Rachel Hayward

“ But Emile's quick eyes had seen a crumpled handkerchief flecked with red stains.
"Don't tell lies, Fatalité!" he said sharply. "Give me your hand at once."
Arithelli obeyed, holding it out palm upwards.
Emile looked, and ripped out a fiery exclamation. The smooth flesh was scarred and torn across in several places, and was still bleeding. The mark of Sobrenski's grip on her wrist had turned from crimson to a dull discoloured hue.
"It doesn't hurt so very much," she said. "Only I can't bear the sight of blood. All Jewish people are like that. I can't help it. It makes me feel queer all over." ”

“ She was only glad that there was no moon. Roused for once out of her naturally slow and indolent walk, she was soon in the poor quarter and climbing the stairs to the third floor of a horrible little house, the back of which looked out on the dark slums of the quarter of the Parelelo, the breeding-place of revolutions; the district between the Rambla and the Harbour.
The house was like the one that Emile had described when telling her of the murdered woman, Félise Rivaz.
The very air reeked of intrigue and hidden deeds. ”

“ Vardri's blood was hot as he looked on. Blind with helpless rage, he was conscious of nothing but the little set face and defiant head. He had come suddenly into his heritage of manhood at the sight of her alone, defenceless and roughly handled by brute beasts who called themselves men.
He was mad, too, with a man's jealousy. From the earliest moment he had seen Arithelli he had given her homage as a woman. The gamin, the "Becky Sharp" that Emile and the others knew, he had never seen, and he had always resented her numerous irreverent nicknames. ”

“ In his heart Emile cursed the Fates. Her awakening had been a complete one. At first novelty and excitement had served as merciful anaesthetics, but they could not last for ever.
He was not in love with her, he still told himself, but he would miss her. Women like the Roumanoff were the women to whom men made passionate love, but Arithelli was unique. She had become part of his life in Barcelona. Their lives had touched and mingled till it was impossible to believe that he had only known her for a few short months. A future without her would be one without interest. ”

“ For a moment he saw no longer the goddess on her ivory throne, but a woman of flesh and blood, warm, living, and fragrant and to be desired after a man's fashion.
Arithelli closed her eyes and leant back, yielding herself to his caresses. The pressure of his hand across her throat hurt her, but in some strange way it also gave her pleasure. Love, the schoolmaster, again stood by her side teaching her the lesson learnt sooner or later by all women, that pain at the hands of one beloved is a thing close akin to joy. She felt incapable of any struggle or resistance, bodily or mental. ”

“ Inside the stable Arithelli, tall and straight in her scarlet shirt, moved to and fro at her work, hanging up saddles and bridles, carrying pails of water, ranging on either side of the hut the horses and the mules. Tortured as she was with anxiety, she did not forget the wants of her friends the animals. It came across her mind how once when she had said to Vardri, "Let us see to the horses first," he had said half in jest, "If I were a Spaniard I should be jealous. You always think of the animals before everything else." ”

“ Love, Youth, and Nature were hard at work weaving the bonds that drew them together.
The fact that she suffered his caresses had given him the right of manhood to protect her, to be her champion, to fight her battles. If he could do nothing else for her, at least he could fight. For him the crown of happiness could be found in loyal service. Of love-making in its ordinary sense, Vardri neither thought nor dreamed. To have found his Ideal, the one woman, surely that was enough. The innate fastidiousness that goes with good breeding had kept his life clean, his hands unsoiled. ”

“ There was some tawdry jewellery lying about, and several pairs of the pale-hued Parisian boots she invariably affected. Emile made and lighted the inevitable cigarette, while he fidgeted about, turning over the few French and English novels he could find with an air of disapproval; for her taste in literature did not commend itself to him any more than did her taste in finery.
At one period of his life he had steeped himself in books, knowing the poetry and romance of nearly every nation. Now he disliked them. If she wanted books he would choose them for her. ”

“ A mad impulse seized her to rush up the steps to the loft, interrupt the meeting, defy them all and boast how she had schemed her lover's escape, and laugh at them and their plots, goad them into shooting her at once and finishing it all quickly. She felt that she could not endure any more suspense and strain. Anything would be better than this interminable, awful waiting in the semi-darkness and loneliness, with neither friend nor lover at hand, no single human to take her part or defend her. Emile had gone and now Vardri, and she must face everything alone. ”

“ It naturally fell upon Emile to provide the details of her transformation, and he presented himself at her lodgings one afternoon, bearing an ungainly parcel which he deposited on the table.
"You'd better try these on," he said. "There is a complete suit of boy's clothes, a wig and everything you'll want. You will have to put your own hair out of the way somehow."
It was the drowsy hour of the siesta, when no one moved out if he could help it, and all work and play were at a standstill. Arithelli was sitting, as was her custom, absorbed in her own thoughts and dreams. ”

“ Along the pavement two men walked slowly with guitar and flageolet.
They walked turning in opposite directions, their heads thrown back, their feet keeping step, two black-haired, supple vagabonds of gypsy breed, who had come down to the city from their mountain home on the heights of Montserrat.
The guitar twanged merrily, the reed-like notes of the flute were true and clear as the song of a thrush. The melody turned and climbed and twisted, rose to a climax, and re-commenced again the same phrase. Arithelli listened, hypnotised and bewitched, as she always was by music. ”

“ You know enough about our organisation now. No one who has once joined us is ever allowed to escape. You would be found sooner or later, and then—you remember what I told you once? That I am responsible for you to the Brotherhood?"
He spoke calmly, patiently, as if he were explaining things to a child.
If his associates could have seen the cynical Emile Poleski of ordinary life they would have found reason to marvel!
The gesture of uncontrollable horror told him that she understood only too well. What should the upholders of the Cause care for ties, for friendships, for pity? ”

“ Arithelli's thoughts were going at racing speed. No one could be long in a room alone with Sobrenski without being impressed by his overpowering personality. He affected her in a way that no one else ever did, in provoking her to futile outbursts of defiance and anger. She had never lost her head with anyone else, but he always made her incapable of reasoning, raging one minute, and cowed the next. Hitherto Emile had always been there to screen and protect her, to stand between her and her enemy. ”

“ Tales of the forests and legends of the Hartz Mountains, of lonely places haunted by nixies and wood maidens, fairy shapes with streaming hair and vaporous robes, seeing which a man would become for ever after mad with longing, and desire no mortal woman.
Arithelli's long limbs appeared nymphlike in her plain blue high-waisted gown of Emile's choosing, that had no superfluous bow or trimming, and left free her beauty of outline. She possessed no jewellery now wherewith to deck herself, and there was no trace of artificial red on face and lips. ”

“ He pitied them, for their lives were as hard as his own, and when he could he helped them, for among the wanderers in Bohemia there is an ever-abiding comradeship. The element of fanaticism in his nature, which had once been absorbed by the Cause, now spent itself upon a human being.
The firm yet gentle clasp in which he held her, was the outward symbol of the love and courage that made him tense as steel. To every man there comes his hour, and his was now. Both for her sake and his own he dare not keep her with him. ”

“ Emile felt for a moment almost inclined to develop scruples. She evidently regarded Anarchy at large as a species of particularly exciting diversion.
"Who are the other women mixed up with it?" she asked.
"There are no other women. You should feel honoured that we are having you."
Emile stood up, having completed his renovating operations. "You want to sing, eh?" Arithelli assented eagerly. "You will work?" Emile demanded.
"Yes!" Her eyes had become suddenly like green jewels, and she looked almost animated. She was more interested in Emile's music than in any other part of him. ”

“ As they say in this country, 'love and a cough cannot be hidden.' I was sure about Vardri, but about you;—no, one couldn't say. When you came out here you were a sexless creature with a brain. It did not seem likely that you would develop into the ordinary girl with a lover."
It was the only way he could keep a hold upon himself, by keeping up a pose of cynicism. The fragrance of her hair, the curved mouth so close to his own, maddened him. He who could have been her lover had been only her guardian, her taskmaster. ”

“ The wide sombrero, tilted backwards, made a picturesque framing to her oval face, and the manta or heavy cloak, worn by all Spaniards at night, hung, loosely draped over her left shoulder. Emile promptly twisted it off.
"This won't do," he said. "The manta is never worn like that. Besides it's not enough of a disguise. Watch how I put it on." With a few rough yet dexterous movements he arranged the dark folds so as to hide her shoulders and the upper part of her body.
Then he stood back a few paces. "But your green eyes! A disguise for them will be impossible. One sees them always." ”

“ The brilliance and nerve with which she carried through the trick, roused the enthusiasm it deserved, and Arithelli passed out panting and triumphant to the accompaniment of music and cheers, and showered roses and carnations.
The part of her work that she most abhorred was the eight o'clock compulsory visit to the stables. A circus life is not prone to encourage the virtue of early rising, and she was by nature indolent in a panther-like fashion, and was never in bed till half-past one or two in the morning. ”

“ I believe they are right in sharing things, in fighting for those who are trodden down by the rich, but you and I can still believe all that without becoming inhuman. Think of Sobrenski. He's a werewolf, not a man! Promise me that you'll come soon. Let me take you away before they make you one of their 'angels of vengeance,' as they call these women of the revolution."
Excitement and the feverish devil of consumption had turned his blood to fire. He would take no denial, pay no heed to Arithelli's entreaties for time to think, and to consult Emile. ”