The Call of the Blood - Page 193/317

"No, signore," Maddalena said, meekly, but still wistfully.

"Do you care for a blue dress and a pair of ear-rings more than you do

for me?" cried Maurice, with sudden roughness. "Are you like your father?

Do you only care for me for what you can get out of me? I believe you

do!"

Maddalena looked startled, almost terrified, by his outburst. Her lips

trembled, but she gazed at him steadily.

"Non è vero."

The words sounded almost stern.

"I do--" he said. "I do want to be cared for a little--just for myself."

At that moment he had a sensation of loneliness like that of an

utterly unloved man. And yet at that moment a great love was travelling

to him--a love that was complete and flawless. But he did not think of

it. He only thought that perhaps all this time he had been deceived, that

Maddalena, like her father, was merely pleased to see him because he had

money and could spend it. He sickened.

"Non è vero!" Maddalena repeated.

Her lips still trembled. Maurice looked at her doubtfully, yet with a

sudden tenderness. Always when she looked troubled, even for an instant,

there came to him the swift desire to protect her, to shield her.

"But why should you care for me?" he said. "It is better not. For I am

going away, and probably you will never see me again."

Tears came into Maddalena's eyes. He did not know whether they were

summoned by his previous roughness or his present pathos. He wanted to

know.

"Probably I shall never come back to Sicily again," he said, with

pressure.

She said nothing.

"It will be better not," he added. "Much better."

Now he was speaking for himself.

"There's something here, something that I love and that's bad for me. I'm

quite changed here. I'm like another man."

He saw a sort of childish surprise creeping into her face.

"Why, signorino?" she murmured.

He kept his hand on hers and held it on the warm ground.

"Perhaps it is the sun," he said. "I lose my head here, and I--lose my

heart!"

She still looked rather surprised, and again her ignorance fascinated

him. He thought that it was far more attractive than any knowledge could

have been.

"I'm horribly happy here, but I oughtn't to be happy."

"Why, signorino? It is better to be happy."

"Per Dio!" he exclaimed.