His voice was a strange, hoarse whisper just above her face, he still held her in his throbbing, heavy embrace.
“Yes—yes!” she whispered. “Yes—yes! But put me down, Ciccio. Put me down.”
“Come to Italy with me, Allaye. Come with me,” he still reiterated, in a voice hoarse with pain and yearning.
“Nurse! Nurse! Wherever are you? Nurse! I want you,” sang the uneasy, querulous voice of Mrs. Tuke.
“Do put me down!” murmured Alvina, stirring in his arms.
He slowly relaxed his clasp, and she slid down like rain to earth. But still he clung to her.
“Come with me, Allaye! Come with me to Italy!” he said.
She saw his face, beautiful, non-human in the moonlight, and she shuddered slightly.
“Yes!” she said. “I will come. But let me go now. Where is your mandoline?”
He turned round and looked up the road.