‘He’s only stunned. And, poor fellow, he doesn’t know any better; he was nothing but their dupe. It’s a pity to send him to the galleys for life.’
They dropped a rug over the man and turned into the hall, which was hot with the smell of powder and smoking candles. Sybert threw the door wide and let the moonlight stream in. It was a queer sight it looked upon. Copley, weak from his wound, had collapsed into a tall carved chair, while the two ladies, in blood-stained evening dresses, were anxiously bending over him. Melville, with the still smoking revolver in his hand and a jewelled dagger sticking from his pocket, was frenziedly inquiring, ‘For the Lord’s sake, has any one got any whisky?’ Gerald, in his white nightgown and little bare legs, was howling dismally on the stairway; while Granton, from the landing, looked grimly down upon the scene with the air of an avenging Nemesis. The next moment the soldiers had come trooping in, and everything was a babel of cries and ejaculations and excited questions. In the midst of the confusion Mrs. Copley suddenly drew herself up and pronounced her ultimatum.
‘On the very first steamer that sails, we are going back to America to live!’
Marcia uttered a little hysterical laugh, and Melville joined in.
‘And I think you’d better go with them, my boy,’ he said, laying a grimy hand on Sybert’s arm. ‘I suspect that your goose is pretty thoroughly cooked in Italy.’
Sybert shook the elder man’s hand off, with a short laugh that was not very mirthful.
‘I’ve suspected that for some time.’ And he turned on his heel and strode out to the loggia, where he began talking with the soldiers.
‘Poor fellow!’ Melville glanced at Marcia and shook his head. ‘It’s a bad dose!’ he murmured. ‘I have a curiosity to see with what grace he swallows it.’
Marcia looked after Sybert with eyes that were filled with sympathy. She realized that it was a bitter time for him, though she did not know just why; but she had seen the spasm that crossed his face at Tarquinio’s cry, ‘You have betrayed us!’ She half started to follow him, and then she drew back quickly. Through the open door she had caught a glimpse of Sybert and a soldier bending over the Camorrist’s body. They had opened his shirt in front, and she had seen the purple crucifix covered with blood. She leaned back against the wall, faint at the sight. It seemed as if the impressions of this dreadful day could never leave her!