In astonishment and horror she opened it and read the following:
Lady Theresa Annesley, daughter of Lambert Egerton and Theresa Ludovic, remember the death of Count Crispi cries still for vengeance. You and yours are forever under the ban until the hateful blood of your people is wiped from off the face of the earth. Think not to escape us. The executive awaits the signal to strike.
In a moment all sunshine was blotted away, and she stood pale, trembling and hopeless.
In this way Sir Harold found her, and his heart smote him with remorseless pangs.
“If you don’t wish it, Theresa,” he said, “I will not go out at all to-day. Your pallor frightens me. Tell me, child. What is your trouble?”
He waited anxiously, fearfully. If Theresa asked him to stay with her, then he might never see Lady Elaine again. It was a terrible sacrifice, but he was prepared to make it.
For one brief space she hesitated, then burst into a storm of tears.
“No, darling, you must not forego every pleasure for my sake,” she sobbed. “Have I not surrounded you with a network of perplexities and dangers already? I am frightened—not for myself, but for my beloved husband! See! You ought to read this. A danger menaces you, my love—the danger of death!”
He took the paper, and his face flamed with fury.
“The cowards!” he hissed—“the pitiful, wretched cowards! Theresa, this is a mere, contemptible threat! Why was the boy not seized? I will get to the root of it if half my fortune is spent in so doing!”