neither the meaning of those complicated lines explains mysteries which they have believed
nor the purpose of that deep meditation; and,
yet, she sat there, statue-like, animated by
another spirit than his; for both were lost in their several contemplations-—the one withdrawn from the present by study, the other by love.
At length he moved uneasily, and the faint shadow of discontent that passed across his face was reflected on hers as on a mirror.
“What if it were all but a delusion?” he murmured; “which of the two shall I make my guide—Science or Faith? The first has told me from my childhood that I shall one day detect the periods and movements of 'those stars with which the heaven is diadem’d,’ and teach these mysteries to a listening world; and the second says to me, 'Thy knowledge comes from God, and thou shalt not use it to contradict him.' And, after all, why those involuntary doubts and fears? Why does reason rebel, when the heart submits? Is it the truth which I descry in the cloudy distance, or a dream of the fancy that grows restless as it looks into the infinite?"
While he questioned himself thus, the evening breeze came sighing through the bare branches, and swept away the circles on the sand.
“So it is," he said, with a sigh; “the breath of forgetfulness, perhaps, will efface my name and my labours from the remembrance of men. If it must be so, were it not better, now, to forsake a world where nothing shall survive to tell that I have been?
“You wish to die” said the girl, looking up anxiously, for his last words had startled her. “You do not care for me more? I having nothing to offer but affection; if that wearies you, tell me! It was you who first told me of my beauty, and I prized it because you spoke of it; I was proud of being beautiful, because it drew your eyes toward me. This pride and pleasure you can take from me, as you gave them, for I am but a low-born ignorant peasant girl.”
“And why should I not love you still, Christina?" said Tycho Brahè. “It is I rather who should be afraid that you may weary of me — dark and silent creature that I am. I have more often made you sigh than smile, and it is for me to ask and wonder why you love me.”
“If you change not, my lord,” she replied, “I surely never will. It is enough that once you said to me, 'Come here, Christina, my head is tired—your youth and beauty restore me to myself.”
“Child,” said he, smiling, and twining her long golden hair upon his fingers, “hast thou no more to ask of me? Is a careless word enough to make thee happy?”
“It is, my lord! the evening when you met me before my father’s door — who is a poor peasant, and your vassal—I felt myself blushing, and cast down my eyes. The next day, when you met me again, and spoke to me, I felt the same uneasiness; and since then I have loved you as a god, without understanding you, for I knew that I could not share your thoughts that are so far above me. The spirits of pious worshippers, they tell me, are often rewarded for their faith; often a ray of heavenly light falls upon them, and explains mysteries which they have believed blindly; and so I hoped that you might, one day, raise me to your own height, and teach me the language in which you speak to the stars, so that our two spirits may never separate, and I may be with you in another world as I am in this! You tell me, sometimes, that you have learned awful secrets that could change the face of the world; that there are in common things around us, in plants and metals, virtues unknown to all others, that could enable you to create and to destroy; could you not, then, some time, make a charm or a philtre for me, so that I, too, might read the stars?”
“Hush, Christina!” said the philosopher.
“Though God has permitted me to guess a few of his mysteries, ignorant men would hunt me to the death if I were to seem to know them. But what you ask of me is impossible."
“I thought,” said Christina, “you could do it, if you would. I know not what other women think of the men whom they love; but I have been accustomed to place you so far above all others, that I can imagine no limit to your knowledge and your power. Give me, at least, the skill to read the future, that I may know if you will love me always.”
“Fear not, Christina,” he answered; “until the day when I saw you, my only love was science. Many women have sought to please me; but I wanted the time and the address to please them: others have looked upon me as a fool. I have taken my way firmly amid the insults and injuries of the nobility, who are indignant to behold one of their class renounce his hereditary ignorance, and cast away the sword to study the great works of the Creator. But here I have found a haven where the elements are at rest, and where my life may flow on in peace and industry. To-morrow, Christina, you shall set out for Copenhagen. I shall give you a letter to my good friend King Frederic the Second. I will tell him that I wish to make you my wife; and, as a Danish noble cannot marry out of his own order without his permission, I will ask his consent to our union.”
These words, bewildering poor Christina with a tumult of emotions, in which actual joy in its common form could be scarcely said to predominate, sent the crimson blood glowing into her face, which was the next instant overspread with the paleness of marble.
“Thanks, thanks!” she murmured; “it is what I could never have dared to ask, and yet I have suffered much. Forsaken by you, I would be despised by the world. My father is unhappy; he does not believe me innocent; and the girls of the island look aside when I pass.”
“I shall reward your devotion, Christina. Console your father, and henceforth bear your head high and proudly among your acquaintances; for no whisper of suspicion shall breathe upon you more! But the night is falling dark and chilly, adieu! To-morrow, at break of day, be ready to depart”
With the light and buoyant step of sudden gladness she left him. He followed her with his eyes until she was lost in the darkness, and then
moved away slowly to Stelleborg.