The little party had left Casa Luzo after lunch. Teresa had been instructed to delay the telling of the rescue to Dasso for as long as possible. The wounded man had gratefully accepted the handsome monetary present offered him (especially as Dasso had already paid for his services in advance), and was now making preparations to get back to his native town and the delights of bull-ring society.
The walk through the woods had been a pleasant one to Galva in her new-found happiness and freedom, and her lover had not been able to find the heart to speak the words which he knew would give her pain; in fact, Edward had been gone an hour, leaving them to await his return at the forest edge, before he had summoned up courage to the task. And then had come the battle, and it had lasted exactly ten minutes, and the spoils had been all to Galva. His mind once made up, the duke gave himself with a little sigh to his happiness.
The night came down upon the forest, and still they sat, their fingers entwined, on the fallen tree. The flush had faded from the palace windows, leaving them grey and forbidding, and with sun-down a chill wind had come in from the sea. Behind the lovers the pine trunks showed dimly like vast columns in some ghostly cathedral, and there was no sound save the gentle song of the wind in the branches.
Armand drew the rug they had brought with them closer over both their shoulders, shielding the little head that nestled so confidingly on his breast. When Edward returned with Anna Paluda, the Princess Galva awoke.
The duke rose and stretched his cramped limbs. Edward reached for his hand and shook it.
"Congratulations!" he murmured.
CHAPTER XXIII
THE PASSING GUN
The particular genius who designed the grounds of the Palace at Corbo was a nephew of the Estratos—a youth of an artistic but somewhat weak intellect and bizarre tastes.