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sirocco
137
But this letter was different. He begged her to
come to him, to be his, give herself to him. As she
read it she was shocked at herself. She felt a desire
to shout into the air: " I am coming, I am coming,"
and so just start off. It drew her and carried her
away.
" Let us be happy ! " he wrote. " We are wasting
time, the years pass. Let us be happy! "
He described for her how they would live. He
related accounts of other women, who had obeyed
love and become happy. He wrote both enticingly
and convincingly.
But it was not exactly the contents, it was the love,
breathing and glowing in the letter, that filled her
with rapture. It rose from the paper like an
intoxicating incense, and she felt how it thrilled her.
Every word spoke of intense longing.
Now she was no longer a saint to him as before.
It came overwhelmingly sudden, this, after a silence
of several years. And that it so delighted her made
her anxious.
She had never imagined love to be like that.
Would she also like it so ? She found with anguish
that she would.
And so she punished both herself and him by
writing a stern answer. It was morals, morals, it was
nothing but morals. She was proud when she had
written it. She did not deny that she loved him, but
perhaps Gaetano would not be able to find the love
words, they were so embedded in admonition. Nor
must he have found them. He wrote no more
letters.
But Donna Micaela could now no longer think of
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