A fierce, grim smile distorted his dark face, and he involuntarily laid his hand upon his breast, where he habitually carried a pistol, so small that it looked like a toy, but which held one deadly bullet, which was destined for a false woman’s heart.
“Revenge, revenge!” he muttered bitterly, and the intense Italian side of his nature shone in his glittering dark eyes, and made his voice hoarse and intense with passion. If Nettie Frayne could have seen and heard him, she would have given up her girlish hopes of captivating him, and fled in terror from the evil gleam of his strange, dark eyes.
CHAPTER XXIV.
THE WEDDING HOUR.
“An Italian night, all moonlight, deep blue sky, and flowers—it is what I would have chosen over everything for my wedding night,” Fair whispered to her lover, when they came to tell her that it was really time for her to go into the house and put on her wedding dress.
She had been with him all the afternoon, contrary to all precedent, and to the scandal of the bridesmaids, who declared that she ought to be getting ready.
“Getting ready all the afternoon? Why, Betty can dress me in an hour,” laughed the girl, and she went up to Mrs. Howard, put her arms around the lady’s neck, and, lifting her sweet, coaxing face, murmured:
“Is it so very wrong for me to be with him a little while this afternoon? He wishes it very much, and so do I.”
“But after to-day you will have him always, darling, and the girls all seem to wish you to stay with them.”
“I know, but to-morrow he will be my husband. This is the last day I shall have with my lover.”
“My dear girl, he will always be your lover.”