"Now you know everything, dearest. I have kept nothing back. As

you see, I am not only my poor friend, but some one worse--myself.

Can you forgive me? I dare not ask it. But put me out of suspense.

Write. Or better still, telegraph. One word--only one. It will be

enough.

"I would love to send you my love, but to-night I dare not. I have

loved you from the first, and I can never do anything but love

you, whatever happens. I think you would forgive me if you could

realise that I am in the world only to love you, and that the

worst of my offences comes of loving you more than reason or

honour itself. Whatever you do, I am yours, and I can only

consecrate my life to you.

"It is daybreak, and the cross of St. Peter's is hanging spectral

white above the mists of morning. Is it a symbol of hope, I

wonder? The dawn is coming up from the south-east. It would travel

quicker to the north-west if it loved you as much as I do. I have

been writing this letter over and over again all night long. Do

you remember the letter you made me burn, the one containing all

your secrets? Here is a letter containing mine--but how much

meaner and more perilous! Your poor unhappy girl, ROMA."

XIV

Next day Roma removed into her new quarters. A few trunks containing her

personal belongings, the picture of her father and Elena's Madonna, were

all she took with her. A broker glanced at the rest of her goods and

gave a price for the lot. Most of the plaster casts in the studio were

broken up and carted away. The fountain, being of marble, had to be put

in a dark cellar under the lodge of the old Garibaldian. Only one part

of it was carried upstairs. This was the mould for the bust of Rossi and

the block of stone for the head of Christ.

Except for her dog, Roma went alone to the Piazza Navona, Felice having

returned to the Baron and Natalina being dismissed. The old woman was to

clean and cook for her and Roma was to shop for herself. It didn't take

the neighbours long to sum up the situation. She was Rossi's wife. They

began to call her Signora.

Coming to live in Rossi's home was a sweet experience. The room seemed

to be full of his presence. The sitting-room with its piano, its

phonograph, and its portraits brought back the very tones of his voice.

The bedroom was at first a sanctuary, and she could not bring herself to

occupy it until she had set upon the little Madonna. Then it became a

bower, and to sleep in it brought a tingling sense which she had never

felt before.




readonlinefreebook.com Copyright 2016 - 2024