British -- Italy -- Fiction; Domestic fiction; Female friendship -- Fiction; Italy -- Fiction; Love stories
Her thoughts wouldn’t go on. Her mind stammered. She couldn’t think.
She could only see and feel. She didn’t know how it had happened. It
was a miracle. God could do miracles. God had done this one. God
could—God could—could—
Her mind stammered again, and broke off.
“Frederick—” she tried to say; but no sound came, or if it did the
crackling of the fire covered it up.
She must go nearer. She began to creep towards him—softly, softly.
He did not move. He had not heard.
She stole nearer and nearer, and the fire crackled and he heard
nothing.
She stopped a moment, unable to breathe. She was afraid. Suppose
he—suppose he—oh, but he had come, he had come.
She went on again, close up to him, and her heart beat so loud that she
thought he must hear it. And couldn’t he feel—didn’t he know—
“Frederick,” she whispered, hardly able even to whisper, choked by the
beating of her heart.
He spun round on his heels.
“Rose!” he exclaimed, staring blankly.
But she did not see his stare, for her arms were round his neck, and
her cheek was against his, and she was murmuring, her lips on his ear,
“I knew you would come—in my very heart I always, always knew you would
come—”
Chapter 21
Now Frederick was not the man to hurt anything if he could help it;
besides, he was completely bewildered. Not only was his wife here—here,
of all places in the world—but she was clinging to him as she had not
clung for years, and murmuring love, and welcoming him. If she welcomed
him she must have been expecting him. Strange as this was, it was the
only thing in the situation which was evident—that, and the softness of
her cheek against his, and the long-forgotten sweet smell of her.
Frederick was bewildered. But not being the man to hurt anything if he
could help it he too put his arms round her, and having put them round
her he also kissed her; and presently he was kissing her almost as
tenderly as she was kissing him; and presently he was kissing her quite
as tenderly; and again presently he was kissing her more tenderly, and
just as if he had never left off.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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