Her words, her eager attitude, the ineffable something which conveys the
messages of the heart, the longing expression in her eyes as the full
moonlight fell on her face, showing the stars as living gold--for in her
eagerness she had stepped out towards me from the shadow--all set me on
fire. Without a thought or a word--for it was Nature speaking in the
language of Love, which is a silent tongue--I stepped towards her and
took her in my arms. She yielded with that sweet unconsciousness which
is the perfection of Love, as if it was in obedience to some command
uttered before the beginning of the world. Probably without any
conscious effort on either side--I know there was none on mine--our
mouths met in the first kiss of love. At the time nothing in the meeting struck me as out of the common. But
later in the night, when I was alone and in darkness, whenever I thought
of it all--its strangeness and its stranger rapture--I could not but be
sensible of the bizarre conditions for a love meeting. The place lonely,
the time night, the man young and strong, and full of life and hope and
ambition; the woman, beautiful and ardent though she was, a woman
seemingly dead, clothed in the shroud in which she had been wrapped when
lying in her tomb in the crypt of the old church. Whilst we were together, anyhow, there was little thought of the kind; no
reasoning of any kind on my part. Love has its own laws and its own
logic. Under the flagstaff, where the Vissarion banner was wont to flap
in the breeze, she was in my arms; her sweet breath was on my face; her
heart was beating against my own. What need was there for reason at all? _Inter arma silent leges_--the voice of reason is silent in the stress of
passion. Dead she may be, or Un-dead--a Vampire with one foot in Hell
and one on earth. But I love her; and come what may, here or hereafter,
she is mine. As my mate, we shall fare along together, whatsoever the
end may be, or wheresoever our path may lead. If she is indeed to be won
from the nethermost Hell, then be mine the task! But to go back to the record. When I had once started speaking to her in
words of passion I could not stop. I did not want to--if I could; and
she did not appear to wish it either. Can there be a woman--alive or
dead--who would not want to hear the rapture of her lover expressed to
her whilst she is enclosed in his arms? There was no attempt at reticence on my part now; I took it for granted
that she knew all that I surmised, and, as she made neither protest nor
comment, that she accepted my belief as to her indeterminate existence. Sometimes her eyes would be closed, but even then the rapture of her face
was almost beyond belief. Then, when the beautiful eyes would open and
gaze on me, the stars that were in them would shine and scintillate as
though they were formed of living fire. She said little, very little;
but though the words were few, every syllable was fraught with love, and
went straight to the very core of my heart. By-and-by, when our transport had calmed to joy, I asked when I might
next see her, and how and where I might find her when I should want to. She did not reply directly, but, holding me close in her arms, whispered
in my ear with that breathless softness which is a lover's rapture of
speech:

"I have come here under terrible difficulties, not only because I love
you--and that would be enough--but because, as well as the joy of seeing
you, I wanted to warn you." "To warn me! Why?" I queried. Her reply came with a bashful hesitation,
with something of a struggle in it, as of one who for some ulterior
reason had to pick her words:

"There are difficulties and dangers ahead of you. You are beset with
them; and they are all the greater because they are, of grim necessity,
hidden from you. You cannot go anywhere, look in any direction, do
anything, say anything, but it may be a signal for danger. My dear, it
lurks everywhere--in the light as well as in the darkness; in the open as
well as in the secret places; from friends as well as foes; when you are
least prepared; when you may least expect it. Oh, I know it, and what it
is to endure; for I share it for you--for your dear sake!" "My darling!" was all I could say, as I drew her again closer to me and
kissed her. After a bit she was calmer; seeing this, I came back to the
subject that she had--in part, at all events--come to me to speak about:

"But if difficulty and danger hedge me in so everlastingly, and if I am
to have no indication whatever of its kind or purpose, what can I do? God knows I would willingly guard myself--not on my own account, but for
your dear sake. I have now a cause to live and be strong, and to keep
all my faculties, since it may mean much to you. If you may not tell me
details, may you not indicate to me some line of conduct, of action, that
would be most in accord with your wishes--or, rather, with your idea of
what would be best?" She looked at me fixedly before speaking--a long, purposeful, loving look
which no man born of woman could misunderstand. Then she spoke slowly,
deliberately, emphatically:

"Be bold, and fear not. Be true to yourself, to me--it is the same
thing. These are the best guards you can use. Your safety does not rest
with me. Ah, I wish it did! I wish to God it did!" In my inner heart
it thrilled me not merely to hear the expression of her wish, but to hear
her use the name of God as she did. I understand now, in the calm of
this place and with the sunlight before me, that my belief as to her
being all woman--living woman--was not quite dead: but though at the
moment my heart did not recognize the doubt, my brain did. And I made up
my mind that we should not part this time until she knew that I had seen
her, and where; but, despite my own thoughts, my outer ears listened
greedily as she went on. "As for me, you may not find _me_, but _I_ shall find _you_, be sure! And now we must say 'Good-night,' my dear, my dear! Tell me once again
that you love me, for it is a sweetness that one does not wish to
forego--even one who wears such a garment as this--and rests where I must
rest." As she spoke she held up part of her cerements for me to see. What could I do but take her once again in my arms and hold her close,
close. God knows it was all in love; but it was passionate love which
surged through my every vein as I strained her dear body to mine. But
yet this embrace was not selfish; it was not all an expression of my own
passion. It was based on pity--the pity which is twin-born with true
love. Breathless from our kisses, when presently we released each other,
she stood in a glorious rapture, like a white spirit in the moonlight,
and as her lovely, starlit eyes seemed to devour me, she spoke in a
languorous ecstasy:

"Oh, how you love me! how you love me! It is worth all I have gone
through for this, even to wearing this terrible drapery." And again she
pointed to her shroud. Here was my chance to speak of what I knew, and I took it.