"Why, then, give me a boat, cast me adrift and be done with me."
"Ah, no, I would not you should die yet—"
"Mayhap you will torture me a little more first."
"'Tis for you to choose! Oh, Martino," she cried; "will you not be my friend, rather?"
"Never in this world!"
At this, and all at once, she was weeping.
"Ah, but you are cruel!" she sobbed, looking up at me through her tears. "Have you no pity for one hath never known aught of true love or gentleness? Wilt not forget past scores and strive to love me—some little—Martino?"
Now hearkening to her piteous accents, beholding her thus transfigured, her tear-wet eyes, the pitiful tremor of her vivid lips and all the pleading humility of her, I was beyond all thought amazed.
"Surely," said I, "surely you are the strangest woman God ever made—"
"Why then," said she, smiling through her tears, "since God made me, then surely—ah, surely is there something in me worthy your love?"