Carmilla

Sometimes after an hour of apathy, my strange and beautiful companion

would take my hand and hold it with a fond pressure, renewed again and

again; blushing softly, gazing in my face with languid and burning eyes,

and breathing so fast that her dress rose and fell with the tumultuous

respiration. It was like the ardor of a lover; it embarrassed me; it was

hateful and yet over-powering; and with gloating eyes she drew me to

her, and her hot lips traveled along my cheek in kisses; and she would

whisper, almost in sobs, "You are mine, you shall be mine, you and I

are one for ever." Then she had thrown herself back in her chair, with

her small hands over her eyes, leaving me trembling.

"Are we related," I used to ask; "what can you mean by all this? I

remind you perhaps of someone whom you love; but you must not, I hate

it; I don't know you--I don't know myself when you look so and talk so."

She used to sigh at my vehemence, then turn away and drop my hand.

Respecting these very extraordinary manifestations I strove in vain to

form any satisfactory theory--I could not refer them to affectation or

trick. It was unmistakably the momentary breaking out of suppressed

instinct and emotion. Was she, notwithstanding her mother's volunteered

denial, subject to brief visitations of insanity; or was there here a

disguise and a romance? I had read in old storybooks of such things.

What if a boyish lover had found his way into the house, and sought to

prosecute his suit in masquerade, with the assistance of a clever old

adventuress. But there were many things against this hypothesis, highly

interesting as it was to my vanity.

I could boast of no little attentions such as masculine gallantry

delights to offer. Between these passionate moments there were long

intervals of commonplace, of gaiety, of brooding melancholy, during

which, except that I detected her eyes so full of melancholy fire,

following me, at times I might have been as nothing to her. Except in

these brief periods of mysterious excitement her ways were girlish; and

there was always a languor about her, quite incompatible with a

masculine system in a state of health.

In some respects her habits were odd. Perhaps not so singular in the

opinion of a town lady like you, as they appeared to us rustic people.

She used to come down very late, generally not till one o'clock, she

would then take a cup of chocolate, but eat nothing; we then went out

for a walk, which was a mere saunter, and she seemed, almost

immediately, exhausted, and either returned to the schloss or sat on one

of the benches that were placed, here and there, among the trees. This

was a bodily languor in which her mind did not sympathize. She was

always an animated talker, and very intelligent.