ers tells me what she
expects of me."

"What does she expect of you, then?"

"Oh, nothing! Except that I should try whether your father's gun will
kill a man as surely as it kills a partridge."

"What an idea! You can actually believe that, when you have just
acknowledged that she has said nothing to you yet? It really is too
dreadful of you!"

"If her thoughts were not fixed on vengeance, she would have spoken
to me at once about our father; she has never done it. She would have
mentioned the names of those she considers--wrongly, I know--to be his
murderers. But no; not a word! That is because we Corsicans, you
see, are a cunning race. My sister realizes that she does not hold me
completely in her power, and she does not choose to startle me while I
may still escape her. Once she has led me to the edge of the precipice,
and once I turn giddy there, she will thrust me into the abyss."

Then Orso gave Miss Nevil some details of his father's death, and
recounted the principal proofs which had culminated in his belief that
Agostini was the assassin.

"Nothing," he added, "has been able to convince Colomba. I saw that by
her last letter. She has sworn the Barricini shall die, and--you see,
Miss Nevil, what confidence I have in you!--they would not be alive now,
perhaps, if one of the prejudices for which her uncivilized education
must be the excuse had not convinced her that the execution of this
vengeance belongs to me, as head of her family, and that my honour
depends upon it!"

"Really and truly, Monsieur della Rebbia!" said Miss Nevil, "you slander
your sister!"

"No. As you have said it yourself, she is a Corsican; she thinks as they
all think. Do you know why I was so sad yesterday?"

"No. But for some time past you have been subject to these fits
of sadness. You were much pleasanter in the earlier days of our
acquaintance."

"Yesterday, on the contrary, I was more cheery and happy than I
generally am. I had seen how kind, how indulgent, you were to my sister.
The colonel and I were coming home in a boat. Do you know what one of
the boatmen said to me in his infernal _patois_? 'You've killed a deal
of game, Ors' Anton', but you'll find Orlanduccio Barricini a better
shot than you!'"

"Well, what was there so very dreadful in that remark? Are you so very
much set upon being considered a skilful sportsman?"

"But don't you see the ruffian was telling me I shouldn't have courage
to kill Orlanduccio!"