Edward Bulwer-Lytton: The Last Days of Pompeii

BOOK THE SECOND 9. Chapter IX (continued)

'Rise, Arbaces!' said she at length; and she resigned to him once more her hand, which she as quickly withdrew again, when she felt upon it the burning pressure of his lips. 'Rise! and if thou art serious, if thy language be in earnest...'

'If!' said he tenderly.

'Well, then, listen to me: you have been my guardian, my friend, my monitor; for this new character I was not prepared--think not,' she added quickly, as she saw his dark eyes glitter with the fierceness of his passion--'think not that I scorn--that I am untouched--that I am not honored by this homage; but, say--canst thou hear me calmly?'

'Ay, though thy words were lightning, and could blast me!'

'I love another!' said Ione, blushingly, but in a firm voice.

'By the gods--by hell!' shouted Arbaces, rising to his fullest height; 'dare not tell me that--dare not mock me--it is impossible!--Whom hast thou seen--whom known? Oh, Ione, it is thy woman's invention, thy woman's art that speaks--thou wouldst gain time; I have surprised--I have terrified thee. Do with me as thou wilt--say that thou lovest not me; but say not that thou lovest another!'

'Alas!' began Ione; and then, appalled before his sudden and unlooked-for violence, she burst into tears.

Arbaces came nearer to her--his breath glowed fiercely on her cheek; he wound his arms round her--she sprang from his embrace. In the struggle a tablet fell from her bosom on the ground: Arbaces perceived, and seized it--it was the letter that morning received from Glaucus. Ione sank upon the couch, half dead with terror.

Rapidly the eyes of Arbaces ran over the writing; the Neapolitan did not dare to gaze upon him: she did not see the deadly paleness that came over his countenance--she marked not his withering frown, nor the quivering of his lip, nor the convulsions that heaved his breast. He read it to the end, and then, as the letter fell from his hand, he said, in a voice of deceitful calmness: