"Signorino, ecco la posta!"

And Gaspare came running down from the terrace, the wide brim of his

white linen hat flapping round his sun-browned face.

"I don't want it, Gaspare. I don't want anything."

"But I think there's a letter from the signora!"

"From Africa?"

Maurice sat up and held out his hand.

"Yes, it is from Kairouan. Sit down, Gaspare, and I'll tell you what the

padrona says."

Gaspare squatted on his haunches like an Oriental, not touching the

ground with his body, and looked eagerly at the letter that had come

across the sea. He adored his padrona, and was longing for news of her.

Already he had begun to send her picture post-cards, laboriously written

over. "Tanti saluti carissima Signora Pertruni, a rividici, e suno il suo

servo fidelisimo per sempre--Martucci Gaspare. Adio! Adio! Ciao! Ciao!"

What would she say? And what message would she send to him? His eyes

sparkled with affectionate expectation.

"HOTEL DE FRANCE, KAIROUAN.

MY DEAREST,--I cannot write very much, for all my moments ought to

be given up to nursing Emile. Thank God, I arrived in time. Oh,

Maurice, when I saw him I can't tell you how thankful I was that I

had not hesitated to make the journey, that I had acted at once on

my first impulse to come here. And how I blessed God for having

given me an unselfish husband who trusted me completely, and who

could understand what true friendship between man and woman means,

and what one owes to a friend. You might so easily have

misunderstood, and you are so blessedly understanding. Thank you,

dearest, for seeing that it was right of me to go, and for thinking

of nothing but that. I feel so proud of you, and so proud to be

your wife. Well, I caught the train at Tunis mercifully, and got

here at evening. He is frightfully ill. I hardly recognized him.

But his mind is quite clear, though he suffers terribly. He was

poisoned by eating some tinned food, and peritonitis has set in. We

can't tell yet whether he will live or die. When he saw me come in

he gave me such a look of gratitude, although he was writhing with

pain, that I couldn't help crying. It made me feel so ashamed of

having had any hesitation in my heart about coming away from our

home and our happiness. And it was difficult to give it all up, to

come out of paradise. That last night I felt as if I simply

couldn't leave you, my darling. But I'm glad and thankful I've done

it. I have to do everything for him. The doctor's rather an ass,

very French and excitable, but he does his best. But I have to see

to everything, and be always there to put on the poultices and the

ice, and--poor fellow, he does suffer so, but he's awfully brave

and determined to live. He says he will live if it's only to prove

that I came in time to save him. And yet, when I look at him, I

feel as if--but I won't give up hope. The heat here is terrible,

and tries him very much now he is so desperately ill, and the

flies--but I don't want to bother you with my troubles. They're not

very great--only one. Do you guess what that is? I scarcely dare to

think of Sicily. Whenever I do I feel such a horrible ache in my

heart. It seems to me as if I had not seen your face or touched

your hand for centuries, and sometimes--and that's the worst of

all--as if I never should again, as if our time together and our

love were a beautiful dream, and God would never allow me to dream

it again. That's a little morbid, I know, but I think it's always

like that with a great happiness, a happiness that is quite

complete. It seems almost a miracle to have had it even for a

moment, and one can scarcely believe that one will be allowed to

have it again. But, please God, we will. We'll sit on the terrace

again together, and see the stars come out, and--The doctor's come

and I must stop. I'll write again almost directly. Good-night, my

dearest. Buon riposo. Do you remember when you first heard that?

Somehow, since then I always connect the words with you. I won't

send my love, because it's all in Sicily with you. I'll send it

instead to Gaspare. Tell him I feel happy that he is with the

padrone, because I know how faithful and devoted he is. Tanti

saluti a Lucrezia. Oh, Maurice, pray that I may soon be back. You

do want me, don't you?

HERMIONE."




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