It is just - there it is - adieu!]
* * * * *
The artist ceased to speak; the party continued for a few moments to
pace the shore of Terracina in silence. The story they had heard had
made a deep impression on them, particularly on the fair Venetian, who
had gradually regained her husband's arm. At the part that related to
the young girl of Frosinone, she had been violently affected; sobs
broke from her; she clung close to her husband, and as she looked up to
him as if for protection, the moon-beams shining on her beautifully
fair countenance showed it paler than usual with terror, while tears
glittered in her fine dark eyes. "O caro mio!" would she murmur,
shuddering at every atrocious circumstance of the story.
"Corragio, mia vita!" was the reply, as the husband gently and fondly
tapped the white hand that lay upon his arm.
The Englishman alone preserved his usual phlegm, and the fair Venetian
was piqued at it.
She had pardoned him a want of gallantry towards herself, though a sin
of omission seldom met with in the gallant climate of Italy, but the
quiet coolness which he maintained in matters which so much affected
her, and the slow credence which he had given to the stories which had
filled her with alarm, were quite vexatious.
"Santa Maria!" said she to husband as they retired for the night, "what
insensible beings these English are!"
In the morning all was bustle at the inn at Terracina.
