DOI article:
Harland, Henry: Rosemary for remembrance
DOI Page / Citation link:https://doi.org/10.11588/diglit.21806#0097
93
By Henry Harland
“ Oh, my father—I cannot leave my father.'’
“ Your father ? But—if you love me-”
“ He is old. He is ill. He has no one but me. I cannot
leave him.”
“ Zabetta ! ”
“ No, no. I cannot leave him. Oh, Dio mio ! ”
“But Zabetta-”
“No. It would be a sin. Oh, the worst of sins. He is old
and ill. I cannot leave him. Don’t ask me. It would be
dreadful.”
“ But then ? Then what ? What shall we do ? ”
“ Oh, I don’t know. I wish I were dead.”
The cab came to a standstill, and Zabetta said, “ Here we are.”
I helped her to descend. We were before a dark porte-cochere,
in some dark back-street, high up the hillside.
“ Addio,” said Zabetta, holding out her hand.
“ You won’t come with me ? ”
“ I can’t. I can’t. Addio.”
“ Oh, Zabetta ! Do you- Oh, say, say that you forgive
me.”
“ Yes. Addio.”
“ And, Zabetta, you—you have my address. It is on the card
I gave you. If you ever need anything—if you are ever in
trouble of any kind—remember you have my address—you will
write to me.”
“ Yes. Addio.”
“ Addio.”
She stood for a second, looking up at me from great brim-
ming eyes, and then she turned away and vanished in the darkness
of the porte-cochere. I got into the cab, and was driven to my
hotel.
And
By Henry Harland
“ Oh, my father—I cannot leave my father.'’
“ Your father ? But—if you love me-”
“ He is old. He is ill. He has no one but me. I cannot
leave him.”
“ Zabetta ! ”
“ No, no. I cannot leave him. Oh, Dio mio ! ”
“But Zabetta-”
“No. It would be a sin. Oh, the worst of sins. He is old
and ill. I cannot leave him. Don’t ask me. It would be
dreadful.”
“ But then ? Then what ? What shall we do ? ”
“ Oh, I don’t know. I wish I were dead.”
The cab came to a standstill, and Zabetta said, “ Here we are.”
I helped her to descend. We were before a dark porte-cochere,
in some dark back-street, high up the hillside.
“ Addio,” said Zabetta, holding out her hand.
“ You won’t come with me ? ”
“ I can’t. I can’t. Addio.”
“ Oh, Zabetta ! Do you- Oh, say, say that you forgive
me.”
“ Yes. Addio.”
“ And, Zabetta, you—you have my address. It is on the card
I gave you. If you ever need anything—if you are ever in
trouble of any kind—remember you have my address—you will
write to me.”
“ Yes. Addio.”
“ Addio.”
She stood for a second, looking up at me from great brim-
ming eyes, and then she turned away and vanished in the darkness
of the porte-cochere. I got into the cab, and was driven to my
hotel.
And