Saraband for Two Sisters

It was about a week after Carlotta, Senara, and Sir Gervaise had left that we had news from Castle Paling. Carlotta was betrothed to Sir Gervaise and they were leaving for London as he must be close to that city that he might hold his place at Court. He and Carlotta would be married when they reached London, and Senara was to accompany them and stay awhile with them before returning to Spain. I thought about Bastian then and I must admit I felt a certain pleasure in his misery, for I was sure he was miserable after being so shamefully treated by Carlotta. Within two days Bastian rode over to the Priory.

I heard his voice so I had warning, and I shut myself in our room trying to compose myself. It was not long before Angelet came running in.

“Who do you think is here? Bastian! Come down and see him.” I hesitated. Not to go and see him might be construed as an indication that I was emotionally moved. I didn’t want that to happen. My pride was fierce and strong and all I was afraid of was that when I saw him it would melt and I should be ready to go back to the old relationship. That was what I did not want. If I forgave him, I should never know when he was going to turn from me because someone more attractive had appeared.

No, his conduct was something I could not forgive.

I went down to the hall and there he was ... Bastian, who used to arouse such joy in me. When he looked at me his eyes shone with the old pleasure and I was delighted that it scarcely moved me. I kept the vision of himself and Carlotta before my eyes. “Good day to you, Bastian.”

He seized my hands and held them firmly. I made sure that they gave no response.

“Oh, Bersaba, I’m glad to see you.”

Angelet stood there smiling benignly at me. I knew she was thinking: “It’s all right now, Carlotta is out of the way and he is free for Bersaba.”

Nothing could infuriate me more. Did he think he could pick me up and drop me at will? My feelings had changed toward Bastian. I realized then-in this revealing self-knowledge which had come to me recently-that it was not so much Bastian I had loved, but his admiration, the fact that he singled me out, that he preferred me to Angelet All my emotions were concerned in some way with Angelet-for they grew from an intense desire to prove that I was as good in every wayno, better-than my sister.

She, dear simple Angelet, felt nothing of this. She was uncomplicated, predictable, and perhaps that was what made her so much more lovable than I. “It is pleasant to see you, Bastian,” I said.

“I have so much to say to you.”

“You’ll be wanting to tell us all about your broken engagement»

“Oh. ... it never seemed real to me somehow.”

“It was real enough to be broken.” I turned to Angelet “I’ll go and tell Mother that Bastian is here.”

“I’ll go,” said Angelet.

“No, you stay and talk to Bastian.” I was halfway up the stairs before she could protest.

I went and told my mother and she went down to the hall, but I did not accompany her. Afterward I wondered whether it looked too pointed. What I really wanted to convey was the fact that Bastian was no longer of any special interest to me. By suppertime I had still not seen him alone. Whenever I was in his company I always contrived that others should be there and he would look at me with anguished appeal. But I was enjoying the situation. This was revenge ... far better than that I had planned on Carlotta. After all, it was Bastian who was the guilty party. It was inevitable that he should catch up with me at some time. It happened the next morning when I had gone into the gardens to gather some flowers. I had in fact arranged it should be so and I wanted it to happen in daylight in view of the house. I was a little uncertain, not so much of my love for Bastian-which I think I understood and which was based on his preference for me, so that it was not real love-but of what Phoebe called “the need.” That was there. I thought of lying on the cool grass with him bending over me and I had to confess that I thought that would be pleasant-well, more than pleasant.

But my pride was urging me and that must remain stronger than my senses.

So I contrived this meeting in the garden where anything other than a change of words would be impossible.

“Bersaba,” he cried, “I have to speak to you.”

I pretended to be interested in the rose I was cutting.

“Listen to me. I’ve come to ask you to marry me.”