Count Nobili's head dropped upon his breast. He covered his face with his hands.
"My son, I leave you in the hands of God. May He lead you and comfort you! But remember, the life of your wife is bound up in your life. Hitherto Enrica has lived upon hope. Deprived of hope, she will die."
When Nobili looked up, Fra Pacifico was gone.
CHAPTER XI.
FACE TO FACE.
The time had now come when Count Nobili must finally make up his mind. He had told Fra Pacifico that his determination was unaltered. He had told him that his dignity as a man, his honor as a gentleman, demanded that he should free himself from the net-work of intrigues in which the marchesa had entangled him. Of all earthly things, compliancy with her desires most revolted him. Rather than live any longer the victim either of her malice or her ambition, he had brought himself to believe that it was his duty to renounce Enrica. Until Fra Pacifico had entered that room within which he was again pacing up and down with hasty strides, no doubt whatever had arisen in his mind as to what it was incumbent upon him to do: to give Enrica the protection of his name by marriage, then to separate. Whether to separate in the manner pointed out by Guglielmi he had not decided. An innate repulsion, now increased by suspicion, made him distrust any act pressed upon him by that man, especially when urged in concert with the marchesa.
Every hour passed at Corellia was torture to him. Should he go at once, or should he remain until the morning?—sign the deed?—complete the sacrifice? Already what he had so loudly insisted on presented itself now to him in the light of a sacrifice. Enrica loved him still—he believed Fra Pacifico. The throbbing of his heart as he thought of her told him that he returned that love. She was there near him under the same roof. Could he leave her? Yes, he must leave her! He would trust himself no longer in the hands of the marchesa or of her agent. Instinct told him some subtle scheme lay under the urgings of Guglielmi—the dangerous civilities of the marchesa. He would go. The legal separation might be completed elsewhere. Why only at Corellia? Why must those formalities insisted on by Guglielmi be respected? What did they mean? Of the real drift of the delay Nobili was utterly ignorant. Had he asked Fra Pacifico, he would have told him the truth, but he had not done so.
To meet Enrica in the morning; to meet her again in the presence of her detested aunt; to meet her only to sign a deed separating them forever under the mockery of mutual consent, was agony. Why should he endure it?
Nobili, wrought up to a pitch of excitement that almost robbed him of reason, dares not trust himself to think. He seizes his hat, which lay upon the table, and rushes out into the night. The murmur of voices comes dimly to him in the freshness of the air out of a window next his own. A circle of light shines on the glistening gravel before him. There must be people within—people watching him, doubtless. As the thought crosses his mind he is suddenly pinned to the earth. Argo is watching for him—stealthy Argo—Argo springs upon him silently from behind; he holds him tightly in his grip. The dog made no sound, nor does he now, but he has laid Nobili flat on the ground. He stands over him, his heavy paws planted upon his chest, his open jaws and dripping tongue close upon his face, so close, that Nobili feels the dog's hot breath upon his skin. Nobili cannot move; he looks up fixedly into Argo's glaring, bloodshot eyes. His steady gaze daunts the dog. In the very act of digging his big fangs into Nobili's throat Argo pauses; he shrinks before those human eyes before which the brutish nature quails. In an instant Nobili's strong hands close round his throat; he presses it until the powerful paws slacken in their grip—until the fiery eyes are starting from their sockets.
Silent as is the struggle the other dogs are alarmed—they give tongue from different sides. Footsteps are rapidly approaching—the barrel of a gun gleams out of the darkness—a shot is fired—the report wanders off in endless reverberation among the rocks—another shot, and another, in instant succession, answer each other from behind the villa.