Don Rafaele, as we have seen, had found Evaline asleep, and, with a trembling but seemingly resolute hand, had raised his dagger against her life. But though asleep, Evaline was more secure under the shadow of that Power to which she had commended herself, on retiring to rest, than if she had been able to see his design, and to wrest the dagger from his hand.
And could Don Rafaele strike her? Oh, no! However headlong might be the passion that boiled in his heart, it could not hurry him, at this last pass, over the bound between his thought and the act. It had carried him to the verge of crime; but there, on the very point of its consummation, the tenderness of his nature came to the rescue, and he drew back appalled.
Withdrawing his dagger, he reeled to the door, and passed on to the outer landing. As he gained that place, a faintness came over him; and he was obliged, when he had acquired a firm footing, to come to a pause, and lean back against the wall for support. But the weakness was only momentary, though it evidently required an effort--and one of no common or limited vigour--to overcome it. On recovering himself, he caught up the light, which, previous to entering the chamber, he had left on the landing, and darted up the stairs to his own dormitory.
The powerful excitement under which he had been labouring, and which had nigh hurried him into such monstrous guilt, seemed rather to abate when he arrived in his chamber; but the abatement arose more from physical exhaustion, than moral alleviation. His passion, however, though not a whit less bitter, was not quite so overpowering. After a little time, indeed, it appeared to be somewhat subdued; and, as reason regained its empire, he burst into tears.
He wept long and bitterly; but though his tears, in the end, made his head ache again, they materially relieved his overcharged heart, and did more to assuage his passion than his most soothing reflections. But whatever might be its nature, that passion was too deeply rooted, and, withal, too intimately associated with his heart’s most cherished aspirations, to be quite overcome; and, though it breathed a less fervid and desperate spirit, it was still resistless, and occasionally shot promptures through his ardent nerves that made him shudder.