Page:Once a Week Jul - Dec 1859.pdf/33

22 neither the meaning of those complicated lines explains mysteries which they have believed nor the purpose of that deep meditation; and, yet, she sat there, statue-like, animated by another spirit than his; for both were lost in their several contemplations-—the one withdrawn from the present by study, the other by love.

At length he moved uneasily, and the faint shadow of  discontent  that  passed  across  his  face was reflected  on  hers  as  on  a mirror.

“What if  it  were  all  but  a delusion?”  he  murmured; “which  of  the  two  shall  I make  my guide—Science  or  Faith? The first  has  told  me from  my  childhood  that  I shall  one  day  detect  the periods and  movements  of  'those  stars  with  which the heaven  is  diadem’d,’  and  teach  these  mysteries to a listening  world; and  the  second  says  to  me, 'Thy knowledge  comes  from  God,  and  thou  shalt not use  it  to  contradict  him.'  And,  after  all, why those  involuntary  doubts  and  fears? Why does reason  rebel,  when  the  heart  submits? Is it the  truth  which  I descry  in  the  cloudy  distance, or a dream  of  the  fancy  that  grows  restless  as  it looks  into  the  infinite?"

While he  questioned  himself  thus,  the  evening breeze came  sighing  through  the  bare  branches, and swept  away  the  circles  on  the  sand.

“So it  is,"  he  said,  with  a sigh; “the  breath of  forgetfulness,  perhaps,  will  efface  my  name  and my  labours  from  the  remembrance  of  men.  If  it must  be  so,  were  it  not  better,  now,  to  forsake  a world  where  nothing  shall  survive  to  tell  that  I have  been?

“You wish  to  die”  said  the  girl,  looking  up anxiously,  for  his  last  words  had  startled  her. “You do  not  care  for  me  more? I having nothing to offer  but  affection;  if  that  wearies  you,  tell me! It was  you  who  first  told  me  of  my  beauty, and I prized  it  because  you  spoke  of  it; I was proud of  being  beautiful,  because  it  drew  your eyes toward  me. This pride  and  pleasure  you can take  from  me,  as  you  gave  them,  for  I am  but a low-born ignorant  peasant  girl.”

“And why  should  I not  love  you  still,  Christina?" said  Tycho  Brahè.  “It  is  I rather  who should  be  afraid  that  you  may  weary  of  me — dark and  silent  creature  that  I am.  I have  more  often made  you  sigh  than  smile,  and  it  is  for  me  to  ask and  wonder  why  you  love  me.”

“If you  change  not,  my  lord,”  she  replied,  “I surely never  will. It is  enough  that  once  you said to  me,  'Come  here,  Christina,  my  head  is tired—your  youth  and  beauty  restore  me  to myself.”

“Child,” said  he,  smiling,  and  twining  her  long golden hair  upon  his  fingers,  “hast  thou  no  more to ask  of  me? Is a careless  word  enough  to make  thee  happy?”

“It is,  my  lord! the evening  when  you  met me before  my  father’s  door — who  is  a poor peasant, and  your  vassal—I felt  myself  blushing, and cast  down  my  eyes. The next  day,  when you met  me  again,  and  spoke  to  me,  I felt  the same uneasiness; and  since  then  I have  loved  you as a god,  without  understanding  you,  for  I knew that I could  not  share  your  thoughts  that  are  so far  above  me. The spirits  of  pious  worshippers, they tell  me,  are  often  rewarded  for  their  faith; often a ray  of  heavenly  light  falls  upon  them,  and explains mysteries  which  they  have  believed blindly; and so  I hoped  that  you  might,  one  day, raise me  to  your  own  height,  and  teach  me  the language in  which  you  speak  to  the  stars,  so  that our two  spirits  may  never  separate,  and  I may  be with  you  in  another  world  as  I am  in  this! You tell me,  sometimes,  that  you  have  learned  awful secrets that  could  change  the  face  of  the  world; that there  are  in  common  things  around  us,  in plants  and  metals,  virtues  unknown  to  all  others, that could  enable  you  to  create  and  to  destroy; could you  not,  then,  some  time,  make  a charm  or a philtre  for  me,  so  that  I,  too,  might  read  the stars?”

“Hush, Christina!”  said  the  philosopher.

“Though God  has  permitted  me  to  guess  a few  of his  mysteries,  ignorant  men  would  hunt  me  to  the death if  I were  to  seem  to  know  them. But what you  ask  of  me  is  impossible."

“I thought,”  said  Christina,  “you  could  do  it, if you  would. I know not  what  other  women think of  the  men  whom  they  love;  but  I have been accustomed  to  place  you  so  far  above  all others, that  I can  imagine  no  limit  to  your  knowledge and  your  power. Give me,  at  least,  the skill to  read  the  future,  that  I may  know  if  you will love  me  always.”

“Fear not,  Christina,”  he  answered;  “until the day  when  I saw  you,  my  only  love  was  science. Many women  have  sought  to  please  me;  but  I wanted  the  time  and  the  address  to  please  them: others have  looked  upon  me  as  a fool. I have taken my  way  firmly  amid  the  insults  and  injuries of the  nobility,  who  are  indignant  to  behold  one of their  class  renounce  his  hereditary  ignorance, and cast  away  the  sword  to  study  the  great  works of the  Creator. But here  I have  found  a haven where the  elements  are  at  rest,  and  where  my  life may flow  on  in  peace  and  industry. To-morrow, Christina, you  shall  set  out  for  Copenhagen. I shall give  you  a letter  to  my  good  friend  King Frederic the  Second. I will tell  him  that  I wish to make  you  my  wife;  and,  as  a Danish  noble cannot marry  out  of  his  own  order  without  his permission, I will  ask  his  consent  to  our  union.”

These words,  bewildering  poor  Christina  with  a tumult  of  emotions,  in  which  actual  joy  in  its common form  could  be  scarcely  said  to  predominate, sent  the  crimson  blood  glowing  into her face,  which  was  the  next  instant  overspread with the  paleness  of  marble.

“Thanks, thanks!”  she  murmured;  “it  is what  I could  never  have  dared  to  ask,  and  yet I  have  suffered  much. Forsaken by  you,  I would be despised  by  the  world. My father  is  unhappy; he does  not  believe  me  innocent; and  the  girls  of the  island  look  aside  when  I pass.”

“I shall reward  your  devotion,  Christina. Console your father,  and  henceforth  bear  your  head high and  proudly  among  your  acquaintances; for no whisper  of  suspicion  shall  breathe  upon  you more! But the  night  is  falling  dark  and  chilly, adieu! To-morrow, at  break  of  day,  be  ready  to depart”

With the  light  and  buoyant  step  of  sudden gladness she  left  him. He followed  her  with  his eyes until  she  was  lost  in  the  darkness,  and  then moved away  slowly  to  Stelleborg.