“His name is Giro Rodani; he was one of the maestro's pupils. We used to sing duets under the guidance of the maestro; it was good for both of us, he said, and so, I suppose, it was. At any rate Giro got his engagement, and perhaps he sent mother that newspaper. He certainly sent me the six papers that praised his singing. He didn't send those that were not quite so complimentary: it was the maestro who sent them to me.”
“The paper may have been addressed to you; it is not a matter of importance. You would probably never have recollected reading the paragraph about the reprieve of the man if you had not met Mr. Westwood a few months afterwards.”
“I certainly should have forgotten all about it; but now—well, now it is different. And it was among those trees the terrible deed was done?”
“Yes, it was among those trees. I have not been near the place since it happened.”
“It was horrible—horrible! And yet they did not hang the man—they gave the wretch his life!” The girl spoke almost fiercely—almost in the same tone as Claude Westwood's had been when denouncing the man.
Agnes gave a little cry.
“Do not say that—for God's sake do not say that,” she said. “Ah, if you only knew what you are saying!”
“If I only knew!” cried Clare, in a tone of astonishment.
“If you only knew how your indignation that a wretched man's life was spared to him shocks me!” said Agnes. “Dear child, surely you are on the side of mercy; you have not been, accustomed to the savage code of a life for a life.”
Clare was silent.