“Idiot!” he whispered, as he clutched him again.
Were not the others so taken up with the throbbing influences of the moment they must have heard the rustling of the leaves. But they paid little heed to external affairs. The Italian was speaking.
“Nellie,” he said, “you will drive me mad. But listen, carissima. If I may not love you, I can at least defend you. David Hume-Frazer, the man who murdered my wife’s brother, has returned, and openly boasts that you are waiting to marry him.”
“Boasts! To whom, pray?”
“To me. I heard him say this not fifteen minutes since.”
“Where? You do not know him. He could not be here without my knowledge.”
“Then it is true. You do intend to marry this unconvicted felon?”
“Mr. Capella, I really think you are what English people call ‘cracked.’”
“But you believe me—that this man has come to Beechcroft?”
“It may be so. He has good reasons, doubtless, for keeping his presence here a secret. Whatever they may be, I shall soon know them.”