Part 37 (2/2)

_Martino._--Time is a cure for youth, and marriage a happy speeder of time.

_Nita._--But youth needs no cure, and if marriage speedeth time, I'll live a maid and die one. The days run swift enough without goading, Signior Martino.

_Martino._--But lady--

_Nita._.--Nay, your tongue will outstrip time, if you put not a curb upon it. In faith, signior, I would not seem rude, but if in your courtesy you would consent to woo some other maiden to-day, why I would strive and bear it.

_Martino._--When I stoop to woo any other lady than thee, the moon shall hide its face from the earth, and s.h.i.+ne upon it no more.

_Nita._--Your thoughts are daring in their flight to-day.

_Martino._--They are in search of your love.

_Nita._--Alack, your wings will fail.

_Martino._--Ay, when they reach their goal.

_Nita._--Dost think to reach it?

_Martino._--Shall I not, lady?

_Nita._--'Tis hard to believe it possible, yet who can tell?

You are not so handsome, signior, that one would die for you.

_Martino._--No, lady; but what goes to make other men's faces fair, goes to make my heart great. The virtue of my manhood rests in the fact that I love you.

_Nita._--Faith! so in some others. 'Tis the common fault of the gallants, I find. If that is all--

_Martino._--But I will always love you, even unto death.

_Nita._--I doubt it not, so death come soon enough.

_Martino._ (_Taps his poiniard with his hand._)--Would you have it come now, and so prove me true to my word?

_Nita._ (_Demurely_).--I am no judge, to utter the doom that your presumption merits.

_Martino._--Your looks speak doom, and your sweet lips hide a sword keener than that of justice.

_Nita._--Have you tried them, signior, that you speak so knowingly concerning them? (_Retreating._) Your words, methinks, are somewhat like your kisses, all breath and no substance.

_Martino._--Lady! sweet one! (_Follows her._)

_Nita._--Nay, I am gone. (_Exit._)

_Martino._--I were of the fools' fold, did I fail to follow at a beck so gentle. (_Exit._)

That was not all, but it was all that Mr. Sylvester heard. Hastily retreating, he went out into the corridor and ere long found himself in the conservatory. He felt shaken; felt that he could not face all this unmoved. He knew he had been gazing at a play; that because this Florentine maiden looked at her lover with coyness, gentleness, tenderness perhaps, it did not follow that she, his Paula, loved the real man behind this das.h.i.+ng cavalier. But the possibility was there, and in his present frame of mind could not be encountered without pain.

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