She sighed with perfect content.

But presently she moved a little away from him and turned, leaning both hands upon his breast. 'Dino, it was quite true, all that I told you, up there, at the church, the other morning. That dreadful morning!

Dino, when you went away I felt as if my heart were dead.'

'My poor little Italia!'

'She is a very happy little Italia now. But, Dino, I did mean it then.

If you had been obliged not to give up all those things that father does not like--that club, you know, and those bad men--I would have tried to bear it, Dino. I knew you loved me all the same. And it did not matter so much what any one else thought of you. _I_ believed you--always. For you do love me, Dino?'

He pressed his lips to her hair again without speaking.

'Dino! say you do!'

'I do love you, my Italia. I do love you. G.o.d knows how much.'

'Dear Dino. I thought you knew that I could always be like a friend to you, like your little sister, whatever happened. But ah, this is better! I am so happy, Dino. And it is such a beautiful world; it seemed so hard to think that we were always to be hurt in it, always apart and miserable; and the happiness all about us, only we shut out from it, you and I.'

She raised her head. 'Do you know, dear, I could not imagine _how_ you would come back to me? No! don't tell me, you can tell me some other time; to-morrow perhaps; now, I don't want to know. But I imagined--I don't know why, it was very foolish--I imagined there would have to be all sorts of talking, explanations first. It is so wonderful, Dino, happiness is always so much--so much--what shall I say? so much _happier_ that one can possibly foresee it. I never thought of--this.

And yet it was so simple.' She had slipped one of her little hands in his, and was pressing his fingers tightly over hers with her other hand, with the contented air of a happy child. 'But, do you know, you frightened me when you first called out, my Dino?'

'Did I frighten you, Italia?'

She lifted her head quickly, letting his hand fall. The suppressed tone of his voice had pierced her heart with its suggestion of untold suffering.

'Dino!'

She held her face close to his, trying to look into his averted eyes.

'Dino, you are unhappy about something? Is it--Oh!'--she shrank suddenly away from him and her face grew rigid and her lips trembled.

'Is it--my Dino, forgive me for saying such a thing!--is it that there has been some mistake--again? Is it that--that--oh, Dino! that you did--not--mean--_this_?'

The miserable words dropped out slowly, one by one.

Whatever punishment he merited by his lack of generous self-control he tasted in its full bitterness in that hour. After what seemed a long long interval of crushing condemning silence she got up very quietly.

Dino rose to his feet at the same moment. As the buoy rocked he would have put out his hand to steady her, but the wild look of anguish on her dear face held him motionless. He did not dare to touch her. He covered his eyes with his hands.

Presently she said, 'We cared for each other even when we were little children. Perhaps that is why it seems so--strange, that you could do this to me.'

Her voice began to tremble. Her fingers turned cold; she held them clasped tightly together. So many images, so many memories out of the past, rushed back in one confusing flood upon her; she could find no words, no relief, from pain. All the bewilderment and the misery uttered themselves together in an appeal for help:

'Speak to me, Dino!'

Then he uncovered his face and spoke.

'Italia, before G.o.d! until I met you here to-night, by chance, I never thought to take you in my arms on this side Heaven. I cannot tell you what this thing is which has come between us. Your father chooses to believe that it is because I am a republican, because I hold opinions which he thinks mad and wicked, that I will not promise to give up all else and--marry you. He thinks that I have deceived you--that I have acted basely. Italia'--he lifted up his eyes and looked at her--'I cannot tell you what it is which separates us. I _cannot_. Only--it would be better for you if you had never seen me. I wish to G.o.d that you had never seen me. I must go away very soon, away from Leghorn and the people I have known all my life. And I go away remembering that I have ruined your happiness. Yet I loved you, Italia. I loved you better than my own soul.'

There was a moment's silence; then she spoke very quietly:

'Dino. My father remembers when they threw an Orsini bomb at the procession carrying the blessed sacraments out of the cathedral. He saw a priest killed, and some women and children. And it was the republicans who did it. My father saw it. He saw it done.'

'Dear Italia,' said Dino sadly, 'surely you do not think that I approve of such an act? There are bad men in every place; men who hide their own selfishness and folly under every high ideal, and bring it to discredit. They are like the moths who feed on the coverings of the holy vessels on the altar. Whatever I do with myself it shall not be for my own gain.'

His voice changed a little, and he added, 'But perhaps you will not believe that of me? perhaps you will never believe any good of me again?'

She seemed scarcely to understand what it was he said.

'Dino!'

She stretched out both hands with a sob. It was like the cry of a frightened child for mercy. 'Dino, take me back, take me with you. I must be with you. It doesn't matter about all the rest.'

She threw herself into his arms, pressing her cheek against his, clasping his hands closer about her neck; speaking in short hurried sentences, her soft voice broken with sobs.

'Dino--it could not be again, you know. The dear Madonna would not let you go away from me again. Because, you know, my Dino, I could not bear it. I could not. And no one is expected to do what is impossible. It isn't that I'm not willing, Dino. I would do anything you told me to, anything. But if you asked me to lift a weight that was too heavy for me, I might want to do it, but I could not do it, could I? I should not be strong enough. And I am not strong enough for this--I am not strong enough.'

She kept her face buried on his arm as if she were trying to hide away from what she dreaded. 'Dino. It is such a happy world, dear. I could be so happy. See! even if you had to give up something, some ideas that you care for. My father says all young men have ideas about--about politics and all that--which they change as they get older. And even if you do not change. What does it matter? what does any of the rest of it matter? Dino----!'

He had his arm about her; he could feel her shaking from head to foot with heavy pa.s.sionate sobs.

'Italia,' he said, 'stop crying. My dear. My poor, poor little child.

I can't stand this. Right or wrong, I cannot stand it. It is too much to ask of me. Valdez may do what he pleases, I----' He bent his head and pressed his lips fervently upon her warm loosened hair. 'Italia, I had promised. I had sworn to do something. But I break my oath.

Look! I give it all up--for your sake. Look at me, Italia. They will call me a traitor; but I shall not have betrayed you.'

Poor little Italia! She was very weary. She could not speak for many minutes the choking sobs _would_ force themselves out despite all her efforts to conquer them. She let herself rest pa.s.sively in his arms, while he called her by every tender name he could devise. But presently the tears were fewer; she checked herself; she lifted up her head and looked at him; her eyes were full of love, but the far-away look in them meant even more than that; they were shining with the enthusiasm of high resolve.

'Forgive me, my Dino. I ought to be stronger--I meant to be stronger.

I meant to help you, not to make hard things harder for you to bear.

Forgive me. I will not do it any more.' She drew herself gently away from him, and he made no effort to detain her. Her voice grew steadier as she went on speaking. 'You could not do that. You could not be a traitor. Not even for us to be happy together. And it would not be happiness, Dino; there would always be a black cloud between us and happiness. It is not as if we did not know the difference between faith and falsehood, Dino. We do know.'

'I will not, so help me, G.o.d! I will not be false to you,' he said roughly.

'My Dino.'

'Italia, why cheat ourselves with words? what is faith or falsehood?

what does it all matter if faith means leaving you, and falsehood your making my life a heaven? I love you: the rest is nothing. As for duty--who knows what is duty? Your father thinks it is my duty to stay with you. And another man bids me go. Why should I go? I promised; but is telling you that I loved you no promise? does it imply nothing?

Do you tell me to go when I love you?'

'Yes, Dino,' said Italia simply; 'because you love me.'

She took his clenched hand in both of hers, and smoothed out the fingers with a great tenderness.

'Dear, I am not clever like you; I don't understand things. But I believe you. Dino, if it were for another man, and not for yourself, that you had to decide this thing----'

He drew away his hand, and looked away from her across the rippling sea. The breeze was freshening a little; there were long rents of darkness overhead where the fog was breaking, and showing the blue of the sky.

'Dino,' the persuasive voice went on, 'you might deceive yourself, not knowing, but you would not deceive me--your old playmate--your little sweetheart, who trusts you--trusts you against all the world. Dino, tell me. Have you the right to break this promise?'

'No,' he said in a half whisper. Then he added, 'But I would, if you told me to.'

'Yes, Dino. But you would not do it now.'