‘It’s the old war-cry of the houseless,’ said he mournfully. ‘It’s a note we are well used to here. I must go down to learn. I’ll be back presently.’
‘You are not going into danger?’ said she; and her cheek grew paler as she spoke.
‘And if I were, who is to care for it?’
‘Have you no mother, sister, sweetheart?’
‘No, not one of the three. Good-bye.’
‘But if I were to say—stay?’
‘I should still go. To have your love, I’d sacrifice even my honour. Without it—’ he threw up his arms despairingly and rushed away.
‘These are the men whose tempers compromise us,’ said she thoughtfully. ‘We come to accept their violence as a reason, and take mere impetuosity for an argument. I am glad that he did not shake my resolution. There, that was another shout, but it seemed in joy. There was a ring of gladness in it. Now for my sketch.’ And she reseated herself before her easel. ‘He shall see when he comes back how diligently I have worked, and how small a share anxiety has had in my thoughts. The one thing men are not proof against is our independence of them.’ And thus talking in broken sentences to herself, she went on rapidly with her drawing, occasionally stopping to gaze on it, and humming some old Italian ballad to herself. ‘His Greek air was pretty. Not that it was Greek; these fragments of melody were left behind them by the Venetians, who, in all lust of power, made songs about contented poverty and humble joys. I feel intensely hungry, and if my dangerous guest does not return soon, I shall have to breakfast alone—another way of showing him how little his fate has interested me. My foreground here does want that bit of colour. Why does he not come back?’ As she rose to look at her drawing, the sound of somebody running attracted her attention, and turning, she saw it was her foot-page Larry coming at full speed.
‘What is it, Larry? What has happened?’ asked she.
‘You are to go—as fast as you can,’ said he; which being for him a longer speech than usual, seemed to have exhausted him.