“Nurse! You absolutely must come. I can’t bear it,” cried the strange voice of Mrs. Tuke.
Alvina slipped from the man, who was a little bewildered, and through the gate into the drive.
“You must come!” came the voice in pain from the upper window.
Alvina ran upstairs. She found Mrs. Tuke crouched in a chair, with a drawn, horrified, terrified face. As her pains suddenly gripped her, she uttered an exclamation, and pressed her clenched fists hard on her face.
“The pains have begun,” said Alvina, hurrying to her.
“Oh, it’s horrible! It’s horrible! I don’t want it!” cried the woman in travail. Alvina comforted her and reassured her as best she could. And from outside, once more, came the despairing howl of the Neapolitan song, animal and inhuman on the night.
“E tu dic’ Io part’, addio!
T’alluntare di sta core,
Nel paese del amore
Tien’ o cor’ di non turnar’
—Ma nun me lasciar’—”
It was almost unendurable. But suddenly Mrs. Tuke became quite still, and sat with her fists clenched on her knees, her two jet-black plaits dropping on either side of her ivory face, her big eyes fixed staring into space. At the line—
Ma nun me lasciar’—
she began to murmur softly to herself—“Yes, it’s dreadful! It’s horrible! I can’t understand it. What does it mean, that noise? It’s as bad as these pains. What does it mean? What does he say? I can understand a little Italian—” She paused. And again came the sudden complaint: