"If that is the case," said Macomer, "the sooner they are married, the
better. Save her life, Bosio! Save her life! Do not let her die of love
for you!"
He, who rarely laughed, laughed now, and the sound was horrible in his
brother's ears. Then he suddenly turned away and left the room, still
drily chuckling to himself. It was quite unconscious and an effect of
his overwrought and long-controlled nerves.
Matilde and Bosio were alone again, and they knew that he would not come
back. Bosio sank into his chair again, and pressed the palms of his
hands to his eyes, resting his elbows on his knees.
"The infamy of it!" he groaned, in the bitterness of his weak misery.
Matilde stood beside him, and gently stroked his hair where it was
streaked with grey. He moved impatiently, as though to shake off her
strong hand.
"No," she said, and her voice grew as soft as velvet. "It is to save
me--to save us all."
He shook her off, and rose to his feet with spasmodic energy.
"I cannot--I will not--never!" he cried, walking away from her with
irregular steps.
"But it will be so much better--for Veronica, too," she said softly, for
she knew how to frighten him.
He turned with startled eyes. Then, with the impulse of a man escaping
from something which he is not strong enough to face, he reached the
door in two quick strides, and went out without looking back.
Matilde watched the door, as it closed, and stood still a few seconds
before she left the room.
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