‘I was going to—Do not be angry!.... They told me that I had better die, and—
The Amal stood thunderstruck for a moment.
‘Oh, do not strike me again! Send me to the mill. Kill me now with your own hand! Anything but another blow!’
‘A blow?—Noble woman!’ cried the Amal, clasping her in his arms.
The storm was past; and Pelagia had been nestling to that beloved heart, cooing like a happy dove, for many a minute before the Amal aroused himself and her....
‘Now!—quick! We have not a moment to lose. Up to the tower, where you will be safe; and then to show these curs what comes of snarling round the wild wolves’ den!’
CHAPTER XXIX: NEMESIS
And was the Amal’s news true, then?
Philammon saw Raphael rush across the street into the Museum gardens. His last words had been a command to stay where he was; and the boy obeyed him. The black porter who let Raphael out told him somewhat insolently, that his mistress would see no one, and receive no messages: but he had made up his mind: complained of the sun, quietly ensconced himself behind a buttress, and sat coiled up on the pavement, ready for a desperate spring. The slave stared at him: but he was accustomed to the vagaries of philosophers; and thanking the gods that he was not born in that station of life, retired to his porter’s cell, and forgot the whole matter.