In the positions they severally
occupied the servant and the master long remained--the betrayer watching
at the window, the betrayed mourning at his lost daughter's bed--both
alike silent, both alike unconscious of the lapse of time.
At length, apparently unaware at first that he was not alone in the
room, Numerian spoke. In his low, broken, tremulous accents, none of
his adherents would have recognised the voice of the eloquent preacher--
the bold chastiser of the vices of the Church. The whole nature of the
man--moral, intellectual, physical--seemed fatally and completely
changed.
'She was innocent, she was innocent!' he whispered to himself. 'And
even had she been guilty, was it for me to drive her from my doors! My
part, like my Redeemer's, was to teach repentance, and to show mercy!
Accursed be the pride and anger that drove justice and patience from my
heart, when I beheld her, as I thought, submitting herself without a
struggle or a cry, to my dishonour, and hers! Could I not have imagined
her terror, could I not have remembered her purity? Alas, my beloved,
if I myself have been the dupe of the wicked, what marvel is it that you
should have been betrayed as well! And I have driven you from me, you,
from whose mouth no word of anger ever dropped! I have thrust you from
my bosom, you, who were the adornment of my age! My death approaches,
and you will not be by to pardon my heavy offence, to close my weary
eyes, to mourn by my solitary tomb! God--oh God! If I am left thus
lonely on the earth, thou hast punished me beyond what I can bear!'
He paused--his emotions for the instant bereft him of speech.
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