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Partly to show her accurate power of guessing, and chiefly that she might reprove Laura's insulting whisper, which outraged and irritated her as much as if "Oh! your poor brother!" had been exclaimed, she made display of Merthyr's manly coldness by saying aloud, "You mean, that she is going to her marriage." Laura turned her face to Merthyr.
In grave debate with the ends of his moustache for a term, he concluded by accusing Merthyr Powys; and with a little feeling of spite not unknown to masculine dignity, he wrote to Merthyr's half-sister "merely to inquire, being aware that whatever he does you have been consulted on, and the friends of this Miss Belloni are distressed by her absence."
"Eat, my Sandra! eat!" called Merthyr, who was himself eating with a campaigning appetite. Georgiana laid down the letter folded under Merthyr's fingers, keeping her hand on it till he grew alive to her meaning, that it should be put away. "Marini is vague about artillery," she murmured. "Vague!" echoed Merthyr. "Say prudent. If he said we could lay hands on fifty pieces, then distrust him!"
She compared herself to her father's old broken violin, that might be mended to please the sight; but would never give the tones again. Sometimes, if hope tormented her, she would strangle it by trying her voice: and such a little piece of self-inflicted anguish speedily undid all Merthyr's work. He was patient as one who tends a flower in the Spring.
He shook Merthyr's hand without looking at him. "Her husband was not there? not at Novara, I mean?" he said. "He's at Brescia," said Merthyr. "Well, thank goodness he didn't stand in those ranks!" Wilfrid murmured, puffing thoughtfully over the picture they presented to his memory.
In Merthyr's present view, the idea of Wilfrid being in ranks opposed to him was so little provocative of intense dissatisfaction, that it was out of his power to believe that Emilia craved to see him simply to dissuade the man from the obnoxious step. "Ah, well! See him; see him, if you must," he said. "Arrange it with my sister."
"Come with me now!" "Now?" "Away! with me! your lover!" "Then you love me! "I love you! Come!" "Now? I cannot move." "I am out in the night without you." "Oh, my lover! Oh, Wilfrid!" "Come to me!" "My feet are dead!" "It's too late!" A sturdy hulloa! sounding from the coachman made Merthyr's ears alive.
'There was a light as of reviving life, or of pain comforted, when it was she who was sitting by Merthyr's side, and when at times she saw the hopeless effort of his hand to reach to hers, or during the long still hours she laid her head on his pillow, and knew that he breathed gratefully.
He sat eyeing the firelight till she returned, and then taking the long golden lock in his handy he squeezed it, full of bitter memories and sorrowfulness. "Giulietta?" breathed his sister. "I would put my life on the truth of that woman's love. Well!" "Yes?" "She abandons herself to the commandant of the citadel." A low outcry burst from Georgiana. She fell at Merthyr's knees sobbing violently.
He shook Merthyr's hand hurriedly, and as soon as the door was fastened, began to speak. His first sentence brought a grunt of derision from Ugo Corte. It declared that there was no hope of a rising in Milan. Carlo swung round upon the Bergamasc. "Observe our leader," Agostino whispered to Merthyr; "it would be kindness to give him a duel."
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