Tears were now in those dark, luminous eyes, but
they were unseen by him. Yet he could mark the despondency of her
attitude; he could see a certain wild way of looking up and down and
in all directions; he noted how her hands grasped the window-ledge as
if for support.
And oh, beautiful demon angel, he thought, if you could but know how
near you are to the avenger! Why are you so anxious, my demon wife?
Are you impatient because your Italian is delaying? Can you not live
for five seconds longer without him? Are you looking in all directions
to see where he is? Don't fret; he'll soon be here.
And now there came a confirmation of his thoughts. He was not
surprised; he knew it; he suspected it. It was all as it should be.
Was it not in the confident expectation of this that he had come here
with his dagger--on their trail?
It was Girasole.
He came from the place, further along the shore, where the brigands
were around their fires. He was walking quickly. He had a purpose. It
was with a renewed agony that Dacres watched his enemy--coming to
visit his wife. The intensity of that thirst for vengeance, which had
now to be checked until a better opportunity, made his whole frame
tremble. A wild desire came to him then and there to bound down upon
his enemy, and kill and be killed in the presence of his wife. But the
other brigands deterred him. These men might interpose and save the
Italian, and make him a prisoner. No; he must wait till he could meet
his enemy on something like equal terms--when he could strike a blow
that would not be in vain.
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