CHAPTER LVI.
_-_Capital_O.png)
NE day they told her a friend
asked to see her. All the dying
courage sprang up in her, and the
passion of longing made her face
rosy as the day-dawn. It was he!
She leaped on her feet and ran to the grated door, and put out both her hands, and cried, with laughter and with tears, in strange abandonment and delirium for her grave nature:
‘Oh, my love! oh, my love! you have remembered———'
The words died on her lips, the blood seemed to ebb away from her heart and brain, she turned sick and cold.
It was not Este; it was the Sicilian mariner.
