Ramona spoke first.
Disengaging herself gently, and looking up, she began:
"Alessandro --" But at the first sight of his face she shrieked. Was
this Alessandro, this haggard, emaciated, speechless man, who
gazed at her with hollow eyes, full of misery, and no joy! "O God,"
cried Ramona, "You have been ill! you are ill! My God,
Alessandro, what is it?"
Alessandro passed his hand slowly over his forehead, as if trying to
collect his thoughts before speaking, all the while keeping his eyes
fixed on Ramona, with the same anguished look, convulsively
holding both her hands in his.
"Senorita," he said, "my Senorita!" Then he stopped. His tongue
seemed to refuse him utterance; and this voice,-- this strange, hard,
unresonant voice,-- whose voice was it? Not Alessandro's.
"My Senorita," he began again, "I could not go without one sight of
your face; but when I was here, I had not courage to go near the
house. If you had not come, I should have gone back without
seeing you."
Ramona heard these words in fast-deepening terror, What did they
mean? Her look seemed to suggest a new thought to Alessandro.
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