CHAPTER XXVII.
LETTER OF LEONORA D'ORCO TO LORENZO VISCONTI.
"It has come--it has come! Oh, yes, it has come at length. DearLorenzo, my own Lorenzo, forgive me if I am wild with joy. How I havelonged, how I have looked for this letter! longed and looked, tillhope itself grew very like despair! and yet what a fool I was toexpect it sooner. You would not write till you reached Naples. I knewit well; you told me so. But what a time has it seemed! Oh, thosethree months between the day of your departure and the day when youwrote--three _short_ months, people would say; three long ages tome--how slowly, how heavily have they passed away!
"I believe the sun has shone and the sky been clear, and winter hasgone and spring has come again, and the earth, grown weary of havingno flowers, is putting out blossoms on every spray, and sprinkling theground with gems; but every day has been a day of mist and darkness tome, a night of fear and dread.
"Consider that I knew nought of your fate--that in every siege orbattle that took place my whole hopes, my whole happiness was perilledupon each stroke that fell. I could bear it, dear Lorenzo, if I werenear. I could ride with you through the thickest of the fight; no weakterror, no idle cautions should keep you back, or distract your mind,or bate your daring, or paralyse your arm, were I but near to batheyour brow, or pillow your head, or soothe your pain, if you came backsick and wounded. But you were alone, with none but menials near you.In the hour of anguish or of death there was no Leonora to console, tocomfort, to tend you, and, at the last, to go hand in hand with you onhigh, and be your sister in a better world. This is what gavepoignancy to all the sorrows of absence.
"But why should I plead my cause with you as if you would blame myterror; or think hardly of the anxieties I have felt? I know you canunderstand them--I know you can sympathise with them. Yes, yes, youhave been apprehensive and anxious for me--I see it in every line ofyour letter--for me, whose days have passed without event or incident,without danger and without fear.
"Oh, my beloved, what can be more wearisome, what can be more full ofdark, dull dread than those still, eventless days, when, like aprisoner in his solitary cell, our soul sits expecting the blow offate.
"But it has come--the dear assuaging letter has come to tell me thatyou are safe, that you are well, that you love me still, that yourheart yearns for our meeting. It was long upon its way; but I, dobelieve poor Antonio brought it as fast as he could. I think he knewhow I longed for its coming--how I longed for yours.
"Oh, how I long for it still, my Lorenzo; and yet there is a pleasurein having to write. I can tell you on this page--I can dare to own toyou more than I could by spoken words. This paper cannot see my cheekglow, nor, though cold and unsympathetic as the world, can it smilecoldly at feelings it cannot comprehend. Oh yes, there are manyhundred miles between us, and I dare pour out my whole heart to you. Idare tell you how much I love you; how you have become part of myhappiness--of my being; how my existence is wrapped up in yours.
"When I think of that long journey together--of that journey whichyour noble nature made safe for me, and oh! how happy too, I thankHeaven, which has made me know a man whom I can reverence as well aslove.
"Even as I write, the memory of those sweet days comes back, everyact, every word, every look is remembered. The tones that were musicto me, the look that was light, are present to my eye and ear; my headupon your bosom; your eyes look into mine, and the burning kisses gothrilling through my veins into my heart.
"Oh come soon, Lorenzo, come and realize all our dreams; blot out thislong period of anxious absence from my memory, or only leave it as adark contrast to our bright joy. I can part with you no more, mybeloved; I must go with you where you go. Nothing now opposes ourunion; you say my father's consent is given. Let me have the right tobe with you everywhere, whether in the city or the camp. Let me beyour companion, your friend, your consolation, and you shall be myguide, my protector, my husband.
"How wildly, how madly I write! some would say how unwomanly. Let themsay what they please. They who blame have never loved as we haveloved--have never trusted as we trust; or else they have never knownyou, and cannot comprehend how worthy you are of seeing a clearpicture of Leonora's heart, how little capable of misinterpreting oneword she writes, or abusing one feeling which you yourself haveinspired.
"Perhaps, were you here, I could not tell you all this; my tonguemight hesitate, my voice might fail me, but the same sensations wouldbe within, and the words, unspoken, would be written in my heart.
"It is hard to come forth from our own separate world, and speak ofthe things of the common, every-day life. Indeed, I have nothing totell, for I have lived in my own dear world ever since you left me;but one thing I must mention. Tell the Marquis de Vitry that I haveheard from my dear cousin Blanche Marie, and she wishes to know if hewears her glove still, and what fortune it has found. She says, if hehas not forgotten her, and any couriers pass by Pavia, she would fainhear of his health.
"This is the way in which I ought to write to you, I suppose, Lorenzo;but I cannot do so; and yet, Heaven bless the dear girl, and grantthat her union with De Vitry may be as happy as ours. She welldeserves as much happiness as can be found on earth, for she has everpreferred others to herself. I almost feel selfish when I comparemyself with her, and consider how completely your love has absorbedevery thought and feeling of your LEONORA."
Leonora D'Orco: A Historical Romance Page 27