Such thoughts, such surmises, had often flashed through my mind
in moments of excitement rather than of reflection, but never long enough
to become fixed into belief. But yet the consequences, the convictions,
of them were with me, though unconsciously, though the thoughts
themselves were perhaps forgotten or withered before development. "And you?" I asked her earnestly. "What about danger to you?" She
smiled, her little pearl-white teeth gleaming in the moonlight, as she
spoke:

"There is no danger for me. I am safe. I am the safest person, perhaps
the only safe person, in all this land." The full significance of her
words did not seem to come to me all at once. Some base for
understanding such an assertion seemed to be wanting. It was not that I
did not trust or believe her, but that I thought she might be mistaken. I wanted to reassure myself, so in my distress I asked unthinkingly:

"How the safest? What is your protection?" For several moments that
spun themselves out endlessly she looked me straight in the face, the
stars in her eyes seeming to glow like fire; then, lowering her head, she
took a fold of her shroud and held it up to me. "This!" The meaning was complete and understandable now. I could not speak at
once for the wave of emotion which choked me. I dropped on my knees, and
taking her in my arms, held her close to me. She saw that I was moved,
and tenderly stroked my hair, and with delicate touch pressed down my
head on her bosom, as a mother might have done to comfort a frightened
child. Presently we got back to the realities of life again. I murmured:

"Your safety, your life, your happiness are all-in-all to me. When will
you let them be my care?" She trembled in my arms, nestling even closer
to me. Her own arms seemed to quiver with delight as she said:

"Would you indeed like me to be always with you? To me it would be a
happiness unspeakable; and to you, what would it be?" I thought that she wished to hear me speak my love to her, and that,
woman-like, she had led me to the utterance, and so I spoke again of the
passion that now raged in me, she listening eagerly as we strained each
other tight in our arms. At last there came a pause, a long, long pause,
and our hearts beat consciously in unison as we stood together. Presently she said in a sweet, low, intense whisper, as soft as the
sighing of summer wind:

"It shall be as you wish; but oh, my dear, you will have to first go
through an ordeal which may try you terribly! Do not ask me anything! You must not ask, because I may not answer, and it would be pain to me to
deny you anything. Marriage with such an one as I am has its own ritual,
which may not be foregone. It may . . . " I broke passionately into her
speaking:

"There is no ritual that I fear, so long as it be that it is for your
good, and your lasting happiness. And if the end of it be that I may
call you mine, there is no horror in life or death that I shall not
gladly face. Dear, I ask you nothing. I am content to leave myself in
your hands. You shall advise me when the time comes, and I shall be
satisfied, content to obey. Content! It is but a poor word to express
what I long for! I shall shirk nothing which may come to me from this or
any other world, so long as it is to make you mine!" Once again her
murmured happiness was music to my ears:

"Oh, how you love me! how you love me, dear, dear!" She took me in her
arms, and for a few seconds we hung together. Suddenly she tore herself
apart from me, and stood drawn up to the full height, with a dignity I
cannot describe or express. Her voice had a new dominance, as with firm
utterance and in staccato manner she said:

"Rupert Sent Leger, before we go a step further I must say something to
you, ask you something, and I charge you, on your most sacred honour and
belief, to answer me truly. Do you believe me to be one of those unhappy
beings who may not die, but have to live in shameful existence between
earth and the nether world, and whose hellish mission is to destroy, body
and soul, those who love them till they fall to their level? You are a
gentleman, and a brave one. I have found you fearless. Answer me in
sternest truth, no matter what the issue may be!" She stood there in the glamorous moonlight with a commanding dignity
which seemed more than human. In that mystic light her white shroud
seemed diaphanous, and she appeared like a spirit of power. What was I
to say? How could I admit to such a being that I had actually had at
moments, if not a belief, a passing doubt? It was a conviction with me
that if I spoke wrongly I should lose her for ever. I was in a desperate
strait. In such a case there is but one solid ground which one may rest
on--the Truth. I really felt I was between the devil and the deep sea. There was no
avoiding the issue, and so, out of this all-embracing, all-compelling
conviction of truth, I spoke. For a fleeting moment I felt that my tone was truculent, and almost
hesitated; but as I saw no anger or indignation on my Lady's face, but
rather an eager approval, I was reassured. A woman, after all, is glad
to see a man strong, for all belief in him must be based on that. "I shall speak the truth. Remember that I have no wish to hurt your
feelings, but as you conjure me by my honour, you must forgive me if I
pain. It is true that I had at first--ay, and later, when I came to
think matters over after you had gone, when reason came to the aid of
impression--a passing belief that you are a Vampire. How can I fail to
have, even now, though I love you with all my soul, though I have held
you in my arms and kissed you on the mouth, a doubt, when all the
evidences seem to point to one thing? Remember that I have only seen you
at night, except that bitter moment when, in the broad noonday of the
upper world, I saw you, clad as ever in a shroud, lying seemingly dead in
a tomb in the crypt of St. Sava's Church . . . But let that pass. Such
belief as I have is all in you. Be you woman or Vampire, it is all the
same to me. It is _you_ whom I love! Should it be that you are--you are
not woman, which I cannot believe, then it will be my glory to break your
fetters, to open your prison, and set you free. To that I consecrate my
life." For a few seconds I stood silent, vibrating with the passion
which had been awakened in me. She had by now lost the measure of her
haughty isolation, and had softened into womanhood again. It was really
like a realization of the old theme of Pygmalion's statue. It was with
rather a pleading than a commanding voice that she said:

"And shall you always be true to me?" "Always--so help me, God!" I answered, and I felt that there could be no
lack of conviction in my voice. Indeed, there was no cause for such lack. She also stood for a little
while stone-still, and I was beginning to expand to the rapture which was
in store for me when she should take me again in her arms. But there was no such moment of softness.