“Because she is the fairest flower of Venice! Because my sleeping dreams of her and my waking thoughts of her have brought me back to Venice from America, far over the seas.”
“By the saints!” cried Reggio, “you are Nicola Mullura!”
[CHAPTER XVIII.—WHEN STEEL MEETS STEEL.]
“At last you have named me!” laughed the mysterious man.
“You wretch!” panted the gondolier. “How dare you again show your face in Venice?”
“I am not showing it very much,” was the cool retort. “Even here, as near as we are, you could not see it well enough to recognize me. By day you might rake the city with a fine comb, and still you would not find me.”
“You are a thief, a murderer, and death will be yours if you are discovered!”
“Never fear, my Reggio,” was the mocking assurance. “I have friends far more powerful than the authorities of this city. My friends are of the Ten.”
“For whom you committed a hundred crimes before you were compelled to flee the country in order to save yourself from the hand of justice. Well might they be your friends!”
“You are very careless in your speech, Tortora,” said the one accused, still with perfect self-possession. “I will take good care of Teresa when you are gone. Trust her to me, my Reggio. In my arms she will be safe.”