Abellino pointed towards the arbour; Rosabella led him in, and placed him on a seat of turf.
“God reward you, lady,” stammered Abellino, faintly. He raised his eyes; they met Rosabella’s, and a blush crimsoned her pale cheeks.
Rosabella stood in silence before the disguised assassin, and trembled with tender concern for the old man’s illness; and oh, that expression of interest ever makes a lovely women look so much more lovely! She bent her delicate form over the man who was bribed to murder her, and after a while asked him, in gentlest tone, “Are you not better?”
“Better?” stammered the deceiver, with a feeble voice, “better—oh, yes, yes, yes. You—you are the Doge’s niece—the noble Rosabella of Corfu?”
“The same, my good old man.”
“Oh, lady, I have somewhat to tell you. Be on your guard, Start not! What I would say is of the utmost consequence, and demands the utmost prudence. Ah, God, that there should live men so cruel! Lady, your life is in danger.”
The maiden started back; the colour fled from her cheeks.
“Do you wish to behold your assassin? You shall not die, but if you value your life, be silent.”
Rosabella knew not what to think; the presence of the old man terrified her.
“Fear nothing, lady, fear nothing; you have nothing to fear, while I am with you. Before you quit this arbour you shall see the assassin expire at your feet.”