Ishmael, or In The Depths - Page 67/567

"How was it that you were not killed, I asked you?"

"My dearest one, I suppose it was the will of Heaven that I should not

be. I do not know any other reason."

"Why did you not write and tell me you had escaped?"

"Dear Herman, how hoarsely you speak! And how ill you look! I fear you

have a very bad cold!" said the stranger tenderly.

"Why did you not write and tell me of your escape, I ask you? Why did

you permit me to believe for months that you were no longer in life?"

"Herman, I thought surely if you should have seen the announcement of my

death in one paper, you would see it contradicted, as it was, in half a

dozen others. And as for writing, I was incapable of that for months!

Among other injuries, my right hand was crushed, Herman. And that it has

been saved at all, is owing to a miracle of medical skill!"

"Why did you not get someone else to write, then?"

"Dear Herman, you forget! There was no one in our secret! I had no

confidante at all! Besides, as soon as I could be moved, my father took

me to Paris, to place me under the care of a celebrated surgeon there.

Poor father! he is dead now, Herman! He left me all his money. I am one

among the richest heiresses in England. But it is all yours now, dear

Herman. When I closed my poor father's eyes my hand was still too stiff

to wield a pen! And still, though there was no longer any reason for

mystery, I felt that I would rather come to you at once than employ the

pen of another to write. That is the reason, dear Herman, why I have

been so long silent, and why at last I arrive so unexpectedly. I hope it

is satisfactory. But what is the matter, Herman? You do not seem to be

yourself! You have not welcomed me! you have not kissed me! you have not

even called me by my name, since I first came in! Oh! can it be possible

that after all you are not glad to see me?" she exclaimed, rising from

her caressing posture and standing sorrowfully before him. Her face that

had looked pale and sad from the first was now convulsed by some passing

anguish.

He looked at that suffering face, then covered his eyes with his hands

and groaned.

"What is this, Herman? Are you sorry that I have come? Do you no longer

love me? What is the matter? Oh, speak to me!"