had already contemplated. I had promised my mother that, in the time of trial, I would act as one of my ancestors would have acted: I had promised my own heart that I would die sooner than suffer the love of any but thyself. There was, as thou hast said, no escape; there was no resistance. I was called to the sacrifice of the bridal by a command, not an invitation; and I went in the strength of madness and despair to slay the slayer of my father, my husband, and my people; to cut short deeds of blood by one as dark and terrible; and to prevent the accomplishment of that fearful vow which he had made, to lay the Eastern world in ashes, and to leave not a blade of grass or a living soul between the Danube and the Hellespont. Three fearful lots were laid before me, to choose which I would. They were--to abhor myself for ever as the slave of Attila's foul passions--to slay myself to escape him--or to slay him, and, though my certain death should follow, thus free the Christian world, and deliver the nations from the sword of the destroyer. I chose, oh Theodore, the bolder and the mightier deed: I chose that which I believed was justified in self-defence, which was beneficial to the human race, which I had been told was pleasing unto God. I chose it with an unshrinking heart, a keen eye, and a steady hand. But remember, oh remember, that I vowed no vow; that I promised no promise unto him; that I stood passive, while they muttered, and they sacrificed, and never, never gave the hand he took. Remember, that at that very altar where he sealed his own fate, when solemnly adjured to tell the truth, he swore to me that thou wert dead, and lost to me for ever. I had no choice, I had no hope, I had no safety! But when he fell and lay before me, the dark blood spouting from his stricken side, and the quivering heel smiting the ground in the agonies of death, the justification passed away; the terrible thing that I had done absorbed all thought, and feeling, and sensation. Then immediately you rushed in. No, it could not be immediately, though it seemed so unto me; but what passed I know not, till your voice called me for a moment to recollection; and joy, and horror, and despair cast me senseless again."

Theodore pressed her tenderly to his bosom. "And does not this show," he said--"does not all this show that thou shouldst be dearer than ever to my heart? Does not this show that thou, whose every feeling through life has been given to me, should, through my future days, be the object of all my love, and care, and tenderness? Yes, yes, my Ildica; my bosom shall be thy resting-place, my arms thy shield, my heart thy sanctuary, my ear the willing listener to every sorrow and to every care, my voice the soother of thy griefs, the consolation for all that is painful in memory. Theodore will devote his life unto thee; his every thought, his every hope, his every wish--"

"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."

Ildica cast her arms around her and melted into tears; and then, suddenly raising her head, she gazed upon the lovely countenance of Bleda's daughter, and turned, as if with the inspiration of sudden hope, towards Theodore. "Oh, Theodore, Theodore!" she exclaimed; "thou mayst be happy yet."

He seemed to gather her meaning in a moment. "Hush!" he exclaimed, in a tone almost rendered stern by the very vehemence of his feelings. "Hush, hush, Ildica--by the sacred purity of thine own heart--hush!"

He cast his arms around her, and pressed her to his bosom; and then, knowing how valuable every moment of that night might be, he gently drew her onward towards the litter which stood without, surrounded by a large body of the barbarian horsemen. Ardaric was there, but he gazed on Theodore and Ildica in silence; and the young Roman, raising her in his arms, placed her himself in the double litter. He assisted Neva to follow and seat herself by Ildica's side. "Farewell, Neva!" he said; "gentle, excellent girl, farewell!--Theodore will ever love you as a brother. Ildica, my bride, my promised, my beloved, farewell! Ere two days be over, I will follow thee on thy way."

She suffered him to embrace her again as she lay on the litter, and she returned the embrace. But, as her cheek lay on his shoulders, she murmured, "Farewell, beloved of my youth! beloved shalt thou still be, even unto death; but hope no vain hopes, Theodore; Ildica is vowed unto prayer and unto repentance. Farewell for ever!"

The litter moved on; the dull sound of the horses' feet was heard upon the grass; the last horsemen filed away over the hills; the sounds of the departing force grew fainter and more faint; the noises of the several camps around rose louder on the ear; and Ardaric laid his hand upon Theodore's arm, saying, "They are gone! Let us to counsel, my friend."