from Mr. Pericles.
"Cracked!" he cried again.

Emilia lifted her eyes, and looked at him steadily. She saw the idea grow
in the eyes fronting her that she had a pleasant face, and she at once
staked this little bit of newly-conceived worth on an immediate chance.
Remember; that she was as near despair as a creature constituted so
healthily could go. Speaking no longer in a girlish style, but with the
grave pleading manner of a woman, she begged Mr. Pericles to take her to
Italy, and have faith in the recovery of her voice. He, however, far from
being softened, as he grew aware of her sweetness of feature, waxed
violent and insulting.

"Take me," she said. "My voice will reward you. I feel that you can cure
it."

"For zat man! to go to him again!" Mr. Pericles sneered.

"I never shall do that." There sprang a glitter as of steel in Emilia's
eyes. "I will make myself yours for life, if you like. Take my hand, and
let me swear. I do not break my word. I will swear, that if I recover my
voice to become what you expected,--I will marry you whenever you ask me,
and then--"

More she was saying, but Mr. Pericles, sputtering a laugh of "Sanks!"
presented a postured supplication for silence.

"I am not a man who marries."

He plainly stated the relations that the woman whom he had distinguished
by the honours of selection must hold toward him.

Emilia's cheeks did not redden; but, without any notion of shame at the
words she listened to, she felt herself falling lower and lower the more
her spirit clung to Mr. Pericles: yet he alone was her visible
personification of hope, and she could not turn from him. If he cast her
off, it seemed to her that her voice was condemned. She stood there
still, and the cold-eyed Greek formed his opinion.

He was evidently undecided as regards his own course of proceeding, for
his chin was pressed by thumb and forefinger hard into his throat, while
his eyebrows were wrinkled up to their highest elevation. From this
attitude, expressive of the accurate balancing of the claims of an
internal debate, he emerged into the posture of a cock crowing, and
Emilia heard again his bitter mimicry of her miserable broken tones,
followed by Ha! dam! Basta! basta!"

"Sit here," cried Mr. Pericles. He had thrown himself into a chair, and
pointed to his knee.

Emilia remained where she was standing.

He caught at her hand, but she plucked that from him. Mr. Pericles rose,
sounding a cynical "Hein!"