Please, please, please--"
"I cannot," he answered stubbornly.
"Oh, Zorzi, if you have the least friendship for me, do what I ask! Do
you not see that I am half mad with anxiety? I entreat you, I beg you, I
implore you--"
Their eyes met, and hers were wide with fear for him, and earnestness,
and they were not quite dry.
"Do you care so much?" asked Zorzi, hardly knowing what he said. "Does
it matter so much to you what becomes of me?"
He moved nearer on the bench. Leaning towards her, where he sat, he
could rest his elbow on the broad arm of the low chair, and so look into
her face. She covered her eyes, and shook a little, and her mantle
slipped from her shoulders and trembled as it settled down into the
chair. He leaned farther, till he was close to her, and he tried to
uncover her eyes, very gently, but she resisted. His heart beat slowly
and hard, like strokes of a hammer, and his hands were shaking, when he
drew her nearer. Presently he himself sat upon the arm of the chair,
holding her close to him, and she let him press her head to his breast,
for she could not think any more; and all at once her hands slipped down
and she was resting in the hollow of his arm, looking up to his face.
It seemed a long time, as long as whole years, since she had meant to
drop another rose in his path, or even since she had suffered him to
press her hand for a moment.
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