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Three Weeks

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<h2 id="id00863" style="margin-top: 4em">CHAPTER XX</h2> A hush was over everything when Paul first awoke—the hush of a hot, drowsy noontide. He stretched out his arm to touch his loved one, as was his custom, to draw her near and envelop her with caresses and greeting—an instinct which came to him while yet half asleep. But his arm met empty space. What was this? He opened his eyes wide and sat up in bed. He was alone—where had she gone? He had slept so late, that was it. She was playing one of her sweet tricks upon him. Perhaps she was even hiding behind the curtain which covered the entrance to the side loggia where they were accustomed to breakfast. He would look and see. He rose quickly and lifted the heavy drapery. No—the loggia was untenanted, and breakfast was laid for one! That was the first chill—for one! Was she angry at his drowsiness? Good God! what could it mean? He staggered a little, and sat on the bed, clutching the fine sheet. And as he did so it disclosed the letter and the flat leather case, which had fallen from the pillow and become hidden in the clothes. A deadly faintness came over Paul. For a few seconds he trembled so his shaking fingers refused to hold the paper. Then with a mighty effort he mastered himself, and tearing the envelope open began to read. It was a wonderful letter. The last passionate cry of her great loving heart. It passed in review their glorious days in burning words—from the first moment of their meeting. And then, towards the end, "My Paul," she wrote, "that first night you were my caprice, and afterwards my love, but now you are my life, and for this I must leave you, to save that life, sweet lover. Seek me not, heart of my heart. Believe me, I would not go if there were any other way. Fate is too strong for us, and I must bow my head. Were I to remain even another hour, all Dmitry's watching could not keep you safe. Darling, while I thought they menaced me alone, it only angered me, but now I know that you would pay the penalty, I can but go. If you follow me, it will mean death for us both. Oh! Paul, I implore you, by our great love, go into safety as soon as you can. You must leave Venice, and return straight to England, and your home. Darling—beloved—lover—if we never meet again in this sad world let this thought stay with you always, that I love you—heart and mind—body and soul—I am utterly and forever YOURS." As he read the last words the room became dark for Paul, and he fell back like a log on the bed, the paper fluttering to the floor from his nerveless fingers. She was gone—and life seemed over for him. Here, perhaps an hour later, Tompson found him still unconscious, and in terrified haste sent off for a doctor, and telegraphed to Sir Charles Verdayne: "Come at once, TOMPSON." But ere his father could arrive on Sunday, Paul was lying 'twixt life and death, madly raving with brain fever. And thus ended the three weeks of his episode. <div style="break-after:column;"></div>

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