Andrea, who was next the parapet, turned and saw her thus
against a background of delicate and feathery verdure such as an Umbrian
painter would have given to an Annunciation or a Nativity.
'Maria!' he murmured, his heart filling with fond adoration,
'Maria!--Maria--!'
It afforded him untold pleasure to mingle the soft accents of her name
with the music of the waters. She did not look at him, but she laid her
finger on her lips as a sign to him to be silent.
'Forgive me,' he said, unable to control his emotion--'but I cannot help
myself--it is my soul that calls to you.'
A strange nervous exaltation had taken possession of him, all the
hill-tops of his soul had caught the lyric glow and flamed up
irresistibly; the hour, the place, the sunshine, everything about them
suggested love--from the extreme limits of the sea to the humble little
ferns of the fountains--all seemed to him part of the same magic circle
whose central point was this woman.
'You can never know,' he went on in a subdued voice as if fearful of
offending her--'You can never know how absolutely my soul is yours.'
She grew suddenly very pale, as if all the blood in her veins had rushed
to her heart. She did not speak, she did not look at him.
'Delfina!' she cried, with a tremor of agitation in her voice.
There was no answer; the little girl had wandered off among the trees at
the end of the long avenue.
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