"What, Teresina?" asked Bastianello in a changed voice.
"You say you also might do that man an injury whom I love. I suppose
that is because you are so fond of your brother. Is it so?"
"Yes--and also--"
"Bastianello, do you love me too?" she asked in a very low tone,
blushing more deeply than before.
"Yes. I do. God knows it. I would not have said it, though. Ah,
Teresina, you have made a traitor of me! I have betrayed my
brother--and for what?"
"For me, Bastianello. But you have not betrayed him."
"Since you do not love him--" began the sailor in a tone of doubt.
"Not him, but another."
"And that other--"
"It is perhaps you, Bastianello," said Teresina, growing rather pale
again.
"Me!" He could only utter the one word just then.
"Yes, you."
"My love!" Bastianello's arm went gently round her, and he whispered the
words in her ear. She let him hold her so without resistance, and looked
up into his face with happy eyes.
"Yes, your love--did you never guess it, dearest?" She was blushing
still, and smiling at the same time, and her voice sounded sweet to
Bastianello.
Only a sailor and a serving-maid, but both honest and both really
loving.
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