“The Englishman smiled on her. She was deceived. She told him of her father. Perhaps she gave him some letters from her father. Either the Englishman forged the letter, or he employed an expert to accomplish it. In this manner he means to steal her from you and from me.”
“It is possible you speak the truth.”
“I know I speak the truth! I feel it here in my heart! He is deceiving her. He would take her away, pretending that it is his intention to conduct her to her father; but in truth he has no such intention, and when he becomes tired of her he will desert her. I am right, Tyrus. She will be left to die in some foreign land by this young dog of an Englishman, whose father is rich and who has money to fling about with a lavish hand. It is your duty—and mine—to save her from such a fate! Arouse yourself, Tyrus! Bestir yourself, and let’s do something without delay. The Englishman has been placed beneath arrest. It is our next move to enter complaint against the Americans and have them arrested also. It can be done.”
Tyrus bowed gravely.
“It can be done,” he agreed; “and, as you say, it may be our duty to see that it is done.”
“Then delay not. Every moment is precious.”
“Give me your hand,” said the elder man.
Maro assisted him to rise.
“It was a terrible shock I received,” muttered Tyrus, moving his shoulders and making a wry face. “It is most remarkable that my neck was not broken. Even now to move at all causes me discomfort, and to-morrow I fancy I will be exceedingly lame.”
“Think not of yourself,” urged Maro, burning with impatience and seeking to pull Tyrus onward. “Think of Flavia and your duty to her. Hasten!”