"I am going to send for Monsieur Emile," she said.
"Va bene, Signorina."
She went quickly to the writing-table, sat down, hesitated. Her eyes
were riveted upon the photograph-frame.
"How could she? How could she?" she said, in a choked voice.
Gaspare took the frame away reverently, and put it against his breast,
inside his shirt.
"I can't go to Don Emilio, Signorina. I cannot leave you."
"No, Gaspare. Don't leave me! Don't leave me!"
She was the terrified child again.
"Perhaps we can find a fisherman, Signorina."
"Yes, but don't-- Wait for me, Gaspare!"
"I am not going, Signorina."
With feverish haste she took a pen and a sheet of paper and wrote:
"DEAR MONSIEUR EMILE,--Please come to the island /at once/.
Something terrible has happened. I don't know what it is. But
Madre is-- No, I can't put it. Oh, /do come/--please--please come!
VERE
"Come the /quickest/ way."
When the paper was shut in an envelope and addressed she got up.
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