"Oh, Martino," said she, wofully a-sobbing, "I do know at last wherefore—I may not kill you. 'Tis because I love you. I was fool not to guess it ere this, but—I have never loved man ere now. Aye, I love you—I, Joanna, that never loved before, do love you, Martino—"
"What of your many lovers?"
"I loved no one of them all. 'Tis you ha' learned me—"
"Nay, this is no love—"
"Aye, but it is—in very truth. Think you I do not know it? I cannot sleep, I cannot eat—except you love me I must die, yes. Ah, Martino, be merciful!" she pleaded. "For thee I will be all woman henceforth, soft and tender and very gentle—thine always! Oh, be merciful—"
"No," I cried, "not this! Be rather your other self, curse me, revile me, fetch the sword and fight with me—"
"Fight thee—ah, no, no! The time for this is passed away. And if I did grieve thee 'twas but that I might cherish and comfort thee—for thou art mine and I thine henceforth—to death and beyond! Look, Martino! See how I do love thee!"
And now her arms were about me, soft and strong, and beholding all the pleading beauty of her, the tender allure of her eyes, the quiver of her scarlet mouth and all her compelling loveliness, I stooped to her embrace; but even so, chancing to lift my gaze seaward, I broke the clasp of these twining arms and rose suddenly to my feet. For there, her rag of sail spread to the light-breathing air, was a boat standing in for the island.