"Yes! It was to see her again—before I die!"
And the black eyes blazed again.
"You are not going to die," said Langholm, with the usual reassuring scorn.
"I am. Quite soon. On your hands, I only fear. And I have not seen her yet!"
"You shall see her," said Langholm, tenderly, gravely. He was rewarded with a slight pressure of the emaciated hand; but for the first time he suspected that all the scrutiny was not upon one side—that the sick youth was trying to read him in his turn.
"I love her!" at last cried Severino, in rapt whispers. "Do you hear me? I love her! I love her! What does it matter now?"
"It would matter to her if you told her," rejoined Langholm. "It would make her very unhappy."
"Then I need not tell her."
"You must not, indeed."
"Very well, I will not. It is a promise, and I keep my promises; it is only when I make none—"