"Indeed you do look ill Petronella," said Dr. Jim sympathetically. "I must ask the Squire to send over someone to look after you."
"No," replied the old woman obstinately, "I am well here. And it will not be for long signor. Soon shall I be in my beautiful Italy."
"At least, come over to 'The Pines' Petronella. You will be better attended to there, and it is warmer."
But Petronella crossed herself with pious horror. "Go to that devil casa Signor! Not me. He had the evil eye, that man who died. Si Signor. I went one day with the padrona, and he swore at me. I had an accident the next day. Cospetto; a jettatura that Signor. But come in, come in, Signor Dottore. This is the best room," she led Herrick into what had once been the drawing-room. "Un bicchiére de Chianti Signor. Signor Stefan sent me some Chianti."
"No thank you Petronella," replied Herrick sitting down on a dusty seat, "I want to have a chat with you. We will talk in your own language if you like."
"Ah no, Signor, I speak the English well, thanks be to the saints. My padrona was fond of speaking the English. So, we will talk Signor Dottore."
Herrick acquiesced with a shrug. He was quite prepared to talk any language she chose provided he got what he wanted. He was not very certain how to go about the matter. Petronella was a shy bird, and inclined to be obstinate. He felt his way in a round-about fashion, so as to take her by surprise.
"You will be glad to get back to Italy Petronella?"
"Si! Si. To the little town by the Adriatic. There I was born Signor, and there will I die--if I die not here. Ah Dio!"
"You are in pain I fear?"