Orso’s hand, which had been touching Miss Lydia’s, dropped away, and there was silence for a moment.
“Nonsense!” said Colomba. “We won’t let you go yet. We have plenty of things to show you still at Pietranera. Besides, you have promised to paint my picture, and you haven’t even begun it so far. And then I’ve promised to compose you a serenata, with seventy-five verses. And then—but what can Brusco be growling about? And here’s Brandolaccio running after him. I must go and see what’s amiss.”
She rose at once, and laying Orso’s head, without further ceremony, on Miss Lydia’s lap, she ran after the bandits.
Miss Nevil, somewhat startled at finding herself thus left in sole charge of a handsome young Corsican gentleman in the middle of a maquis, was rather puzzled what to do next.
For she was afraid that any sudden movement on her part might hurt the wounded man. But Orso himself resigned the exquisite pillow on which his sister had just laid his head, and raising himself on his right arm, he said:
“So you will soon be gone, Miss Lydia? I never expected your stay in this unhappy country would have been a long one. And yet since you have come to me here, the thought that I must bid you farewell has grown a hundred times more bitter to me. I am only a poor lieutenant. I had no future—and now I am an outlaw. What a moment in which to tell you that I love you, Miss Lydia! But no doubt this is my only chance of saying it. And I think I feel less wretched now I have unburdened my heart to you.”
Miss Lydia turned away her head, as if the darkness were not dark enough to hide her blushes.
“Signor della Rebbia,” she said, and her voice shook, “should I have come here at all if——” and as she spoke she laid the Egyptian talisman in Orso’s hand. Then, with a mighty effort to recover her usual bantering tone—“It’s very wrong of you, Signor Orso, to say such things! You know very well that here, in the middle of the maquis, and with your bandits all about me, I should never dare to be angry with you.”
Orso made an attempt to kiss the hand that held out the talisman. Miss Lydia drew it quickly back; he lost his balance, and fell on his wounded arm. He could not stifle a moan of pain.
“Oh, dear, you’ve hurt yourself, and it was my fault!” she cried, as she raised him up. “Forgive me!” They talked for some time longer, very low, and very close together.