cles was
visible. He had not eaten or drunk, and he was out there sleepless; he
walked conquering his fears in the thick of war troubles: all for her
sake. She watched critically to see whether the cigar-light was
puffed in fretfulness. It burned steadily; and the thought of Pericles
supporting patience quite overcame her. In a fit of humour that was
almost tears, she called to him and begged him to take a place in the
carriage and have food. "If it is your pleasure," he said; and threw off
his cloak. The wine comforted him. Thereupon he commenced a series of
strange gesticulations, and ended by blinking at the window, saying,
"No, no; it is impossible to explain. I have no voice; I am not, gifted.
It is," he tapped at his chest, "it is here. It is, imprisoned in me."

"What?" said Vittoria, to encourage him.

"It can never be explained, my child. Am I not respectful to you? Am I
not worshipful to you? But, no! it can never be explained. Some do call
me mad. I know it; I am laughed at. Oh! do I not know zat? Perfectly
well. My ancestors adored Goddesses. I discover ze voice of a Goddess:
I adore it. So you call me mad; it is to me what you call me--juste ze
same. I am possessed wiz passion for her voice. So it will be till I go
to ashes. It is to me ze one zsing divine in a pig, a porpoise world. It
is to me--I talk! It is unutterable--impossible to tell."

"But I understand it; I know you must feel it," said Vittoria.

"But you hate me, Sandra. You hate your Pericles."

"No, I do not; you are my good friend, my good Pericles."

"I am your good Pericles? So you obey me?"

"In what?"

"You come to London?"

"I shall not."

"You come to Turin?"

"I cannot promise."

"To Milan?"

"No; not yet."

"Ungrateful little beast! minx! temptress! You seduce me into your
carriage to feed me, to fill me, for to coax me," cried Pericles.

"Am I the person to have abuse poured on me?" Vittoria rejoined, and
she frowned. "Might I not have called you a wretched whimsical
money-machine, without the comprehension of a human feeling? You are
doing me a great wrong--to win my submission, as I see, and it half
amuses me; but the pretence of an attempt to carry me off from my
friends is an offence that I should take certain care to punish in
another. I do not give you any promise, because the first promise of
all--the promise to keep one--is not in my power. Shut your eyes and
sleep where you are, and in the morning think b