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Read Ebook: To Win the Love He Sought The Great Awakening: Volume 3 by Oppenheim E Phillips Edward Phillips
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Ebook has 1952 lines and 79244 words, and 40 pages
"I wish to know it."
The Sicilian lit his cigarette. He was growing calmer, but the fingers which held the match were still shaking.
"Possibly. But that is no reason why I should tell it to you. That lady is a friend of mine, certainly, but it is not the custom in my country, however it may be in yours, to bandy a lady's name about a public place."
"But I am not asking out of curiosity," the other persisted, "nor am I a stranger to you."
"What is your motive, if it be not curiosity?" the Sicilian asked, with a dark shade stealing into his face. "You had better be careful, Signor; there is danger at hand for any man who so much as directs an impertinent glance at either of those ladies."
The Englishman was far too deeply in earnest to be angry.
"You won't tell me, then?" he said simply.
"I will not."
"Certain?"
"Quite certain."
"Very good. I shall find out."
The Sicilian laid his hand upon the other's arm. His black eyes were flashing angrily, and his tone was threatening.
"Signor! a word of warning! I constitute myself the protector of those ladies. I have a very good right to do so. Any idle and public inquiries concerning them, or any attempt to obtrude an acquaintance upon them, I shall--punish! You understand!"
"Certainly," he answered. "You have only to prove the offense and the right of protectorship, and I shall be at your service. You probably know little concerning the men of my country. Let me tell you that we are not in the habit of forcing ourselves upon unknown ladies, nor in our respect for them are we second to the men of any nation in the world. I wish you good-evening, Signor."
He walked away with his head in the air, an object of much curiosity to the many scattered little groups of dusky foreigners and Jews through which he passed. At the door of the hotel he paused for a moment, and then, instead of joining the stream of promenaders, he entered and slowly ascended the broad marble staircase toward his room. Just as he reached the first landing, however, he felt a light touch on his arm, and a guttural voice In his ear. He turned sharply round, and found before him one of the waiters--the one who had served him with his coffee outside.
"Well! what do you want?" he asked.
The man answered in a low tone, with his eyes glancing suspiciously around all the time.
"The Signor was inquiring the name of the lady who passed by," he said apologetically. "The Signor spoke loudly, and I could not choose but hear."
The Englishman came to a sudden standstill, and looked down into the ferretlike face and black eyes of the man who had followed him.
"Well?"
"I can tell it to the Signor."
"Look sharp then!"
"The Signor is generous," he remarked, with a cunning look. "I have risked my place by leaving the terrace without permission to bring him this news, and I am poor--very, very poor!" he added, with a sudden drop in his voice which resembled a whine.
The Englishman threw a piece of gold into the brown, greedy palm.
"Tell it me, and be off," he said shortly.
The waiter--half Greek, half native, and a thorough rascal--bowed low, and his beadlike eyes glistened.
"The Signor is noble. The beautiful lady's name is Signorina Adrienne Cartuccio."
"The singer?"
"The same, Signor. The divine singer."
"Ah!"
The Englishman turned toward the wide, open window, and gazed steadfastly at the place in the crowd where she had vanished.
"She sings to-night, does she not?" he asked.
"Truly, Signor. Palermo is full of visitors from all parts of the island on purpose to hear her."
"At what time?"
"At nine o'clock, Signor, in the concert hall. If the Signor desires to hear her he should go early, for to-night is the only chance. She sings but once, and it is for the poor. They say that she has come to the Villa Fiolesse on the hill, to be away from the world, to rest."
The Englishman descended the stairs and went slowly back to his seat. He had only one thought. In a few hours' time he would see her again. It would be Paradise!
He reached his table and sat down. The seat opposite to him was empty. The Sicilian had gone.
"BETTER THOU WERT DEAD BEFORE ME"
On the brow of the Hill Fiolesse, at a sharp angle in the white dusty road, a man and woman stood talking. On one side of them was a grove of flowering magnolias, and on the other a high, closely-trimmed hedge skirted the grounds of the Villa Fiolesse. There was not another soul in sight, but, as though the place were not secure enough from interruption, the girl, every now and then, glanced half fearfully around her, and more than once paused in the middle of a sentence to listen. At last her fears escaped from her lips.
"Leonardo, I wish that you had not come!" she cried. "What is the good of it? I shall have no rest till I know that you are beyond the sea again."
His face darkened, and his tone was gloomy and sad.
"Beyond the seas, while my heart is chained forever here, Margharita!" he answered. "Ah! I have tried, and I know the bitterness of it. You cannot tell what exile has been like to me. I could bear it no longer. Tell me, child! I watched you climb this hill together. You looked back and saw me, and waited. Did she see me, too? Quick! answer me! I will know! She saw me on the Marina. Did she know that I was following her?"
"I think she saw you. She said nothing when I lingered behind. It was as though she knew."
The Sicilian clasped his hands, and looked away over the sea. The moonlight fell upon his weary pallid face, and glistened in his dark sad eyes. He spoke more to himself than her.
"She knew! And yet she would not wait to speak a single word to me! Ah! it is cruel! If only she could know how night by night, in those far-distant countries, I have lain on the mountain tops, and wandered through the valleys, thinking and dreaming of her--always of her! It has been an evil time with me, my sister, a time of dreary days and sleepless nights. And this the end of it! My heart is faint and sick with longing, and I hastened here before it should break. I must see her, Margharita! Let us hasten on to the villa!"
She laid her hand upon his arm. Her eyes were soft with coming tears.
"Leonardo, listen," she cried. "It is best to tell you. She will not see you. She is quite firm. She is angry with you for coming."
"Angry with me! Angry because I love her, so that I risk my life just to see her, to hear her speak! Ah! but that is cruel! Let me go in and speak to her! Let me plead with her in my own fashion!"
She shook her head.
"Leonardo, the truth is best," she said softly. "Adrienne does not love you. She is quite determined not to see you again. Even I, pleading with tears in my eyes, could not persuade her. She has locked herself in her room while she prepares for the concert. You could not see her unless you forced yourself upon her, and that would not do."
"No, I would not do that," he answered wearily. "Margharita, there is a question; I must ask it, though the answer kill me. Is there--any one else?"
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