"In other respects," she inquired at length, "is he much changed?"
"A wonderful process is going forward in Donatello's mind," answered the
sculptor. "The germs of faculties that have heretofore slept are fast
springing into activity. The world of thought is disclosing itself to
his inward sight. He startles me, at times, with his perception of deep
truths; and, quite as often, it must be owned, he compels me to smile by
the intermixture of his former simplicity with a new intelligence. But
he is bewildered with the revelations that each day brings. Out of
his bitter agony, a soul and intellect, I could almost say, have been
inspired into him."
"Ah, I could help him here!" cried Miriam, clasping her hands. "And
how sweet a toil to bend and adapt my whole nature to do him good! To
instruct, to elevate, to enrich his mind with the wealth that would flow
in upon me, had I such a motive for acquiring it! Who else can perform
the task? Who else has the tender sympathy which he requires? Who else,
save only me,--a woman, a sharer in the same dread secret, a partaker in
one identical guilt,--could meet him on such terms of intimate equality
as the case demands? With this object before me, I might feel a right to
live! Without it, it is a shame for me to have lived so long."
"I fully agree with you," said Kenyon, "that your true place is by his
side."
"Surely it is," replied Miriam. "If Donatello is entitled to aught on
earth, it is to my complete self-sacrifice for his sake. It does not
weaken his claim, methinks, that my only prospect of happiness a
fearful word, however lies in the good that may accrue to him from our
intercourse. But he rejects me! He will not listen to the whisper of his
heart, telling him that she, most wretched, who beguiled him into evil,
might guide him to a higher innocence than that from which he fell. How
is this first great difficulty to be obviated?"
"It lies at your own option, Miriam, to do away the obstacle, at any
moment," remarked the sculptor. "It is but to ascend Donatello's tower,
and you will meet him there, under the eye of God."
"I dare not," answered Miriam. "No; I dare not!"
"Do you fear," asked the sculptor, "the dread eye-witness whom I have
named?"
"No; for, as far as I can see into that cloudy and inscrutable thing, my
heart, it has none but pure motives," replied Miriam. "But, my friend,
you little know what a weak or what a strong creature a woman is! I
fear not Heaven, in this case, at least, but--shall I confess it? I
am greatly in dread of Donatello. Once he shuddered at my touch. If he
shudder once again, or frown, I die!"