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"Queen's evidence!" returned Potts, contemptuously, "and what's his evidence worth the evidence of a man like that against a gentleman of unblemished character?" "He will be able to show what the character of that gentleman is," rejoined Langhetti. "Who will believe him?" "No one can help it." "You believe him, no doubt.
Langhetti spoke with a wild and vehement urgency which was wonderful. "Do you not see," said Despard, "that you rouse my curiosity to an intolerable degree?" "Be it so; at any rate it is better to suffer from curiosity than to feel what you must feel if I told you what I suspect." Had it been any other man than Langhetti Despard would have been offended.
"Oh, Langhetti!" said Despard, "what is it that I saw in the face of this poor child that so wrings my heart? What is this mystery of yours that you will not tell?" "I can not solve it," said Langhetti, "and therefore I will not tell it." "Tell it, whatever it is." "No, it is only conjecture as yet, and I will not utter it." "And it affects me?" "Deeply." "Therefore tell it."
That tone gave strength to Langhetti. It was as though some unseen power had been invoked and had come to his aid. The tones came forth more strongly, on firmer pinions, flying from the strings and towering through the air. The strength of these tones seemed to emanate from some unseen power; so also did their meaning.
There is an art in doing this, but, when you once know it, you find no trouble. It is rhythmic prose in a series of lines. Each line must contain a thought. Langhetti found no difficulty in making rhyming lines, but rhymes are not necessary. This rhythmic prose is as poetic as any thing can be. All the hymns of the Greek Church are written on this principle. So are the Te Deum and the Gloria.
His injuries were very severe. His arms were lacerated, and his shoulder torn; blood also was issuing from a wound on the side of his neck. Despard bound these as best he could, and then sat wondering what could be done next. He judged that he might be four or five miles from Denton, and saw that this was the place to which he must go. Besides, Beatrice was there, and she could nurse Langhetti.
At length, after long resistance to her demand, Langhetti assented, and promised on the morrow to tell her what it was that he had meant by his secret. For, as she gathered from his conversation, it was something that he had first discovered in Hong Kong, and had never since forgotten, but had tried to make it certain.
His face was flushed, and his eyes bloodshot. "See here," said he, mysteriously, as he entered the room. "What?" asked the others, anxiously. "There's two chaps at the inn. One is the Italian " "Langhetti!" "Ay," said Clark, gloomily; "and the other is his mate that fellow that helped him to carry off the gal.
They have learned a lesson now." Louis relapsed into his reflections, and Frank began to answer his letters. It took some time for Langhetti to make his preparations in London. September came before he had completed them. To his surprise these arrangements were much easier than he had supposed.
"Yes," said she; "it must be to-morrow. If you do not, I shall think that you have little or no confidence in me. I shall expect it to- morrow." Langhetti was silent. "I shall expect it to-morrow," repeated Beatrice. Langhetti still continued silent. "Oh, very well; silence gives consent!" said she, in a lively tone. "I have not consented." "Yes you have, by your silence." "I was deliberating."
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