Argosy and Railroad Man's Magazine — page 166: what you’re looking at

Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.

508 ARGOSY AND RA TEROAD MAN’S MAGAZINE. She ran to him and caught his hands. “T thought you hated me, and I have been wrong! You have thought of tné as I have thought of you. f could only make my yearning for you into songs, but you have made me beautiful in white, eternal stone! Peter!” In some way he found her trembling in his arms while a low murmur troubled her throat and made her smile—the smile of Venus which all that day he had labored to make in marble! She was no longer that mute mystery which he had left in England. The difference between the old Sonia and the new was the difference between sleep and waking, water and wine, the spoken word and the song. Yes, the chrysalis was broken, and she had shaken out butterfly wings. What did she say to him? He did not know. He could not distinguish the words, but only the-change of her voice, a velvet softness and warmth. And he spoke to her words which found their way to his lips without his volition. He drew closer. Her expression was that of one who drinks. He stared over her head at. the white Venus glimmering above them. She smiled’a peel and Peter understood. “Sonia!” he cried, “I know it all at last!” “What do you know, Peter — dear Peter?” “You have taken the veil from my heart! You have opened the door for me! You have led me by the hand into a bright and glorious hall! There sit the immortals who have created beauty. I see their shadowy lips pledging me above the wine.” Her eyes closed. She clung to him, swaying. She whispered: “ Tell me all. blind. Let me see with your eyes!” ‘What is the pleasure or wrath of the Pope? Sonia, we are a whole world in our- selves. Look! There are a thousand sor- rows on the lips of Venus; and your lips, sweet Sonia, are wet as honey-dew; your love is a magic vintage—wine of the soul! Wine of the soul! I drink of it! Sonia, Sonia, I am drunk with your beauty!” She said: ‘‘ I have crossed half the world to hear you speak!” IT am \ “Tt is not new. I feel as if our love were some divine, remembered thing.” “Far south—far south you have told me this a thousand years ago. And while you spoke the wind stirred in the palm-trees over us, and the moonlight ran like water on the limbs of dancing girls before us; and the stars were the golden eyes of heaven seeing us; and the very gods leaned from their thrones to know our love! “And there is music, Sonia! The rhythm —the fierce, glad rhythm—can you not hear it? Hush! Can you not hear it now?” “Ves, for it is the beating of our hearts!” ‘““ We must talk no more now, Sonia. We must fly from Rome as quickly as swift horses will bear us.” ‘“ What is there to fear?” “The wrath of the Holy Father. He wished a portrait of Beatrice della Marca, and I have made a portrait of thee. He will be terribly angered. His favors and his money have been showered upon me. He will throw me into prison. Did you see how the three fellows sneaked off? Even now they may be gone to tell what I have done, and then vengeance will overtake me.” And still they did not go, but talked on or fell into silences while the shadows drew out in the workshop and the Venus became a glimmering thing in white, to be guessed at rather than seen. And while they still stood together the doors flew open again. They looked out and saw that the night was come, and against the night shone four lanterns, borne by a train of armed men. The lights flashed on the helmet and drawn sword of him who stepped forward. Peter made a stride _ to meet him. “You have come for me?” he said quietly. “Are you the master, Pietro Warbur- ton?” am hes “ And the singing girl—is this one Hold up your light, Oranno!” One of the men raised his lantern, and the glow fell on the face of Sonia, and upon the head of the Venus. “ Aye, it is she. Strange! with us, both of you.” You must go Commicoool<S.comnn >