Carmilla

by J. Sheridan Le Fanu

She held me close in her pretty arms for a moment and whispered in my ear, "Good night, darling, it is very hard to part with you, but good night; tomorrow, but not early, I shall see you again."

Her looks lost nothing in daylight―she was certainly the most beautiful creature I had ever seen, and the unpleasant remembrance of the face presented in my early dream, had lost the effect of the first unexpected recognition.

"Dearest, your little heart is wounded; think me not cruel because I obey the irresistible law of my strength and weakness; if your dear heart is wounded, my wild heart bleeds with yours. In the rapture of my enormous humiliation I live in your warm life, and you shall die―die, sweetly die―into mine. I cannot help it; as I draw near to you, you, in your turn, will draw near to others, and learn the rapture of that cruelty, which yet is love; so, for a while, seek to know no more of me and mine, but trust me with all your loving spirit."

"You are mine, you shall be mine, you and I are one for ever."

She looked languidly in my eyes, and passed her arm round my waist lovingly, and led me out of the room.

"How romantic you are, Carmilla," I said. "Whenever you tell me your story, it will be made up chiefly of some one great romance." She kissed me silently. "I am sure, Carmilla, you have been in love; that there is, at this moment, an affair of the heart going on." "I have been in love with no one, and never shall," she whispered, "unless it should be with you."

"Darling, darling," she murmured, "I live in you; and you would die for me, I love you so."

"Let us look again for a moment; it is the last time, perhaps, I shall see the moonlight with you."

You must come with me, loving me, to death; or else hate me and still come with me, and hating me through death and after.