"
His voice insensibly softened as he spoke. He could not but be touched
by the utter helplessness, the anguish, the baffled weakness so evident
in her face and manner. He was cruel only from selfishness and the
instinct of self-defence, and his pity was sharply aroused by Ninitta's
suffering and her miserable condition.
"Come," he said gently, laying his hand on her arm, "you are tired and
frightened. There is no need for you to go away and, besides, you could
not live without the _bambino._ Think, you would have no letters; you
would never even hear from him."
A spasm of pain contracted Ninitta's features. She pressed her hands
upon her bosom with interlaced fingers working convulsively.
"Oh, Mother of God!" she moaned, in a voice of intensest agony, which
thrilled Fenton with a keen pang that yet did not prevent his
remembering how like was the cry to that of a great tragic actress as
he had heard it in _Phedre_.
"Don't, Ninitta," he pleaded, unlocking her hands and taking them in
his. "I"--
"You will write me?" she interrupted eagerly. "You will tell me about
Nino? I shall find somebody to read it to me. Oh, you are good. That is
the best kindness you could do me."
She pressed his hands eagerly, a divine yearning, a gleam of passionate
hope shone in her dark eyes. Fenton tried to smile, but despite himself
his lip trembled.
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