During the week that followed, there was no farther sign except that she more evidently took the grapes. But indeed all the signs became surer: plainly she was growing plumper, and her skin fairer. Still she did not open her eyes; and the horrid fear would at times invade me, that her growth was of some hideous fungoid nature, the few grapes being nowise sufficient to account for it.
Again I was bitten; and now the thing, whatever it was, began to pay me regular visits at intervals of three days. It now generally bit me in the neck or the arm, invariably with but one bite, always while I slept, and never, even when I slept, in the daytime. Hour after hour would I lie awake on the watch, but never heard it coming, or saw sign of its approach. Neither, I believe, did I ever feel it bite me. At length I became so hopeless of catching it, that I no longer troubled myself either to look for it by day, or lie in wait for it at night. I knew from my growing weakness that I was losing blood at a dangerous rate, but I cared little for that: in sight of my eyes death was yielding to life; a soul was gathering strength to save me from loneliness; we would go away together, and I should speedily recover!
The garments were at length finished, and, contemplating my handiwork with no small satisfaction, I proceeded to mat layers of the fibre into sandals.
One night I woke suddenly, breathless and faint, and longing after air, and had risen to crawl from the cave, when a slight rustle in the leaves of the couch set me listening motionless.
“I caught the vile thing,” said a feeble voice, in my mother-tongue; “I caught it in the very act!”
She was alive! she spoke! I dared not yield to my transport lest I should terrify her.
“What creature?” I breathed, rather than said.
“The creature,” she answered, “that was biting you.”
“What was it?”
“A great white leech.”
“How big?” I pursued, forcing myself to be calm.
“Not far from six feet long, I should think,” she answered.
“You have saved my life, perhaps!—But how could you touch the horrid thing! How brave of you!” I cried.
“I did!” was all her answer, and I thought she shuddered.
“Where is it? What could you do with such a monster?”
“I threw it in the river.”
“Then it will come again, I fear!”
“I do not think I could have killed it, even had I known how!—I heard you moaning, and got up to see what disturbed you; saw the frightful thing at your neck, and pulled it away. But I could not hold it, and was hardly able to throw it from me. I only heard it splash in the water!”
“We’ll kill it next time!” I said; but with that I turned faint, sought the open air, but fell.
When I came to myself the sun was up. The lady stood a little way off, looking, even in the clumsy attire I had fashioned for her, at once grand and graceful. I had seen those glorious eyes! Through the night they had shone! Dark as the darkness primeval, they now outshone the day! She stood erect as a column, regarding me. Her pale cheek indicated no emotion, only question. I rose.
“We must be going!” I said. “The white leech—”
I stopped: a strange smile had flickered over her beautiful face.
“Did you find me there?” she asked, pointing to the cave.
“No; I brought you there,” I replied.
“You brought me?”
“Yes.”
“From where?”
“From the forest.”
“What have you done with my clothes—and my jewels?”
“You had none when I found you.”
“Then why did you not leave me?”
“Because I hoped you were not dead.”
“Why should you have cared?”
“Because I was very lonely, and wanted you to live.”
“You would have kept me enchanted for my beauty!” she said, with proud scorn.
Her words and her look roused my indignation.
“There was no beauty left in you,” I said.
“Why, then, again, did you not let me alone?”
“Because you were of my own kind.”
“Of your kind?” she cried, in a tone of utter contempt.
“I thought so, but find I was mistaken!”
“Doubtless you pitied me!”
“Never had woman more claim on pity, or less on any other feeling!”
With an expression of pain, mortification, and anger unutterable, she turned from me and stood silent. Starless night lay profound in the gulfs of her eyes: hate of him who brought it back had slain their splendour. The light of life was gone from them.
“Had you failed to rouse me, what would you have done?” she asked suddenly without moving.
“I would have buried it.”
“It! What?—You would have buried this?” she exclaimed, flashing round upon me in a white fury, her arms thrown out, and her eyes darting forks of cold lightning.
“Nay; that I saw not! That, weary weeks of watching and tending have brought back to you,” I answered—for with such a woman I must be plain! “Had I seen the smallest sign of decay, I would at once have buried you.”
“Dog of a fool!” she cried, “I was but in a trance—Samoil! what a fate!—Go and fetch the she-savage from whom you borrowed this hideous disguise.”
“I made it for you. It is hideous, but I did my best.”
She drew herself up to her tall height.
“How long have I been insensible?” she demanded. “A woman could not have made that dress in a day!”
“Not in twenty days,” I rejoined, “hardly
