"Ginevra!" he faltered for the third time, his senses reeling and he no longer master of himself. "Surely you know me—Eckhardt,—him whose name you have just called! Speak to me, Ginevra—speak! By all the love I have borne for you—speak, Ginevra,—speak!"
A shadow flitted through the background and paused behind Theodora’s couch. Neither had seen it, though Theodora shuddered as if she had felt the strange presence of something uncalled, unbidden.
A strange light of mockery, or of annoyance, gleamed in the woman’s eyes. Her crimson lips parted, showing two rows of even, small white teeth, then a gleam of amusement shot athwart her face, raising the delicately pencilled corners of the eye-brows, as she broke into a soft peal of careless mocking laughter.
"I am not Ginevra," she said. "Who is Ginevra? I am Theodora—the Queen of Love."
Again, as she saw his puzzled look, she gave way to her silvery, mocking mirth, while her eyes flung him a glittering challenge to approach. Eckhardt had recovered partial control over his feelings and met her taunting gaze steadfastly and with something of sadness. His face had grown very pale and all the warmth and rapture had died out of his voice, when he spoke again.
"I am Eckhardt," he said quietly, with the calm of a madman who argues for a fixed idea,—"and you are Ginevra—or her ghost—I know not which. Why did you return to the world from your cold and narrow bed in the earth and shun the man who worships you as one worships an idol? Is it for some transgression in the flesh that your soul cannot find rest?"
An ominous shuffling behind her caused Theodora to start. She turned her head as if by chance and when again she faced Eckhardt, she was as pale as death. Noting her momentary embarrassment, Eckhardt made a resolute step toward her, catching her hands in his own. He was dazed.
"Is this your welcome back in the world, Ginevra?" he pleaded with a passionate whisper. "Have you no thought what this long misery apart from you has meant? Remember the old days,—the old love,—have pity—speak to me as of old."
His voice in its very whisper thrilled with the strange music that love alone can give. His eyes burnt and his lips quivered. Suddenly he seemed to wake to a realization of the scene. He had been mocked by a fatal resemblance to his dead wife. His heart was heavy with the certainty, but the spell remained.