Rosina shrank back.
“Do you not still love me?”
Her lips framed a “No” for answer in a terror-stricken whisper.
“Come, my little sweetheart, embrace me.”
“No, no, Guisseppi!” Her voice was a tremulous cry. “You are dead!”
“Dead? Certainly I am not dead. I am alive and well, and I love you just as I always loved you.”
“You are only a ghost.”
“Don’t be foolish, little one. Do I look like a ghost? Me? Come into my arms and see how strong they are. Lay your head on my breast and feel the beating of my heart. And every beat of my heart is for you.”
Rosina stood motionless. There flashed through her mind old grewsome stories of vampires that lured their victims into their power with love traps and sucked their blood. Momentary horror froze her blood.
“O Guisseppi,” she exclaimed, “why have you risen from the dead? Why do you come back to haunt me?”