Her ladyship did not finish her speech, but hurried to the door, followed by her niece—the door through which her husband had passed, followed by her son.
Chapter Thirty.
Light on the Scene.
First floor only. Dieci otto—a door in a corridor whose rooms looked out upon the tranquil sea.
A lady and gentleman started from their seats as the couple rushed in; and in a moment Viscount Diphoos had seen that they were right—that he was in the presence of his sister and the man with whom she had eloped. He saw too in the same rapid glance why they had been so long off the scent. For there was no black curly hair, no long black beard, but all was brown, and flashed as it were with gold.
This was all seen as the young man literally hurled himself upon the tall, sturdy man, who rose to meet him, and in a twinkling they had one another by the throat.
“Take her away, father, quick, quick,” cried Tom; and the next moment, in choking tones—“No, stop!” as he loosed his hold, staggered back to a chair, and uttered a shriek.
Wounded? Stabbed by the treacherous Italian?