CHAPTER XII

"WE ARE LIKE SHOOTING STARS, WHOSE MEETING IS THEIR RUIN"

To-night I have had another shock! I was sitting alone in my room down-stairs, dreaming over the fire, when a footstep sounded upon the stairs. At first I thought that it might be Paul, and I sprang up, and stood listening intently. What a little fool I was! I felt the colour burning in my cheeks, and my heart was beating. I listened to the tread, and the madness passed away. It was a man's footsteps, but not Paul's.

They halted at my door, and there was a firm, deliberate knock. Before I could reply, the handle was turned, and a figure stood upon the threshold.

My little chamber was in darkness, but the clear, cold voice struck a vague note of familiarity.

"I seek Adrea Kiros! Are these her rooms? Are you she?"

I struck a match with trembling fingers, and looked eagerly towards the doorway. A man stood there, dark, stern, and forbidding, looking steadfastly towards me. My memory had not deceived me! It was Father Adrian!

"You have found me out," I said slowly. "Come inside and close the door."

He moved slowly forward, and stood in the middle of the room. His face was as white as marble and as steadfast; but his dark eyes, which seemed to be challenging mine to meet them, were full of smouldering fire. I summoned up all my courage, and threw myself into a low chair, with a little laugh.

"You are not exactly cordial," I said. "If you have anything to say to me, won't you sit down?"

"If I have anything to say to you!" he repeated, and his whole tone seemed vibrating with hardly subdued passion. "If I have anything to say to you! Is this your greeting?"

"Why, no, not if you come as a friend! But when you stand and glare at me comme cela, what do you expect? Nothing very cordial, surely!"

He advanced a step further towards me. I watched him steadfastly, and I knew that the old madness was not dead. I was glad. It made the struggle between us more even.

"Have I no cause to look at you sternly, Adrea?" he demanded,—"you who deceived us! you who lied to us, to win our aid! Where would you have been now had it not been for me? At Cruta! Would to God my hand had withered before it had set you free!"

"You are very kind!"

"Girl, are you mad? At Cruta you were thoughtless and gay, but God knows your heart was pure. Now you are a paid dancing girl!"

I turned upon him suddenly, rising to my full height, and looking him straight in the face. He did not flinch, but a faint colour rose to his forehead as he continued.

"Stop!" I said. "You are talking of those things which you do not understand. You could not possibly understand. You and I are different; we belong to different worlds. The things of your world are not the things of mine. Leave me now, and for ever, and let us go our own ways. We measure things by different quantities. You are a priest, and very much a priest, and I am a woman, and very much a woman! For the past I am grateful; for its sake I forget the insults of the present. Now go!"

I knew quite well that he would not take me at my word, nor did he.

"Adrea, I cannot go and lose all knowledge of you for ever," he said sadly. "For my own sake I would say, Would to God that I could! but it is impossible. Within me there is a voice which whispers 'Fly,' but I cannot; your future is still as dear to me as in the old days. Oh! Adrea! I have sorrowed and mourned lest our last parting had been for ever, and now, alas! I would that it had been; I would to God that I had never found you out!"

"You can forget it," I said coldly.

"I can never forget it," he answered fiercely. "Girl! you seem to me sometimes like a scourge! Your memory is a very nightmare of sin! You have brought me nothing but pain and remorse and anguish of heart. For all my suffering there is no brighter side; yet I cannot forget it!"

Despite his fierce words, which for a moment had burned in my ears, I pitied him. In the old days he had been my champion, and it was his hand, together with hers, which had aided my escape from Cruta. So I spoke to him softly.

"I am sorry! As I said, we are of different moulds, and we belong to a different branch of humanity. We are neither of us inclined to change! Let us go our own ways, and apart!"

He was close by my side now, and his hand was resting on the back of my chair. I laid mine upon it for a moment; it was cold as ice, and shaking. The old madness was upon him indeed.

"You were kind to me at Cruta," I continued. "I do not forget it, and I thank you for it! But we are as far apart as the poles, and we must continue so."

The position between us seemed reversed. He stood by my side, pale and passionate, with his clear eyes full of a strange wistfulness.

"All that you say is, in a measure, true," he said in a low tone; "yet do not send me away from you! Some day you may see things differently; some day trouble may come to you, and I may be your helper! There is only one thing: I would have you look upon me as a brother, and I would have you give me a brother's confidence."

"I would gladly be friends with you," I answered, "only do not seek more than I choose to tell you. As for the things you charge me with, there is truth and falsehood in them. It is true that I have earned my living by dancing, but it has been in private only. Of course, you know nothing about it; how should you? But I am not a ballet dancer, as I believe you think."

"You are not upon the stage, then?"

"No! nor do I dance in short skirts! Some day I will give you an exhibition in this room! Now don't look like that," I added quickly; "I was only joking. I would not defile the air around your saintliness for the world! But I want to tell you this: my dancing is recognised as an art. I rank everywhere with the men and women who are called artists, the men and women who are ever striving to realize in some manner a particular ideal of beauty through different channels. The highest development of physical beauty in the human form is in grace of motion. I aim at the beautiful in illustrating this. I didn't know it myself until a great painter told me so, but I am beginning to understand. I don't expect you to; you must take it on trust."

"It sounds strange to me, but I do not doubt that there is truth, some truth in it," he admitted gravely.

"You and I look upon life, and all its connections, with different eyes," I continued. "What may seem sin to you, may be justified to me. Yet I will stoop to answer your unspoken question. As I was at Cruta, so I am now! It may be that I am better, for I have done a good action!"

He held up his hand, but I took no notice.

"I will tell it you. A few days ago, chance brought in my way a most unhappy woman. She had escaped from an odious captivity, only to find herself alone, friendless and penniless in a strange city. The man on whom she had counted for help she could not find. He had given her an address where she might always hear of him. Day by day she inquired there in vain. It may have been through no fault of his, but she was in sore straits."

"Her name?"

"I found her, and brought her home. She lives with me; she is here!"

The door was opening as I spoke, and she entered. They stood face to face, silent with the shock of so sudden a meeting. Then he stepped quickly forward, and, taking her hands, drew her to him. I slipped away, and left them alone together.