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"Why not? What! living here close beside you? I be a traitor? I, with my life at your mercy at all times with my throat within such easy reach of any assassin who might choose to revenge my treachery?" "We are not assassins," said Girasole, angrily. "And I am not a traitor," rejoined the priest, mildly. Girasole was silent, and stood in thought.
After a time Girasole mastered his feelings, and began an animated conversation with Mrs. Willoughby in very broken English.
"I'm sure I don't want to be happy," said Minnie. "I don't want to leave darling Kitty and it's a shame and you'll make me hate you if you do so." "Miladi," said Girasole to Mrs. Willoughby, "de mees says se not want to leaf you. Eef you want to come, you may come an' be our sistaire." "Oh, Kitty darling, you won't leave me, will you, all alone with this horrid man?" said Minnie.
If you are togeder you might run. Dis man was almos up here. It was only chance dat I saw him in time." "Oh, Sir," cried Mrs. Willoughby, "you can not you will not separate us. You can not have the heart to. I promise most solemnly that we will not escape if you only leave us together." Girasole shook his head. "I can not," said he, firmly; "de mees is too precious. I dare not.
Dacres sprang forward, and was within three steps of Girasole his face full of ferocity, his eyes flashing, and looking not so much like an English gentleman as one of the old vikings in a Berserker rage. One more spring brought him closer to Girasole. The Italian retreated. One of his men flung himself before Dacres and tried to grapple with him.
The young patrician was already esteemed a connoisseur in the most exquisite industries of Venice, and the Lady Laura had confided to her son the ordering of a set of goblets of girasole for the banquet a new opalescent glass, with iridescent borderings, such as had never yet been seen at any Venetian fête.
"My darling," moaned Mrs. Willoughby, "how can I? I'll go. Oh, my sweet sister, what misery!" "Oh, now that will be really quite delightful if you will come, Kitty darling. Only I'm afraid you'll find it awfully uncomfortable." Girasole turned once more to the other ladies.
Willoughby's only idea at that moment was to throw some obstacle between Minnie and that "dreadful person" who claimed her as his own, and had taken such shocking liberties. She did not know that Girasole was in Rome, and now accepted his arrival at that opportune moment as something little less than providential.
He paused for a moment, and seemed to hesitate; but it was only for a moment. Then, summing up his resolution, he held his pistol close to the head of the figure, and fired. The loud report echoed through the house. A shriek came from Minnie's room, and a cry came from Mrs. Willoughby, who sprang toward the hall. But Girasole came out and intercepted her.
"But we want to finish poor Antonio's grave," remonstrated one of the men. "Bah! he'll keep," said Girasole, with a sneer. "Can't one of us stay?" asked the man. "No, not one; I want you all. If they are traitors, they are deep ones. They must be guarded; and, mind you, if they escape, you shall suffer." With these words he led the way, and the priest and Ethel followed him.
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