And
he had set himself to arrange the meeting between Gianluca and Don
Teodoro, and each hour was precious.
His face helped him, for he did not easily betray emotion; he rarely
changed colour at all, and was not a man of mobile features. But he had
grown thinner since he had been in Muro, and the clearly cut curves that
marked the Saracen strain in him were sharper and more defined.
He went in and met Veronica in the large room in which they usually
fenced, and which lay between what was really the drawing-room and the
apartment set aside for Gianluca and Taquisara. She was standing alone
beside the table, her face very white, and as she turned to Taquisara,
he saw something desperate in her eyes.
"I have seen the doctor again," she said, not waiting for any greeting,
and knowing that he would understand.
"And I have seen the priest," answered Taquisara.
She started, and pressed her lips tightly to suppress something. Her
eyes wandered slowly and then came back to the Sicilian before she
spoke.
"You have done right," she said, and then paused a second. "He is going
to die to-day," she added, very low.
"That is not sure," replied Taquisara. "The doctor says that he has
known cases--"
"No," interrupted Veronica. "I know it--I feel it."
She was resting one hand on the heavy table, and as she spoke she bent
down, as though bowed in bodily pain. Taquisara saw the sharp lines in
the smooth young forehead, and his teeth bit hard on one another as he
watched her.
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