It was not
hesitation any longer that made him stop.
"Could you love me?" he asked. He thought he spoke aloud. When he had
spoken, he knew that he had whispered the words.
His face was colourless. He heard a short, sharp breath, drawn like a
gasp. The small white hand fell from the window and gripped his own with
sudden, violent strength. Neither spoke. Another peal of thunder, nearer
and louder, shook the air. Then Orsino heard the quick-drawn breath
again, and the white hand went nervously to the fastening of the window.
Orsino opened the casement and thrust back the blinds. There was a vivid
flash, more thunder, and a gust of stifling wind. Maria Consuelo leaned
far out, looking up, and a few great drops of rain, began to fall.
The storm burst and the cold rain poured down furiously, wetting the two
white faces at the window. Maria Consuelo drew back a little, and Orsino
leaned against the open casement, watching her. It was as though the
single pressure of their hands had crushed out the power of speech for a
time.
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