“In such a pursuit, what were oaths to me? I had one idol—my Vittorio! one religion—his service! one rule of action—his welfare! Happily his release was effected by a stronger arm and a shrewder wit than mine. And he is with me once more, and henceforth we part no more. Where he stays, I will stay; where he goes, I will go. What he dares that will I dare. The pains and privations he suffers I will share, and when he ceases to live I will die!”
Alberta ceased to speak, but continued, with her hands clasped upon her knees, to gaze into the fire.
Elfie did not answer these wild words; she remained silent—struck dumb, as it seemed, with astonishment at the vehement earnestness of self-devotion in one she had deemed so cold and calm. What could have inspired Alberta with this self-sacrificing, soul sacrificing passion? Was it the beauty, fire and enthusiasm of the young Italian, who had so successfully wooed her? Certainly Vittorio Corsoni, if not as handsome as a grand Apollo, was as beautiful as a lithe Adonis. But then he was so very dark; and how any woman could really and desperately love such a slight Adonis, with such dark hair and eyes, Elfie could not imagine! How could she, when she herself was but a little bit of a creature, with hair and eyes as dark as Vittorio’s own, and when her ideal of ‘a fine figure of a man’ was a tall, fair-haired Apollo?
While Elfie sat gazing into the fire, and musing over these mysteries, there came a soft tap at the door.
Alberta sprang up eagerly and went to open it. The voice of Vittorio Corsoni was heard to say:
“It is late, love. It is nearly two o’clock.”
“I know it is,” murmured Alberta.
“How will you dispose of your guest?”
“She must sleep with me, Vittorio, dearest. She is but an inexperienced girl; and there is no place in this house, full of rough soldiers, where she can sleep in peace except with me, the only woman in the camp,” said Alberta.
A deep sigh from Corsoni followed these words, and then he murmured in a lower tone: