"Something has occurred!" echoed Randal, not heeding the conclusion of this speech, and scarcely hearing the proverb which the sage delivered in his most emphatic and tragic tone. "Something has occurred! My dear friend, be plainer. What has occurred?" Riccabocca remained silent. "Something that induces you to bestow your daughter on me?"
Riccabocca nodded, and emitted a low chuckle.
"The very laugh of a fiend," muttered Randal. "Something that makes her not worth bestowing. He betrays himself. Cunning people always do."
"Pardon me," said the Italian at last, "if I don't answer your question; you will know later; but, at present, this is a family secret. And now I must turn to another and more alarming cause for my frankness to you." Here Riccabocca's face changed, and assumed an expression of mingled rage and fear. "You must know," he added, sinking his voice, "that Giacomo has seen a strange person loitering about the house, and looking up at the windows; and he has no doubt—nor have I—that this is some spy or emissary of Peschiera's."
"Impossible; how could he discover you?"
"I know not; but no one else has any interest in doing so. The man kept at a distance, and Giacomo could not see his face."
"It may be but a mere idler. Is this all?"
"No; the old woman who serves us said that she was asked at a shop 'if we were not Italians?'"
"And she answered?"
"'No;' but owned that 'we had a foreign servant, Giacomo.'"