'Let me go--let me go,' she cried, struggling out of his arms.
She ran across to the tea-table to light the candles.
'You must be good,' she said, panting a little still, and with an air of
fond reproof.
He did not move from the divan, but looked at her in silence.
She went over to the side of the mantelpiece, where, on the wall, hung
the little old mirror. She put on her hat and veil before its dim
surface, that looked so like a pool of dull and stagnant water.
'I am so loath to leave you this evening!' she murmured, oppressed by
the melancholy of the twilight hour. 'This evening more than ever
before.'
The violet gleam of the sunset struggled with the light of the candles.
The lilac in the crystal vases looked waxen white. The cushion in the
arm-chair retained the impress of the form that had leaned against it.
The clock of the Trinita began to strike.
'Heavens! how late! Help me to put on my cloak,' exclaimed the poor
creature, turning to Andrea.
He only clasped her once more in his arms, kissing her furiously,
blindly, madly, with a devouring passion, stifling on her lips his own
insane desire to cry aloud the name of Elena.
At last she managed to gasp in an expiring voice--
'You are drawing my life out of me.' But his passionate vehemence seemed
to make her happy.
'My love, my soul, all, all mine!' she said.
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