"What's that? You don't really mean it?" cried Hawbury.
"Yes, I do."
"Will you follow her?"
"Yes, I will."
"What for? For a vague fancy of your jealous mind?"
"It isn't a fancy; it's a certainty. I've seen the Italian dogging her, dodging about her house, and riding with her. I've seen her looking very much as if she were expecting him at her balcony. Is all that nothing? She's seen me, and feels conscience-stricken, and longs to get away where she may be free from the terror of my presence. But I'll track her. I'll strike at her—at her heart, too; for I will strike through the Italian."
"By Jove!"
"I will, I swear!" cried Dacres, gloomily.
"You're mad, Dacres. You imagine all this. You're like a madman in a dream."
"It's no dream. I'll follow her. I'll track her."