Читать книгу Fabiola; Or, The Church of the Catacombs онлайн
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“Why, to tell the truth, it is a greater treat to me, to see you enjoy any thing, than to enjoy it myself.”
“No, dear Syra, no; it must not be. God has wished me to be poor, and I must try to do His will. I could no more think of eating the food, than I could of wearing the dress, of the rich, so long as I can obtain that of the poor. I love to share with you your pulmentum,[30] which I know is given me in charity by one poor like myself. I procure for you the merit of alms-deeds; you give me the consolation of feeling that I am, before God, still only a poor blind thing. I think He will love me better thus, than if feeding on luxurious fare. I would rather be with Lazarus at the gate, than with Dives at the table.”
“How much better and wiser you are than I, my good child! It shall be as you wish. I will give the dish to my companions, and, in the meantime, here I set before you your usual humble fare.”
“Thanks, thanks, dear sister; I will await your return.”
Syra went to the maids’ apartment, and put before her jealous but greedy companions the silver dish. As their mistress occasionally showed them this little kindness, it did not much surprise them. But the poor servant was weak enough to feel ashamed of appearing before her comrades with the rich scarf round her arm. She took it off before she entered; then, not wishing to displease Euphrosyne, replaced it as well as she could with one hand, on coming out. She was in the court below, returning to her blind friend, when she saw one of the noble guests of her mistress’s table alone, and, with a mortified look, crossing towards the door, and she stepped behind a column to avoid any possible, and not uncommon, rudeness. It was Fulvius; and no sooner did she, unseen, catch a glimpse of him, than she stood for a moment as one nailed to the spot. Her heart beat against her bosom, then quivered as if about to cease its action; her knees struck against one another, a shiver ran through her frame, while perspiration started on her brow. Her eyes, wide open, were fascinated, like the bird’s before the snake. She raised her hand to her breast, made upon it the sign of life, and the spell was broken. She fled in an instant, still unnoticed, and had hardly stepped noiselessly behind a curtain that closed the stairs, when Fulvius, with downcast eyes, reached the spot on which she had stood. He started back a step, as if scared by something lying before him. He trembled violently; but recovering himself by a sudden effort, he looked around him and saw that he was alone. There was no eye upon him—except One which he did not heed, but which read his evil heart in that hour. He gazed again upon the object, and stooped to pick it up, but drew back his hand, and that more than once. At last he heard footsteps approaching, he recognized the martial tread of Sebastian, and hastily he snatched up from the ground the rich scarf which had dropped from Syra’s arm. He shook as he folded it up; and when, to his horror, he found upon it spots of fresh blood, which had oozed through the bandages, he reeled like a drunken man to the door, and rushed to his lodgings.