“What is it?” he asked. “Is there anything I can do, Teresa?”
“Look!” she whispered. “I see him—I see my brother, dead on the stairs! Nicola Mullura has killed him!”
“There, there!” said the boy, soothingly, trying his best to speak her language so she would understand. “You must sleep—you must try to forget it for a while.”
Night passed and morning came, and a great change had come over Teresa. She even greeted her friends with a smile!
“I am glad to see you feel better, Teresa,” said Dick.
“I do feel better, good friend. I am almost happy now.”
“Great horn spoon!” muttered Brad. “And she saw her brother done to death last night! Trouble runs off these Venetians like water off a duck.”
They had breakfast, and through it all the girl maintained the same unnatural light and lively manner.
After breakfast she suggested that, in order to bring no further peril on them, she should depart.
“Not at all!” cried Zenas. “You must remain right here. I am going to the authorities. I am going to inform them all about this band of Ten. I’ll know if they will permit such a thing in Venice. They must bestir themselves! It is high time.”