“Begone this instant, I say, or by Heaven—”
The unfeeling man here drew out a concealed pistol, and pointed it at his preserver.
“Merciful Heaven! and is it thus that services are acknowledged in Venice?”
“The watch is at no great distance, I need only raise my voice and—”
“Hell and confusion! do you take me for a robber, then?”
“Make no noise, I tell you. Be quiet—you had better.”
“Hark you, signor. Buonarotti is your name, I think? I will write it down as belonging to the second scoundrel with whom I have met in Venice.”
He paused for a moment, then continuing in a dreadful voice, “And when,” said he, “thou, Buonarotti, shalt hereafter hear the name of Abellino—tremble!”
Abellino turned away, and left the hard-hearted Venetian.