“Oh, my Lord, my Lord!” cried Giacomo, in Italian, “the signorina! the signorina! Violante!”
“What of her? Mother, Mother! what of her? Speak, speak!”
“She has gone,—left our house!”
“Left! No, no!” cried Giacomo. “She must have been deceived or forced away. The count! the count! Oh, my good Lord, save her, as you once saved her father!”
“Hold!” cried Harley. “Give me your arm, Mother. A second such blow in life is beyond the strength of man,—at least it is beyond mine. So, so! I am better now! Thank you, Mother. Stand back, all of you! give me air. So the count has triumphed, and Violante has fled with him! Explain all,—I can bear it!”