He did not reply.
"Ah, yes, it's better so when you come to think of it."
"It's terrible!" said Rossi.
"Don't say that. It's a thing of every day. Here, there, everywhere. God
wouldn't allow it to go on if it were terrible."
"It's bitterly cruel for all that."
"Not so cruel as life. Not nearly. For instance, if I lived you would
have to put me away, and that would be harder to bear than death--far
harder."
"My darling! What are you saying?"
"It's true, dear. You know it's true. God can forgive a woman even if
she's a sinner, but the world can't if she's only a victim of sin. It's
part of the cruelty of things, but there's no use repining."
"Roma," said Rossi, "I take God to witness that if that were all that
stood between us nothing and nobody should separate you and me. I should
tell the world that you had every virtue and every heroism, and without
you I could do nothing."
Her eyes filled with a fresh joy.
"You set me too high still, dear. Yet you know that I was far too small
and weak for your great work. That was why I failed you at the end. It
wasn't my fault that I betrayed you..."
"Don't speak of my betrayal. I thank God for it, and see now that it was
the best that could have happened."
She closed her eyes. "Is it your own voice, dearest? Really yours? Hush!
I shall wake and the dream will pass."
A little jet from his heart of flame burst out in spite of his warning
brain, and he was carried away for the moment.
"My poor darling, you must get well for my sake. You must think of
nothing but getting well. Then we'll go away somewhere--to Switzerland,
as you said in your letter. Or perhaps to England, where you were born,
and where your father lived his years of exile. Dear old England!
Motherland of liberty! I'll show you all the places."
She was dizzy with the beautiful vision.
"Oh, if I could only go on like this for ever! But I mustn't listen to
you, dearest. It's no use, you know. Now, is it?"
The spirit which had exalted him for a moment took flight, and his heart
rose into his throat.
"Now, is it?" she repeated.
He did not answer, and she dropped back with a sigh. Ah, it was cruel
fencing. Every word was a sword, and it was cutting a hundred ways.
At that moment a band of music passed down the street. Roma, who loved
bands of music, asked Rossi to lift her up that she might look at it. A
little drummer boy was marching at the head of a procession, gaily
rolling his rataplan.
"He reminds me of little Joseph," she said, and she laughed heartily.
Strange mystery of life that robs death of all its terrors!
He put his arm about her to support her as they stood by the parapet,
and this brought a new tremor of affection, as well as a little of the
old physical thrill and a world of fond and tender memories. She looked
into his eyes, he looked into hers; they both looked across to Trinità
de' Monti, and in the eye-asking between them she said plainly, "Do you
remember--over there?"
Roma was assisted back to the bed-chair, and then, conversation being
impossible, Rossi began to read. Every day he had read something. Roma
had made the selections. They were always about the great
lovers--Francesca and Paolo, Dante and Beatrice, even Alfred de Musset
and poor John Keats, with the skull cap which burnt his brain. To-day it
was Roma's favourite poem:
"Teach me, only teach, Love!
As I ought
I will speak thy speech, Love,
Think thy thought...."
His right hand held the book. His left was between Roma's hands, lying
blue-veined in her lap. She was looking out on the sunlit city as if
taking a last farewell of it. He stopped to stroke her glossy black hair
and she reached up to his lips and kissed them. Then she closed her eyes
to listen. His voice rose and swelled with the ocean of his love, and he
felt as if he were pouring his life into her frail body.
"Meet, if thou require it,
Both demands,
Laying flesh and spirit
In thy hands."
Her blanched lips moved. She took a deep breath and made a faint cry. He
rose softly, and bent over her with a trembling heart. Her breathing
seemed to have ceased. Had sleep overtaken her? Or had the tender flame
expired?
"Roma!"
She opened her eyes and smiled.
"Not yet, dear--soon," she said.