"You knew that you had my soul! You know everything! It was made for
you! But what could stand between you and me? What? Tell me!" she
repeated, without impatience, in superb assurance.
"Your dead mother," he said, very low.
"Ah! . . . Poor mother! She has always . . . She is a saint in heaven
now, and I cannot give you up to her. No, Giovanni. Only to God alone.
You were mad--but it is done. Oh! what have you done? Giovanni, my
beloved, my life, my master, do not leave me here in this grave of
clouds. You cannot leave me now. You must take me away--at once--this
instant--in the little boat. Giovanni, carry me off to-night, from my
fear of Linda's eyes, before I have to look at her again."
She nestled close to him. The slave of the San Tome silver felt the
weight as of chains upon his limbs, a pressure as of a cold hand upon
his lips. He struggled against the spell.
"I cannot," he said. "Not yet. There is something that stands between us
two and the freedom of the world."
She pressed her form closer to his side with a subtle and naive instinct
of seduction.
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