"I suppose she told you to come," said Trevelyan.
"Well; yes; she did tell me. I came to try and get you back to England. If you remain here, the climate and solitude together will kill you."
"As for the climate, I like it;—and as for solitude, I have got used even to that."
"And then there is another thing," said Stanbury.
"What is that?" asked Trevelyan, starting.
"You are not safe here."
"How not safe?"
"She could not tell you, but I must." His wife was still holding his hand, and he did not at once attempt to withdraw it; but he raised himself in his chair, and fixed his eyes fiercely on Stanbury. "They will not let you remain here quietly," said Stanbury.
"Who will not?"
"The Italians. They are already saying that you are not fit to be alone; and if once they get you into their hands,—under some Italian medical board, perhaps into some Italian asylum, it might be years before you could get out,—if ever. I have come to tell you what the danger is. I do not know whether you will believe me."