"Are you quite certain—quite certain that the tidings are true?"
"Quite certain," was the mournful reply.
"Does Matteo know all?"
"He can hardly know it, or—or I should not have found you here alone. But he will be sure to know it before the morning; evil tidings fly on swift wings."
Horace grasped the hand of his friend with a convulsive pressure. "Oh, Raphael, you will not—cannot see me murdered in cold blood by that merciless man. For my mother's sake—for God's sake—for the sake of Him whom you serve—release me—save me from this horrible fate!"
The earnest, imploring gaze was met by one of anguish.
"We can fly together," continued Horace, speaking with eager rapidity. "Once out of the forest we are both safe, both happy—"
Raphael interrupted him with a single word, "Enrico!"
In that name were expressed all the difficulties of his position, at least all such as might be regarded as insuperable. The fearful choice to Raphael lay but between his brother and his friend. To save the one was to sacrifice the other.
It was a moment of exquisite pain to the captive and his companion. So great was the tension of their nerves, that the sound of a whistle from below made them both start, as if it had been a death-signal.