CHAPTER SIXTY TWO.
THE HACKNEY-CARRIAGE.
For a while I lingered in the hall, irresolute and almost withoutpurpose. She whom I loved, and who loved me in return, was wrested fromme by an infamous law, ruthlessly torn from me. She would be borne awaybefore my eyes, and I might, perhaps, never behold her again. Probableenough was this thought--I might never behold her again! Lost to me,more hopelessly lost, than if she had become the _bride_ of another.Far more hopelessly lost. Then, at least, she would have been free tothink, to act, to go abroad, to --. Then I might have hoped to meet heragain, to see her, to gaze upon her, even if only at a distance, toworship her in the secret silence of my heart, to console myself withthe belief that she still loved me. Yes; the bride, the wife ofanother! Even that I could have borne with calmness. But now, not thebride of another, but the _slave_, the forced, unwilling _leman_, andthat other--. Oh! how my heart writhed under its horrible imaginings!
What next? How was I to act? Resign myself to the situation? Make nofurther effort to recover, to save her?
No! It had not come to that. Discouraging as the prospect was, a rayof hope was visible; one ray yet illumed the dark future, sustaining andbracing my mind for further action.
The plan was still undefined; but the purpose had been formed, and thatpurpose was to free Aurore, to make her mine _at every hazard_! Ithought no longer of buying her. I knew that Gayarre had become herowner. I felt satisfied that to purchase her was no longer possible.He who had paid such an enormous sum would not be likely to part withher at any price. My whole fortune would not suffice. I gave not athought to it. I felt certain it would be impossible.
Far different was the resolve that was already forming itself in mymind, and cheering me with new hopes. Forming itself, do I say? It hadalready taken a definite shape, even before the echoes of the salesman'svoice had died upon my ears! With the clink of his hammer my mind wasmade up. The purpose was formed; it was only the _plan_ that remainedindefinite.
I had resolved to outrage the laws--to become thief or robber, whicheverit might please circumstances to make me. I had resolved to _steal mybetrothed_!
Disgrace there might be--danger I knew there was, not only to myliberty, but my life. I cared but little about the disgrace; I reckednot of the danger. My purpose was fixed--my determination taken.
Brief had been the mental process that conducted me to thisdetermination--the more brief that the thought had passed through mymind before--the more brief that I believed there was positively noother means I could adopt. It was the only course of action left me--either that, or yield up all that I loved without a struggle--and,passion-led as I was, I was not going to yield. Certain disgrace,--evendeath itself, appeared more welcome than this alternative.
I had formed not yet the shadow of a plan. That, must be thought ofafterwards; but even at that moment was action required. My poor heartwas on the rack; I could not bear the thought that a single night shouldpass and she under the same roof with that hideous man!
Wherever she should pass the night, I was determined that I should notbe far-distant from her. Walls might separate us, but she should know Iwas near. Just that much of a plan _had_ I thought of.
Stepping to a retired spot, I took out my note-book, and wrote upon oneof its leaves:
"_Ce soir viendrai_!--Edouard."
I had no time to be more particular, for I feared every moment she wouldbe hurried out of my sight. I tore out the leaf; and, hastily foldingit, returned to the entrance of the Rotundo.
Just as I got back to the door a hackney-carriage drove up, and haltedin front. I conjectured its use, and lost no time in providing anotherfrom a stand close by. This done, I returned within the hall. I wasyet in time. As I entered, I saw Aurore being led away from therostrum.
I pressed into the crowd, and stood in such a position that she wouldhave to pass near me. And she did so, our hands met, and the noteparted from my fingers. There was no time for a further recognition--not even a love-pressure--for the moment after she was hurried onthrough the crowd, and the carriage-door closed after her.
The mulatto girl accompanied her, and another of the female slaves. Allwere put into the carriage. The negro-dealer climbed to the boxalongside the coachman, and the vehicle rattled off over the stonypavement.
A word to my driver was enough, who, giving the whip to his horses,followed at like speed.