"Another torch gone," said István, almost in a whisper.
"It will be dark very soon."
"Very soon," he said, watching the sinking torchlight dreamily.
It was a moment of strange, luxurious, undefined, yet intense enjoyment to István Tolnay. He wished to prolong the sensation. He was drifting towards something, some crisis which he had always felt was coming, and to which he had never yet distinctly given expression, even in his own thoughts, – to which perhaps he had no right to give expression, but that did not trouble him. The waters which carried him along breathed such a soothing perfume, such a narcotic scent, that it clouded every disturbing thought. That which he was going to do, or going to say in the next minute, he had never distinctly contemplated – not yesterday, not this morning, not even this minute exactly. He never made plans, and he had not made plans either in this. It was merely that he felt it coming, and that the sensation was one of dreamy enjoyment. He wished that he could prolong it indefinitely.
"We ought to be going," said Gretchen;" there is only one torch remaining."
"Only one more? so much the better."
The last torch was the one in the niche, and with its perishing fire it threw a golden net over Gretchen's hair. It flashed and darkened with wild changes, flickering up and sinking, only to flicker up again.
"Look!" said István, "there are words written in the fire! Can you read them?"
He spoke slowly; but his eyes were fevered with excitement.
"Look ! do you not see? The same words that were written in the fountain. The fire and the water speak alike. Gretchen, will you not tell me what you saw written in the Hercules fountain?"
With the last words came a sudden change of tone. Instinctively she shrank back.
He bent quite close to her and whispered –
"Was there not written, 'I love you'?" and, seizing her hand, he dragged it to his lips. "I love you, Gretchen, more than my life! and you belong to me – you belong to me!"
He was kissing both her hands, and the plait of hair she held. She felt that his own fingers trembled, and were burning hot.
At the same moment, a stone displaced by one of the torches got loosened from its hold, and went rattling and bounding downwards past them.
"I am frightened!" cried Gretchen, starting from her glistening seat.
Her fright was real enough; but it was not the stone which had frightened her.
And, without giving him an answer – without casting him a glance – she wrenched her hand away, and hurried on, groping her way forward to the daylight; while behind her the last torch glowed up once more, like a fiery rose fading at the foot of the white column; then, scattering its flaming petals to the air, it shrivelled to a spark, to a mere point of light, – then was gone altogether, and the vast cave sank back into its habitual darkness.
