“We shall find the marquis dead,” she said, callously. “We seem to have been years on the journey; yes, he’ll be dead!”
“I trust not,” he responded, grimly. “I’ll ride outside and smoke a cigar,” he added, as the postboy smacked his whip.
She flung herself back among the cushions.
“Oh, very well,” she said, petulantly.
Lord Cecil got on the box, and the carriage rolled onward to Pescia and the Fate awaiting them.
CHAPTER XXXV.
THE APPROACH OF THE SHADOW.
Heaven only knows what complexion Cecil’s thoughts took during the journey, but he was graver and grimmer than ever when he got down at the door of the villa to help his affianced bride to alight.
The marquis’ valet received them with surprise, tempered by satisfaction.
“I am glad you have come, my lord, though I did not like to take the responsibility of wiring for you. The marquis is much worse. Oh, yes, decidedly much worse. He is asleep just now, but it is quite as well that you came.”