Part 14 (1/2)

”I will go to-morrow, then,” replied Moratti, and she looked away from him.

It was a moment of temptation. Almost did a rush of words come to the captain's lips. He felt as if he must take her in his arms and tell her that he loved her as man never loved woman. It was an effort; but he was getting stronger in will daily, and he crushed down the feeling.

”It is getting chill for you,” he said; ”we had better go in.”

”Tell me,” she answered, not heeding his remark, ”tell me exactly where you are going?”

”I do not know--perhaps to join Piccolomini in Bohemia--perhaps to join Alva in the Low Countries--wherever a soldier's sword has work to do.”

”And you will come back?”

”Perhaps.”

”A great man, with a _condotta_ of a thousand lances--and forget Pieve.”

”As G.o.d is my witness--never--but it is chill, Madonna--come in.”

When they came in, Bernabo of Pieve was not alone, for standing close to the old man, his back to the fire, and rubbing his hands softly together, was the tall, gaunt figure of the Cavaliere Michele di Lippo.

”A sudden visit, dear cousin,” he said, greeting Felicita, and turning his steel-grey eyes, with a look of cold inquiry in them, on Moratti.

”The Captain Guido Moratti--my cousin, the Cavaliere di Lippo.”

”Of Castel Lippo, on the Greve,” put in di Lippo. ”I am charmed to make the acquaintance of the Captain Moratti. Do you stay long in Pieve, captain?”

”I leave to-morrow.” Moratti spoke shortly. His blood was boiling, as he looked on the gloomy figure of the cavaliere, who watched him furtively from under his eyelids, the shadow of a sneer on his face.

He was almost sick with shame when he thought how he was in di Lippo's hands, how a word from him could brand him with ignominy beyond repair. Some courage, however, came back to him with the thought that, after all, he held cards as well, as for his own sake, di Lippo would probably remain quiet.

”So soon!” said di Lippo with a curious stress on the word soon, and then added, ”That is bad news.”

”I have far to go, signore,” replied Moratti coldly, and the conversation then changed. It was late when they retired; and as the captain bent over Felicita's hand, he held it for a moment in his own broad palm, and said: ”It is good-bye, lady, for I go before the dawn to-morrow.”

She made no answer; but, with a sudden movement, detached a bunch of winter violets she wore at her neck, and thrusting them in Moratti's hand, turned and fled. The Count was half asleep, and did not notice the pa.s.sage; but di Lippo said with his icy sneer: ”Excellent--you work like an artist, Moratti.”

”I do not understand you;” and turning on his heel, the captain strode off to his room.

An hour or so later, he was seated in a low chair, thinking. His valise lay packed, and all was ready for his early start. He still held the violets in his hand, but his face was dark with boding thoughts. He dreaded going and leaving Felicita to the designs of di Lippo. There would be other means found by di Lippo to carry out his design; and with a groan, the captain rose and began to pace the room.

He was on the cross with anxiety. If he went without giving warning of di Lippo's plans, he would still be a sharer in the murder--and the murder of Felicita, for a hair of whose head he was prepared to risk his soul. If, on the other hand, he spoke, he would be lost forever in her eyes. Although it was winter, the room seemed to choke him, and he suddenly flung open the door and, descending the dim stairway, went out into the balcony. It was bright with moonlight, and the night was clear as crystal. He leaned over the battlements and racked his mind as to his course of action. At last he resolved. He would take the risk, and speak out, warn Bernabo of Pieve at all hazards, and would do so at once. He turned hastily, and then stopped, for before him in the moonlight stood the Cavaliere Michele di Lippo.

”I sought you in your chamber, captain,” he said in his biting voice, ”and not finding you, came here----”

”And how did you know I would be here?”

”Lovers like the moonlight, and you can see the light from her window in Ligo's Tower,” said di Lippo, and added sharply: ”So you are playing false, Moratti.”

The captain made no answer; there was a singing in his ears, and a sudden and terrible thought was working. His hand was on the hilt of his dagger, a spring, a blow, and di Lippo would be gone. And no one would know. But the cavaliere went on, unheeding his silence.

”You are playing false, Moratti. You are playing for your own hand with my hundred crowns. You think your s.h.i.+p has come home. Fool! Did you imagine I would allow this? But I still give you a chance. Either do my business to-night--the way is open--or to-morrow you are laid by the heels as a thief and a bravo. What will your Felicita----”