"What is this?" he asked.
"Oliveta is going home to Sicily. It is our parting."
"And you?"
"To-morrow—I go to the Sisters."
"No, no!" he cried, in a voice which thrilled her. "I won't let you. For hours I've been trying to come here—Dearest, don't answer until you know everything. Sometimes I fear I was the one who was dreaming at that moment when you confessed you loved me, for it is all so unreal—But my love is not unreal. It has lived with me night and day since that first moment at Terranova—I couldn't speak before, but all these years seem only hours, and I've been living in the gardens of Sicily where you first smiled at me and awoke this love. You asked me to take no part—I had to refuse—I've tried to make a man of myself, not for my own sake, not for what the world would say, but for you—"
In the tumult of feeling that his words aroused she held fast to one thought.
"What—what about Myra Nell?" she gasped.
"Myra Nell is married!"
The curling lashes which had lain half closed during his headlong speech flew open to display a look of wonderment and dawning gladness.
"Yes," he reiterated. "She is married. She has been married ever since the Carnival, and she's very happy. But I didn't know. I was tied by a miserable misunderstanding, so I couldn't come to you honestly until today. And now—I—I'm—afraid—"