University of Virginia Library

14. CHAPTER XIV.

Fialto had been returned about an hour, and
was deliberating whether to call on Maldura then
or to wait till morning, when Antonio, livid and
breathless, staggered into the room.

“How now!” said the Count, somewhat startled
at his appearance. “What brings you here?
speak, man — what makes you look so like a thing
dug up?”

“She's dead,” said Antonio.

“Who is dead?”

“She, my mistress.”

In spite of Fialto's hardness he felt a twinge at
his heart. “Poor thing!” said he, after a short
pause. “This is more than I bargained for. But
how was it, Antonio?”

“That is more than I know,” replied Antonio.
“All I can tell is, that about one o'clock, just as I
had fallen asleep, I was suddenly roused by a
frightful shriek — such another I never heard.
What it might be, never entered my head; for I

was so confused that I had quite forgotten your
plot, and what was likely to come of it; so I sprang
out of bed, and ran to the staircase. Holy Francesco,
how he looked!”

“Who?”

“My master — his face and hands bloody, and
his eyes so wild — the great lamp was burning in
the corridor, and I saw him rush past it.”

“Come, leave crossing your lizard's liver,” said
Fialto, “and go on.”

“I have done,” answered Antonio: “he was
gone before I could reach the corridor.

“Dolt! your mistress — how know you she is
dead?”

“I entered her chamber with the other servants,
whom the same noise had brought from their beds.
She was lying on the floor, and — ”

“Enough,” said the Count, “I have other business
for you now.”

“I hope,” stammered Antonio — “I hope 't is
nothing like — ”

A look from Fialto cut short the sentence. “I
must hence to-night,” said he, “so I shall want
horses: look to it that they are in readiness within
an hour. In the meantime I will see Maldura.
Do you hear? within an hour.”

“His hands bloody!” said Fialto, after Antonio

left him. “Then the deed was his. I did not
think the painter had so much of the devil in
him. Maldura said he was all milk; that he
would part and pine, but never dare shed blood.
Had he been a fool it might have been so; but
there is no trusting your gentle tempers where
there's a spark of genius: they are like quiet
waters over volcanoes. Thou art a precious hell-hound,
Maldura! Yet I might have foreseen this,
for I have known such men — but I did not.
Well, 't is done; and — let it go. So there 's an
end on 't.”