CHAPTER LXII.—“POINTS A MORAL,” AND SO IT IS TO BE HOPED “ADORNS A TALE.”
“What is the next move?” inquired Leicester, coming up with his arm round his wife’s waist, and his hat crushed into the shape of a biffin.
“Wait here for a few minutes,” returned Lewis, “the crowd is already dispersing in the direction of the Arsenal.”
“The Arsenal, what do they want there?” inquired Leicester.
“To waylay Marinovitch as he leaves the place, and murder him,” returned Lewis in a stern whisper, “but he has been warned of their design, and will of course take measures to ensure his safety.”
“Pleasant all this!” muttered Leicester, taking off his injured hat and endeavouring in some degree to restore its original shape; “here’s a case of wanton destruction—glad it is not my head all the same. Now the coast seems pretty clear, suppose we move on.”
Coldly and silently Lewis resumed his office of guardian: the space intervening between St. Mark’s Church and the Palazzo Grassini was passed in safety, and they stood within the courtyard of Leicester’s dwelling. Charley laid his hand on Lewis’s shoulder.
“You will come in?” he said; “you are hot and tired, and require refreshment—a glass of wine?”
Lewis shook his head.
“It is impossible,” he replied coldly; then adding, “I am happy to have been of use to—to Mrs. Leicester and yourself,” he raised his hat slightly to Annie and turned to depart: recollecting however that he still held in his hand the brooch which he had rescued from the ruffian’s clutches, he paused with the intention of giving it to Laura; but Laura had caught sight of “Tarley’s” curly head peeping out at her, and actuated by a sudden impulse of maternal affection, or for some other reason which we shall not attempt to fathom, she had tripped off in the direction of her self-willed offspring. Leicester was slowly following her, all his faculties apparently engrossed by a second attempt to reform his outraged hat. Lewis and Annie were left therefore virtually alone. Advancing towards her with an expression of countenance so cold and immovable that every feature might have been carved in marble, Lewis began—