“This is some rascally trick. It is some private act of hate. Keep him in talk till I fetch a gendarme.” Longworth whispered this, and left the room.
“Bad counsel that he has given you,” said the man. “My advice is better. Get away from this at once—get away before he returns. There's only shame and disgrace before you now.”
He moved over to where Pracontal was seated, and placing his mouth close to his ear, whispered some words slowly and deliberately.
“And are you Niccolo Baldassare?” muttered Pracontal.
“Come with me, and learn all,” said the man, moving to the door; “for I will not wait to be arrested and made a town talk.”
Pracontal arose and followed him.
The old man walked with a firm and rapid step. He descended the stairs that led to the Piazza del Popolo, crossed the wide piazza, and issued from the gate out upon the Campagna, and skirting the ancient wall, was soon lost to view among the straggling hovels which cluster at intervals beneath the ramparts. Pracontal continued to walk behind him, his head sunk on his bosom, and his steps listless and uncertain, like one walking in sleep. Neither were seen more after that night.
CHAPTER LXIX. THE LAST OF ALL.
All the emissaries had returned to the villa except Sedley, who found himself obliged to revisit England suddenly, but from whom came a few lines of telegram, stating that the “case of Pracontal de Bramleigh v. Bramleigh had been struck out of the cause list; Kelson a heavy loser, having made large advances to plaintiff.”