Yes--the thing looks suspicious--I shall be
tracked!--I must leave Italy. But how?"
Bathed in cold perspiration he lay, wondering, scheming, devising
all sorts of means of escape from his present surroundings, when he
became suddenly aware of a tall dark figure in the cell,--a figure
muffled nearly to its eyes, which had entered with such stealthy
softness and silence as to give almost the impression of some
supernatural visitant. He uttered a faint exclamation--the figure
raised one hand menacingly.
"Be silent!" These words were uttered in a harsh whisper. "If you
value your life, hold your peace till I have said what I come to
say!"
Moving to the door of the cell, the mysterious visitor bolted it
across and locked it--then dropped the disguising folds of his heavy
mantle and monk's cowl, and disclosed the face and form of Domenico
Gherardi. Paralysed with fear Varillo stared at him,--every drop of
blood seemed to rush from his heart to his brain, turning him sick
and giddy, for in the dark yet fiery eyes of the priest, there was a
look that would have made the boldest tremble.
"I knew that you were here," he said, his thin lips widening at the
corners in a slight disdainful smile. "I saw you at the inn on the
road to Frascati, and watched you shrink and tremble as I spoke of
the murder of Angela Sovrani! You screened your face behind a paper
you were reading,--that was not necessary, for your hand shook,--and
so betrayed itself as the hand of the assassin!"
With a faint moan, Varillo shudderingly turned away and buried his
head in his pillow.
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