ANASTASIA.

Observer, Volume 7, Issue 159, 29 September 1883, Page 10

ANASTASIA.

f^P wss; ijiree. weeks after-that day that Houston I &fjidj kfiastjasii; landed in New-York., It was a | «rae>|y ' JVj^eniber ,,clayi/ and the sky, was one vast fe^iM iex|Wsef%vhlch sent down, from time to fe^nie^cold?: : and 'dismal showers. ■ Anastasia. was j^pned by the .noise of Broadway and her woreia puzzled and timid expresarm very tightly, and Mie^t^im^Snow- an then an appealing glance as if *^oMihpl6 : re-h'im not to leave her. They had taken ,• ; a carriage from f the hotel the very morning after j. .their arrival, and were now in search of a minister ..•rwhowouid, assume the responsibility of pronouncing; them, man and wife. Anastasia had .-yielded. very reluctantly to this arrangement, "^not beoause she was loath to become Frederick's • Wife, ibiit because, in Old World simplicity, she 'feared that his union with one of her lowly birth .would ruin his social position and place obstacles •'..£n the way -of his future success as a musician. ...iShe wept a great deal in church during the ; 'iCeremony, and pronounced her quaint little ," Yes," and ?' I will," .which she had been re- ' .'^hearsing all the way up the avenue, in a subdued jand frightened' whisper. Two days later they ' * arrived, toward evening, in Clayville, and Bruin was at the station with a carriage to receive them. As this was the muddy season of the year, the aspect of. the town, did not tend to dispel the bride's sadness ; she sat gazing at the uncouth Uruin with the most undisguised astonishment, and found it hard to believe that he was her . husband's brother. % During the first week of her sojourn in Clny- *' ville, three ministers, of different denominations, called on Anastasia and invited her to join their Sunday - schools— an offer which her husband it hard to paraphrase in the sonorous har- '' 'monies of her beautiful mother-tongue. Poor Anastasia smiled in a gentle and conciliatory manner at the zealous gentlemen, and said, " Yess," and " I owill," and " G-ood-by," quite oblivious of the meaning which these words conveyed. It did not flatter her in the least to find lierself an object of universal interest in the town, and the incessant stream of female callers who dropped in upon her in the most surprising manner, at all hours of the day, bewildered and dis- . tressed her. , , ' '"Poor little thing!" they would say, as they went away. " Poor little thing !" : They^ all pitied her, -though they hardly knew why. They did not know the trouble that gnawed at the roots of Anastasia's heart. How could ■they?. .;.., The winter dragged along slowly, the rain and sleet and snow. Anastasia sat at the window of her handsomely furnished room upstairs, and, although there 'was a cheerful fire in the grate, 'slie shivered. She gazed listlessly at the frost flowers on the window-pane, traced their outlines with her little finger— and shivered again: Where was Frederick ? She saw him so rarely now. His grand piano stood open against the ; Vail, but it was seldom touched. He had developed a passion for horseback riding of late ; he Tode horseback all day long, scoured the country far and wide, and came home at night besplashed ■with mud and foam from head to foot. Then he was very tired, he said, and went to bed. She too was weary — weary unto death, although she had done nothing except note the frost flowers on the. window-pane. " Why do you sit up so late, Anastasia ?" he ■would say, as he entered, and flung his whip and riding-gloves into a corner. " Why don't you go to bed ?" "I was waiting for you, Frederick," she would answer timidly, watching him all the while anxiously, with her large, lustrous eyes. "You needn't wait for me," he would say, curtly. "I am old enough to take care of myself." Was that Frederick's voice — the grave and • tender voice to which her heart had always responded with a joyous flutter? There was nothing harsh in it now ; it was kindly enough .. -—impatient and kindly. How could she expect Mm to dote on her all his life long, as he had ."clone 'in those happy, foolish days of theßorghese Gallery ? And yet it seemed, at times, as if he bad shrank from her, as if her touch made him shudder.. But that may have been merely a .foolish fancy. He had had her copy of Danse splendidly framed and hung up over the writingdesk in his library. Did not that show that he loved, her ? „'- ', Frederick had asked himself that same question 41 hundred times. " I certainly do love her," he would, reply. to his own query. "At all events, X do my' duty by her; and what more can she expect ? She has all that she wants, and I never | yet said an unfriendly word to her. If it were 1 not for that confounded affair with Vittorio, I have no doubt we should be a very happy ' • couple."^ | ..• • ■■ ; ; ; Yes, fcfiafSl affair with Yittorio ! It had never ,been even remotely alluded to since the day •when he bore her away in his arms .jfnjnx the embankment of the Tiber. And yet the memory of it rose between them like a threatening shadow, every day and every^ hour of their lives. ! The jbrown, writhing waters, and the white arm rising -^bbt of the whirling tide — the picture haunted i\ aim like a nightmare ; and in the moment when she t yearned- from the .depth of her lonely heart fora caressing touch of his hand, or one of those i pet t names; in .which the Italian tongue is so rich, he would hear the gurgle of the water in Vittorio^ .-thrpat, aqd he would turn away from her am|| wiring his hands till each joint seemed on tI!P point of breaking., . " Is she then a rnurdress ?" he would ask hiniaelf, shuddering' even at the thought-^" because by saving my life she ended that of her miserable brother"? I, at any rate, oughj> to be last one to accuse her. If she had remained "passive, I '■ ! > myself - should have been whirled through the dark eddies of the Tiber with a gaping wound in my breast." , The inorith of March had! > come. Frederick , Lad been pn a long.eaccnrajqn into the country, and had spent the greater part; of the day in ■•'* -riding f horse 'which, in -the .end, lie -had not ventured to 1 purchase;; ..;■: It was -date in*tne liight when he re turned, and l^e was damp and hungry. *;i»ndttired. As hf^ap^down; to his cold supper, Brainy who had r^^^te'nding to his horse,

entered and seatepl himself &$¥ otheije^ of « How'is Anastasia," Bruin ?" asked Frederick, half mechanically, in order to say^something. " I suppose you or mother has been ; ugto see her. Bruin coloured slowly to ihe 'edge of his hair, and seemed to be collecting himself for the purpose of replying with due emphasis. "If B he aint dead," he blurted oub, angrily* .",it aint your fault. I once took, you.tosbe a kindhearted, but wrong-headed fellow. D— — me if I don't now think you are a cold-hearted villain —that is, judging by the way you treat that poor little sick wife of yours!" * £ 4 V' #H Bruin kicked away the chair <from under him , and marched out, closing the dqor with a slam. Frederick did not attempt to reply. He was utterly dumbfoundered at his brother s manner. That was not the way he had ; been accustomed to be addressed by the uncouth and unpretending Bruin. And Bruin thought tha£rhe'" f maltreated his wife ! He had never given Brujn .credit for being an acute observer, 'but the more reason I there was for assuming that the observations which he did make were usually correct. He put down his knife and fork. and rested his head on his hand, pondering.: Could it be possible that Anastasia was ill.? She had never complained of. illness, and he had himself never observed in her any alarming symptom. An irresistible yearning for her suddenly took possession of him, and the old tenderness began to revive within him. He rose from the table, hurried up the stairs, and softly entered their bedchamber. He walked on tip-toe up to the bed where she lay in troubled slumber. How pale and wan she looked ! Her checks were sunken, and her clear brow had a waxen tint, through which the bluish veins were visible. Where had his eyes been, that ho had not seen before that she was ill ? He bent down over her and heard her muttering in her sleep. "Vittorio! Vittorio! Vittorio!" she whispered, with breathless and distressed voice. " I took* your life, Vittorio, and— and— you stole mine. You— you— stole his heart- away from me, Vit - ?- torio." Again she struggled and writhed on -her .pillow-, and large drops of perspiration gathered on her brow. Frederick knelt down at the side of the bed, put his hand on her forehead and kissed her. " Anastasia, my darling !" he murmured. " my sweet wife !" She opened her eyes and gazed incredulously at him ; she put her transparent little finger on his cheek, as if to-' ascertain "that it was really he, then flung her arms about his neck, and nestled closely up to him. " Hold me close, Frederick," she begged, I had such a bad dream." " My poor little darling!" he whispered soothingly, and pressed her cheek against his own. "I want to ask you something, Frederick," she said, after a pause, filled up with mutual caresses. " Lift me up and put me on.ypur lap. I want to talk to you as in the days of old." He lifted her up, and her little supple body felt in his arms like the body of a child. How she had wasted away under his very eyes, and he had not seen it. The thought wrung his soul with remorse, and an overwhelming love, and pity, and tenderness filled his heart. He stirred up'the fire and seated himself before it, holding her close to his breast. Her black luxuriant hair fell in a wavy stream down over her back, and the thin little face looked doubly white and tiny in its thick, dark frame. " I hare been very cruel to you, Anastasia," he said, sadly. " I hardly dare ask you to forgive me." She was so intent upon her own thoughts that she hardly appeared to hear him. " Frederick," she whispered, drawing his head down so that his ear touched her mouth, " You have always looked upon me as — as — a criminal." She thrust out the last word with a fearful effort ; the veins swelled on her forehead, and a strange glow burned in her eyes. "No, my sweet child!" he answered calmly and soothingly. " I have been foolish and restless and unhappy, and I have been a bad husband to you, Anastasia; but now that is ail to be changed. From this day we shall live with each other happily and lovingly, and you will regain your strength, and bloom out in health and beauty." She smiled mournfully, and shook her head. " It is too late," she murmured, " too late." The fire was flickering low. He felt a quiver run through her frame, and he carried her back to bed and covered her with blankets. "Play to me, Frederick," she begged. "It is so long since you played to me." He stooped to kiss her once more : then seated himself at the piano in the twilight, and began the stately andante of the sonata in which he had endeavoured to express his emotion on the night of his first meeting with ker. "Eoma," she whispered, as he struck the opening chords "La bella Italia." He played until far into the night. His soul fled to the shores of the Tiber, and strayed in happy oblivion of the present through the tangled labyrinth of the Trastevere. The rusty, time-stained walls, the picturesque confusion of the street, the isolated pines lifting their dense crowns against the horizon, and the sun-steeped . bluo of the Italian sky— all blended softly together in his bright, melodious reverie. He wandered away in a light legato movement through the beautiful days of dawning love ; then gathered up the theme more forcibly, in an intenser and more accentuated ■> variation ; a note of sadness bshivered faintly t hrough the chords, then grew finto an audible undertone, and at last became the -pervading mood. In his tuneful retrospect he saw his own life and hers spread out before him, and his passionate repentance of the wrong he had done her became an inspiring force, and gave fervour and grandeur to its utterance. The "immortal sonata" was completed. He arose slowly ; the drowsy logs in the fireplace flared up with a sudden crackling. He went to the bed and st»oped down. !' Anastasia mia," he said, in an affectionate whisper, " let us rest pow, and to-morrow we will begin our life anew. We have conquered the pastj and laid it behind us." He listened, but there came no ..reply „ v . She lay as in deep, happy repose.- Hia music had lulled herintb the eternal slumber.' !