Is it
because I am Indian, Alessandro, that it gives me such joy?"
It was strange how many more words Ramona spoke than
Alessandro, yet how full she felt their intercourse to be. His silence
was more than silent; it was taciturn. Yet she always felt herself
answered. A monosyllable of Alessandro's, nay, a look, told what
other men took long sentences to say, and said less eloquently.
After long thinking over this, she exclaimed, "You speak as the
trees speak, and like the rock yonder, and the flowers, without
saying anything!"
This delighted Alessandro's very heart. "And you, Majella," he
exclaimed; "when you say that, you speak in the language of our
people; you are as we are."
And Ramona, in her turn, was made happy by his words, -- happier
than she would have been made by any other praise or fondness.
Alessandro found himself regaining all his strength as if by a
miracle. The gaunt look had left his face. Almost it seemed that its
contour was already fuller. There is a beautiful old Gaelic legend
of a Fairy who wooed a Prince, came again and again to him, and,
herself invisible to all but the Prince, hovered in the air, sang
loving songs to draw him away from the crowd of his indignant
nobles, who heard her voice and summoned magicians to rout her
by all spells and enchantments at their command.
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