let her brother kill him or not?

"Heavens! That thunder is loud," she exclaimed, as the storm struck
the dreadful house. Up in the loft, the Duke was laughing with
Sparafucile about the airiness of the chamber.

"Well, well, I'm tired," he said, after the cut-throat had gone down
the ladder. "I'll take off my sword and have an hour's sleep, anyway."
He removed his protecting sword, and began to hum to himself while he
was waiting for more wine. The storm, the gay song, the murder which
was about to be committed!--it was a fearful hour.

Down below Sparafucile was saying to his sister: "Go and get my
dagger. This affair will give us a tidy sum of money." Maddalena
listened to the Duke singing above and hesitated.

"He--he is young and--no--we shall not do this thing, Sparafucile,"
she declared.

"Come! No foolishness, now," he growled. "Get my dagger and be quick."
She reluctantly ascended the staircase again to where the Duke was
sleeping. It was not very light. The flickering candle made but a
wavering shadow over all, and as Maddalena went up the ladder, Gilda,
who had returned, softly stole up to the inn door and began to listen
to what went on within, but not daring to enter. She had returned
because for some reason unknown to herself she was oppressed with a
sense of danger to the Duke who had so ill-treated her. Through the
chink of the door she could see the innkeeper at the table drinking.
Gilda had already changed her girl's clothing for that of a youth with
spurs and boots.

Now she saw Maddalena come back down the stairs with the Duke's sword
which she had stolen from his side.

"Oh, it is a horrible night," Gilda whispered to herself, shuddering
and cold and frightened there in the dark, with only Sparafucile's
wicked face before her.

"Brother," Maddalena began, "I am not going to let you kill that young
man up there. I have taken a fancy to him and I won't let you do it."

"You mind your own affairs and get away from here. I'll attend to my
business," he snarled. Upon hearing there was a plan to kill the Duke
whom after all she truly loved, unworthy as he was, Gilda nearly
fainted.

"You just take this sack and mend it," Sparafucile said, throwing an
old sack toward his sister.

"What for?" she asked suspiciously.

"It is to hold your fine young man, up there--when I shall throw him
in the river." Upon hearing that, Gilda sank down upon the stone
step.

"See here! If it were not for the