"I am human," he answered grimly, but he did not move to follow her.
"By whatever you hold sacred, let me go!" She was wrenching at the lock in despair with both hands, but sideways, while she kept her eyes on his.
"I hold you sacred--nothing else."
"Sacred!" Her anger began to outbrave her terror now. "Sacred, and you have trapped me by a vile trick!"
"Yes," he answered, "I admit that."
He had not moved again and there was a window near her. She sprang to it and thrust the curtains aside, hoping to open the frame before he could stop her. But though she moved the fastenings easily, she could do no more, with all her strength, and Giovanni still stood motionless, watching her.
"You cannot open that window," he said quietly. "If you scream, no one will hear you. Do you think I would have brought you to a place where you could get help merely by crying out for it? The risk was too great. I have made sure of being alone with you as long as I choose."
The nun drew herself up against the red curtains.
"I did not know that you were a coward," she said.
"I am what you have made me, brave, cowardly, desperate--anything you choose to call it! But such as I am, you must hear me to the end this time, for you have no choice."
Sister Giovanna understood that there was no escape and she stood quite still; but he saw that her lips moved a little.
"G.o.d is not here," he said, in a hard voice, for he knew that she was praying.
"G.o.d is here," she answered, crossing her hands on her breast.
He came a step nearer and leaned on the back of a chair; he was evidently controlling himself, for his movements were studiedly deliberate, though his voice was beginning to shake ominously.
"If G.o.d is with you, Angela, then He shall hear that I love you and that you are mine, not His! He shall listen while I tell you that I will not give you up to be murdered by priests for His glory! Do what He will, He shall not have you. I defy Him!"
The nun shrank against the curtain, not from the man, but at the words.
"At least, do not blaspheme!"
"I must, if it is blasphemy to love you."
"Yours is not love. Would to heaven it were, as I thought it was to-day.
Love is gentle, generous, tender----"
"Then be all three to me; for you love me, in spite of everything!"
"You have taught me to forget that I ever did," she answered.
"Learn to remember that you did, to realise that you do, and forget only that I have used a trick to bring you here--a harmless trick, one carriage for another, my brother"s orderly for a servant. I found out from Madame Bernard where you were going and I sent for you before the hour. You are as safe here as if you were praying in your chapel; in a few minutes the carriage will take you back, you will say you got into the wrong one by mistake, which is quite true, and the right one will take you where you are to go; you will be scarcely half-an-hour late and no one will ever know anything more about it."
Sister Giovanna had listened patiently to his explanation, and believed what he said. He had always been impulsive to rashness, but now that her first surprise had subsided she was less afraid. He had evidently yielded to a strong temptation with the idea of forcing her to listen to him, and in reality, if she had understood herself, she was not able to believe that he would hurt her or bring any disgrace upon her.
"If you are in earnest," she said, when he had finished, "then let me go at once."
"Presently," he answered. "This afternoon you made me promise to hear quietly what you had to say, and I did my best. I could not help your being frightened just now, I suppose--after all, I have carried you off from the door of your Convent, and I meant you to understand that you were helpless, and must listen. I ought to have put it differently, but I am not clever at such things. All I ask is that you will hear me. After all, that is what you asked of me to-day."
He had begun to walk up and down before her, while he was speaking; but he did not come near her, for the chair stood between her and the line along which he was pacing backwards and forwards. Something in his way of speaking rea.s.sured her, as he jerked out the rather disconnected sentences. Women often make the mistake of thinking that when we men begin to stumble away from the straight chalk-line of that logic in which we are supposed by them to take such pride, our purpose is wavering, whereas the opposite is often the case. Men capable of sudden, direct, and strong action are often poor talkers, particularly when they are just going to spring or strike. A little hesitation is more often the sign of a near outbreak than of any inward weakening.
But Sister Giovanna was deceived.
"I shall be forced to listen, if you insist," she said, moving half a step forward from the curtain, "but how can I trust you, while I am your prisoner?"
"You can trust me, if you will be generous," Giovanni answered.
"I do not know what you mean by the word," replied the nun cautiously.
"If I am not generous, as you mean it, what then?"
Severi stopped in his walk; his face began to darken again, and his voice was rough and hard.
"What then? Why then, remember what I am and where you are!"
Sister Giovanna drew back again.
"I would rather trust in G.o.d than trust you when you speak in that tone," she said.
He had used the very words she had spoken in the cloister when he had tried to take her by the arm, but they had a very different meaning now; his dangerous temper was rising again and he was threatening her.
Yet her answer produced an effect she was far from expecting. He turned to the writing-table near him, opened one of the drawers and took out an army revolver. Sister Giovanna watched him. If he was only going to kill her she was not afraid.
"I will force you to trust me," he said, quickly examining the charge as he came towards her.
"By threatening me with that thing?" she asked with contempt. "You are mistaken!"
He was close to her, but he offered her the b.u.t.t-end of the weapon.
"No," he said, "I am not mistaken. It is I who fear death, as long as you are alive, and here it is, in your hand." But she would not take the revolver from him. "You will not take it? Well, there it is." He laid it on the chair, which he placed beside her. "If I come too near you, or try to touch even your sleeve, you can use it. The law will acquit you, and even praise you for defending yourself in need."
"There must be no need," she answered, looking at him fixedly. "Say quickly what you have to say."
"Will you not sit down, then?"
"No, thank you. I would rather not."
It would have seemed like consenting to be where she was; and besides, the revolver lay on the nearest available chair and she would not touch it, much less hold it in her hand, if she sat down to listen.
Giovanni leaned back against the heavy table at some distance from her, resting his hands on the edge, on each side of him.
"After I left you to-day," he began, "I had a long talk with Monsignor Saracinesca in the street. I asked him questions about obtaining a dispensation for you. He made it look impossible, of course--that was to be expected! But I got one point from him, which is important. He made it quite clear to me that the request to be released from your vows must come from you, if it is to be considered at all. You understand that, do you not?"
"Is it possible that you yourself do not yet understand?" Sister Giovanna asked, as quietly as she could. "Did I not tell you to-day that no power could loose me from my vows?"
"You were mistaken. There is a power that can, and that rests with the Pope, and he shall exercise it."
"I will not ask for a dispensation. I have told you that it is an impossibility----"
"There is no such thing as impossibility for men and women who love,"
Giovanni answered. "Have you forgotten the last words you said to me before I sailed for Africa?" He spoke gently now, and Sister Giovanna turned her face from him. "You said, "I will wait for you for ever."