"I need Maria and you so much to-night," said she. "Read that. It is from Franco. You can begin with the fourth page." The professor did not hear these last words, but going to the light, began to read aloud:
"Turin, February 18, 1859.
"My own Luisa,—
"Do you know you have not written to me for a fortnight!"
"You can skip that," said Luisa, but at once corrected herself. "No, perhaps you had better read it." The professor continued.
"This is my third letter to you since yours of the sixth. Perhaps I was too violent in my first letter, and wounded you. What a temper is this of mine, that makes me speak, and sometimes even write such harsh words when my blood is up! And what blood is this of mine that at two-and-thirty is as quick to boil as at two-and-twenty! Forgive me, Luisa, and permit me to return to the subject, and take back those words that may have offended you.
"At present there is no more talk here either of tables or of spirits, but only of diplomacy and war; in former years, however, spiritualism was very widely discussed, and several persons I both respect and esteem believed in it. I knew positively that many among them were simply deluded but I never doubted their good faith when they told me of conversations they had had with spirits. It would indeed seem that our imagination, when inflamed, can make us see and hear things that do not really exist. But I am willing to admit that in your case you are not deceived by your imagination; that your little table does really move and express itself exactly as you say. I was wrong to doubt this—I confess it—in the first place because you are so sure of not being mistaken, and secondly, because I am well aware of Professor Gilardoni's honesty. But to me this is a question of sentiment. I know that my sweet Maria lives with God, and I cherish the hope that some time I, with other souls dear to me, may go where she is. If she should appear before me unbidden, if, without having summoned her, I should hear the sound of her voice, clear and distinct, perhaps I should not be able to bear such joy. But I could never summon her, never force her to come to me. The thought is repugnant to me; it is contrary to that sense of veneration I feel for a Being who is so much nearer God than I am. Dear Luisa, I also speak to our treasure every day, speak to her of myself and of you as well; I am convinced that she sees us, that she loves us, that she can still do much for us even in this life. How I wish that your intercourse with her might be of the same nature! If, in answering your letter in which you allude to a communication from her I expressed myself too harshly, forgive me, not only in consideration of my hasty temper, but still more in consideration of my sentiments, which are indeed a part of my nature.
"Forgive me also in consideration of the atmosphere of intense excitement in which I am living here. My throat is perfectly well. Since war has been talked of, I have cast aside both camphor and sedative waters, but my nerves are in a state of such extraordinary tension that it seems as if, were they touched, sparks must fly from them. All this is partly due to the amount of work to be accomplished at the Home Office, where it is no longer a question of regular hours, but where even the humblest secretary, if he be conscientious, must strain every muscle. When I first obtained this position through the kindness of Count Cavour, I felt I was not really earning the bread the government gave me. This is no longer the case, but I am about to withdraw from this field of strenuous labour; and this brings me to another topic, to something I have long had in my heart, and which I now impart to you with feelings of indescribable emotion.
"In a week my friends and I are going to enlist in the army as volunteers, for the duration of the coming campaign. We are entering the ninth infantry regiment, stationed in Turin. Here at the Home Office they would like to keep me some time longer, but I intend to become familiar with my duties in the regiment before the campaign opens, and I have therefore simply promised not to leave the Office until the day before we enlist.
"Luisa, we have not seen each other for three years and almost five months! It is true you are under police surveillance, and that you may not go to Lugano, but I have several times proposed means to you of meeting me, at least at the frontier, or on the mountains, and you have never even answered. I believed I knew why. It was because you could not tear yourself away even for a short time, from a certain sacred spot. This seemed too much, and I confess I had many bitter feelings. Then I reproached myself, I felt I was selfish, and I forgave you. Now, Luisa, circumstances have changed. I have no forebodings of evil; indeed, it seems impossible that I should be destined to end my days on a battlefield, nevertheless this is not impossible. I am going to take part in a war that promises to be one of the greatest, one of the longest and most desperate, for if Austria is risking her Italian provinces, we, and perhaps Emperor Napoleon as well, are risking everything. It is said we shall spend next winter beneath the walls of Verona. Luisa, I cannot run the risk of dying without seeing you once more. I shall have only twenty-four hours, I cannot come to the frontier or to Lugano, and I should not be satisfied to spend ten minutes with you. Ask Ismaele to get you to Lugano in some way on the morning of the twenty-fifth of this month. Leave Lugano in time to reach Magadino at one o'clock, for you cannot go by way of Luino. At Magadino you must take the boat that leaves at about half-past one. At four or thereabouts you will reach Isola Bella, where I shall arrive at about the same hour from Arona. At this time of year Isola Bella is a desert. We can spend the evening together, and in the morning you will leave for Oria, I for Turin.