The Lost Girl Part 76

"It's an Italian by the sound of him. Nothing I hate more than emotional Italian music. Perfectly nauseating."

"Never mind, dear. I know it sounds as if all their insides were coming out of their mouth. But we want to be serenaded, don't we, nurse?--"

Alvina stood at her window, but did not answer.

"Ah-h?" came the odd query from Mrs. Tuke. "Don't you like it?"

"Yes," said Alvina. "Very much."

"And aren't you dying for the song?"

"Quite."

"There!" cried Mrs. Tuke, into the moonlight. "Una canzone bella-bella--molto bella--"

She p.r.o.nounced her syllables one by one, calling into the night. It sounded comical. There came a rude laugh from the drive below.

"Go indoors, Tommy! He won't sing if you're there. Nothing will sing if you're there," called the young woman.

They heard a footstep on the gravel, and then the slam of the hall door.

"Now!" cried Mrs. Tuke.

They waited. And sure enough, came the fine tinkle of the mandoline, and after a few moments, the song. It was one of the well-known Neapolitan songs, and Ciccio sang it as it should be sung.

Mrs. Tuke went across to Alvina.

"Doesn't he put his _bowels_ into it--?" she said, laying her hand on her own full figure, and rolling her eyes mockingly. "I'm _sure_ it's more effective than senna-pods."

Then she returned to her own window, huddled her furs over her breast, and rested her white elbows in the moonlight.

"Torn' a Surrientu Fammi campar--"

The song suddenly ended, in a clamorous, animal sort of yearning.

Mrs. Tuke was quite still, resting her chin on her fingers. Alvina also was still. Then Mrs. Tuke slowly reached for the rose-buds on the old wall.

"Molto bella!" she cried, half ironically. "Molto bella! Je vous envoie une rose--" And she threw the roses out on to the drive. A man's figure was seen hovering outside the gate, on the high-road.

"Entrez!" called Mrs. Tuke. "Entrez! Prenez votre rose. Come in and take your rose."

The man's voice called something from the distance.

"What?" cried Mrs. Tuke.

"Je ne peux pas entrer."

"Vous ne pouvez pas entrer? Pourquoi alors! La porte n'est pas fermee a clef. Entrez donc!"

"Non. On n'entre pas--" called the well-known voice of Ciccio.

"Quoi faire, alors! Alvina, take him the rose to the gate, will you?

Yes do! Their singing is horrible, I think. I can't go down to him.

But do take him the roses, and see what he looks like. Yes do!" Mrs.

Tuke's eyes were arched and excited. Alvina looked at her slowly.

Alvina also was smiling to herself.

She went slowly down the stairs and out of the front door. From a bush at the side she pulled two sweet-smelling roses. Then in the drive she picked up Effie's flowers. Ciccio was standing outside the gate.

"Allaye!" he said, in a soft, yearning voice.

"Mrs. Tuke sent you these roses," said Alvina, putting the flowers through the bars of the gate.

"Allaye!" he said, caressing her hand, kissing it with a soft, pa.s.sionate, yearning mouth. Alvina s.h.i.+vered. Quickly he opened the gate and drew her through. He drew her into the shadow of the wall, and put his arms round her, lifting her from her feet with pa.s.sionate yearning.

"Allaye!" he said. "I love you, Allaye, my beautiful, Allaye. I love you, Allaye!" He held her fast to his breast and began to walk away with her. His throbbing, muscular power seemed completely to envelop her. He was just walking away with her down the road, clinging fast to her, enveloping her.

"Nurse! Nurse! I can't see you! Nurse!--" came the long call of Mrs.

Tuke through the night. Dogs began to bark.

"Put me down," murmured Alvina. "Put me down, Ciccio."

"Come with me to Italy. Come with me to Italy, Allaye. I can't go to Italy by myself, Allaye. Come with me, be married to me--Allaye, Allaye--"

His voice was a strange, hoa.r.s.e whisper just above her face, he still held her in his throbbing, heavy embrace.

"Yes--yes!" she whispered. "Yes--yes! But put me down, Ciccio. Put me down."

"Come to Italy with me, Allaye. Come with me," he still reiterated, in a voice hoa.r.s.e with pain and yearning.

"Nurse! Nurse! Wherever are you? Nurse! I want you," sang the uneasy, querulous voice of Mrs. Tuke.

"Do put me down!" murmured Alvina, stirring in his arms.

He slowly relaxed his clasp, and she slid down like rain to earth.

But still he clung to her.

"Come with me, Allaye! Come with me to Italy!" he said.

She saw his face, beautiful, non-human in the moonlight, and she shuddered slightly.

"Yes!" she said. "I will come. But let me go now. Where is your mandoline?"

He turned round and looked up the road.

"Nurse! You absolutely _must_ come. I can't bear it," cried the strange voice of Mrs. Tuke.

Alvina slipped from the man, who was a little bewildered, and through the gate into the drive.