She uttered a little cry of
appeal and pity--"Leo!" She went quickly forward, and threw herself on
her knees by the bedside, and seized his hand, and bathed it with her
hot tears. "Leo, do you not know me! I am Nina! If you wish me to come
back--see! see!--I am here! I kiss your hand--it is Nina!"
He looked at her strangely, and turned with bewildered eyes to Maurice.
"Maurice, is it twelve o'clock? Has she really come this time? Did you
hear her speak just now? Is it Nina--at last! at last!"
With her head still bowed down, and her whole frame shaken with her
sobbing, but still clasping his hand, she murmured to him some
phrase--Maurice guessed it was in the familiar Neapolitan dialect; for
Lionel presently said to her--slowly, because of his heavy breathing:
"Ah, you are still _la cianciosella_!--but you have come back--and not
to go away. I have forgotten so many things. My head is not well. But
wait a little while, Nina--wait a little while--"
"Oh, yes, Leo," she said, and she rose and dried her eyes, with her head
turned aside somewhat. "I will wait until you have plenty of time to
tell me. I shall come and see you whenever you want me.
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