nacha's disappearance caused her sister profound disgust. there were not hours enough in the day for the stories she told the boarders about her sister, in an attempt to discredit nacha forever. the rancher was thoroughly indignant, believing that he had been made a fool of. he had always had his suspicions of city folk! and he stamped out of the house booted and spurred as on the day of his arrival, confident that his prompt withdrawal from this society was a means of getting even with cata, her sister, the students, who now openly tittered at him, and all the rest of the capital's inhabitants.
a few days after taking a room in the house where monsalvat was lodging nacha wrote to her sister. she assured cata she need no longer fear being compromised by her presence, since her desire to free herself of nacha's society had been accomplished, even though not quite as she had planned. her way lay open now to marriage with the doctor. nacha would never annoy her nor see her again, if that suited cata's desires. as to the rancher, cata could throw all the blame on her in order to appease him, say what she would of her, even attribute to her the whole plan of the engagement. in this fashion cata could wash her hands of the whole affair, and the rancher need not leave the pensión. nacha wanted to ask him to forgive her for the trouble she had caused him; but she reflected that he probably would not understand her nor would anyone else for that matter. she had better let him think whatever had been put into his head by her sister.
nacha borrowed a little money from the lawyer who had so disinterestedly come to her help before. this sum she hoped to return when her mother's house had been sold and she received her share of the inheritance. she paid monsalvat's debts and used the rest of her money to provide him with clothing, monsalvat protesting all the while, and even growing angry. but whenever nacha threatened to leave him, he meekly allowed her to do as she pleased.
little by little he grew better. nacha's presence was a powerful tonic. every afternoon they went out together for a walk to palermo, to the zoological gardens, to lezama park. in a few months monsalvat had recovered from his seriously weakened condition.
but while his general health improved, his eyesight grew steadily poorer. newspapers were now quite beyond him. he could read nothing but books in large type, and then only with the help of a magnifying glass. one morning he had to admit that even that had become impossible. the objects in his room had receded, and came forward only to meet his outstretched hands. he was living in a mysterious, all-enveloping, and constantly deepening dusk. up to that moment he had paid small heed to this trouble, believing it would pass with the rest of his ill-health. but on that morning the cruel thought came to him in all its horror—night was falling on his life! he was alone in a vast solitude, cut off from the world, from his friends, from nacha. the realization of what was happening to him taxed all his resources of courage. as he searched the depths of his soul for the needed help, the world seemed to grow small, as ephemeral as a glittering bubble. after all, this last and greatest catastrophe was but a trifling detail in the universal tragedy! the ideas he had lived by lost their significance too in the slow, throbbing ache of this new pain. death had already claimed a part of him!
he had mentioned to nacha on several occasions that his sight was dim, and she, from her own observations had been well aware of it. quite recently he had taken to leaning on her arm when they went out walking. but he could speak of this trouble only so long as he thought it unimportant. now he was afraid to speak of it. doing so might make it worse! he would say nothing; and when it had passed, he would remember his fears and confess them to nacha. but would it pass? monsalvat tried to use the power of suggestion on himself, fill his mind with hope, not so much for the sake of the hope itself as to be able to live, to go on living. how face the prospect of endless night? how endure the touch of death's hand on living eyes?
but when nacha came to his room one morning she understood what had happened. she did not utter a word; but monsalvat felt that she had sensed his fear, his certainty! as she stood beside him, emotion mastered him for the moment. holding out his arms to her, he drew her to him.
"nacha!" his voice broke and he made a quick gesture, hinting at the cause of his distress.
"don't feel so badly about it. we'll go to the doctor's this afternoon. surely they will get well...!"
but her eyes filled with tears and, though he could no longer see her, she hid her face.
nacha had already spoken of her fears to torres, who called on his friend and watched him intently. he gave nacha little encouragement. this had prepared her somewhat for an unfavorable report from the specialist. but she had spent the interval between torres' visit and this call at the clinic in a state of increasing anxiety. whenever she was with monsalvat she could not keep her eyes away from his, as though her own clear sight must somehow summon his vision from the depths into which it had retreated.
the specialist made a long and thorough examination, and shook his head. there was no hope——
"your case is not so serious, brother!" he said to monsalvat. "i'll give you some drops which will improve your general eye condition a little."
"you think i will get better then?"
"a little—yes. it's quite possible. science can do a great deal—and nature too has her surprises. in short, there's no reason to despair. i've seen worse cases!"
they left the clinic and went home. they must be alone for awhile! in spite of the doctor's words, monsalvat thought that despair would choke him; and nacha could not bear to watch his suffering without trying to console him. besides, an idea had occurred to her after her recent interview with torres, an idea, which even in the midst of the dejection she shared with monsalvat, had the power to bring her great happiness.
on reaching the house they went to monsalvat's room, and nacha turned the key in the lock to keep out the moreno children.
"i want to tell you something," she began, helping monsalvat to find a chair, and sitting down beside him.
"how ghastly this thing is, nacha!" he murmured.
"we'll find a way out. every problem in life has an answer—if we can only find it!"
she drew his head towards her and kissed him on the forehead, while her hand caressed his neck and eyes. at any other time monsalvat would have been startled by such tenderness on her part. only three or four times, on the occasion of some surpassing emotion, had they ever kissed; and then as brother and sister might. but now he did not know how to interpret her caresses. was it possible that nacha loved him? loved him as a lover, and not as she had so persistently believed? his old passion for her stirred within him anew, and an immeasurable sweetness poured through his being. yet he exclaimed:
"it isn't worth while living like this!"
the words were decisive for nacha. she did not look at him but she knew that he was waiting; and slowly, with tears in her eyes, she brought her head close to his and kissed him on the lips.
"you must not say that," she whispered. "you must not say anything against life—the life god made!"
and strangely, in the midst of this new and overwhelming trouble, monsalvat tasted happiness. nacha loved him! and nacha for her part wondered how it was that she had never before known how great was her love for this man, who sat there blind and silent before her. it was better that it should have come about in such a fashion, better that her love had so delayed in revealing itself. now it could soften the blow fate was dealing him!
"i want you to listen," she said. "i have found the answer...."
monsalvat turned towards her as if to look at her. no words came from his lips but his expression showed that he felt he was in the presence of something surpassingly beautiful, something which was to consecrate his life. his heart-beats quickened. in that silence he lived with an intensity that crowded years into those few moments. his soul was waiting, with an anxiety mixed with pain and faith and love; and there was in this pause something of that breathless suspense which comes before a storm, or descends upon an artist as he listens to the voices crying out to him to create them in beauty.
in the darkness around him he heard nacha's voice, warm with emotion, but confident, resolute.
"once, more than a year ago, you asked me something. i refused then, though i loved you in my heart!... it was because i did not want to hurt you, to spoil your chance in life. you had given everything you had for me, and lost everything through me. now i can ask the same thing of you...."
she stopped. in a flash the future swept before her: she saw monsalvat as he was, sick, blind, forever incapable of earning enough to live on; alone in the world, with nothing before him but suffering and endless night. she grew pale and looked away.
"now i want you ... to marry me ..." she said slowly.
he dropped his head and was silent. for some time neither of them stirred. neither cared to break that pause in which the tragedy of each of their lives was to find its solution.
"no!" he said at last.
he heard nacha sob.
"i love you too much, nacha," he went on, "to accept such a sacrifice. stay with me, take care of me for a little while—yes—that i can allow—but to let you unite your life that is still so young with that of a broken invalid—no! i cannot."
his words, falling like so many blows on her heart, only strengthened her resolution.
"i am not doing this out of affection nor out of gratitude. it is for my own sake!"
"nacha, you are young! you must not sadden your whole life—look at the situation i am in. it is more than probable that i shall have hunger, poverty at least, to look forward to."
"i can resign myself to all that. you told me once that it was necessary to suffer—i have never forgotten what you said!"
"but a whole lifetime of it, nacha!"
"a whole lifetime then! i accept it—i desire it. i want to redeem the past—i want to deserve forgiveness...."
"who is there to forgive you, nacha?" he exclaimed, drawing her toward him.
"i don't know—god, perhaps, if he exists. life, against which i have sinned—love, that i have wronged—myself—myself especially: i need to earn forgiveness from myself!"
and slowly, wonderingly, but inevitably, monsalvat found her lips. she was answered!
"your life is mine, fernando," she said gently, and monsalvat knew from her voice that she was smiling. "your suffering is my suffering, your joy my joy! only death can part us."
and on those blind eyes a great light descended, infinite, filling the world; and he knew that some of this radiance sprang from the depths of his own soul, glorifying the years that lay before him, and before all his suffering, hungering, striving human brothers....
