CHAPTER XIII.
"Take me home," said Mae again imploringly. "Not back there," as Norman
drew her hand through his arm and started for the hut, "O no, not even
for a minute."
"Sit here then," he replied quietly, "while I arrange it with the
woman," and he walked quickly away. Mae watched him till he entered the
low doorway, in a sort of subdued, glorified happiness, that would break
out over her shame and fear. She was afraid he would hate her, at least
she told herself so, but in reality, everything and everybody and every
place were fast fading out of this eager little mind. She and Norman
were together, and she could not help being content. There was a certain
joy in her weakness and shame, though they were genuine and kept her
hushed and silent.
Poor Lisetta was very much frightened, but told her story to this angry
stranger with true Southern palaver. She said the little lady loved
Italy so, and wanted to be a peasant, and insisted she would run away
quite by herself if Lisetta would not take her, and so she consented,
knowing she could, through the padrona, send word to the friends.
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