‘Poor fellow!’ cried Kate, more sorrowfully than before.
‘No, far from it, but very “happy fellow” if he could feed his heart with such a delusion.’
‘And you think it fair to let him have this delusion?’
‘Of course I do. I’d no more rob him of it than I’d snatch a life-buoy from a drowning man. Do you fancy, child, that the swimmer will always go about with the corks that have saved his life?’
‘These mock analogies are sorry arguments,’ said Kate.
‘Tell me, does your Austrian sing? I see he understands music, but I hope he can sing.’
‘I can tell you next to nothing of my Austrian—if he must be called so. It is five years since we met, and all I know is how little like he seems to what he once was.’
‘I’m sure he is vastly improved: a hundred times better mannered; with more ease, more quickness, and more readiness in conversation. I like him.’
‘I trust he’ll find out his great good-fortune—that is, if it be not a delusion.’
For a few seconds there was a silence—a silence so complete that Gorman could hear the rustle of a dress as Nina moved from her place, and seated herself on the battlement of the terrace. He then could catch the low murmuring sounds of her voice, as she hummed an air to herself, and at length traced it to be the song she had sung that same evening in the drawing-room. The notes came gradually more and more distinct, the tones swelled out into greater fulness, and at last, with one long-sustained cadence of thrilling passion, she cried, ‘Non mi amava—non mi amava!’ with an expression of heart-breaking sorrow, the last syllables seeming to linger on the lips as if a hope was deserting them for ever. ‘Oh, non mi amava!’ cried she, and her voice trembled as though the avowal of her despair was the last effort of her strength. Slowly and faintly the sounds died away, while Gorman, leaning out to the utmost to catch the dying notes, strained his hearing to drink them in. All was still, and then suddenly, with a wild roulade that sounded at first like the passage of a musical scale, she burst out into a fit of laughter, crying ‘Non mi amava,’ through the sounds, in a half-frantic mockery. ‘No, no, non mi amava,’ laughed she out, as she walked back into the room. The window was now closed with a heavy bang, and all was silent in the house.