Well, no matter; I lived now and Lucia
lived!
The street was quite empty, and, half unconsciously, I began to sing
the song Bella Napoli, always a favourite of mine, for the sake of
the refrain, Santa Lucia! Santa Lucia! The notes echoed down the
silent street as the words flowed from my tongue in the intoxication
of pleasure--pure, simple, single, undiluted pleasure of the relief
after those weary months of strain. The ground beneath my feet
seemed buoyant air, each pulse within me beat with keen life, and
the name of the woman I loved formed itself again and again on my
lips, fluttered and lingered there, almost like the touch of a pure
and invisible kiss.
CHAPTER VI.
The lamps burned in a subdued way under their dark, rose-coloured
shades, the trail of the women's skirts hardly made any sound on the
thick carpet, the room was large, and the piano that was being
played mildly at the other end of it failed to disturb our
conversation.
"Well, now, then?"
I leant over the back of Lucia's low easy-chair and waited eagerly
for her answer. It was the second night after my return to England.
I had dined with the Grants, and now in this dim, secluded corner of
the drawing-room I had the first opportunity of serious conversation
with her.
"I don't know, Victor; not at present."
"Lucia! what do you mean!"
"What I say, dearest," she answered quietly.
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