"The brute will not be satisfied till he has emptied the bag," thought Tito; but aloud he said,—"Swallowed all as easily as you swallow a cup of Trebbiano. Ha! I see torches: there must be a dead body coming. The pestilence has been spreading, I hear."
"Santiddio! I hate the sight of those biers. Good-night," said Spini, hastily moving off.
The torches were really coming, but they preceded a church dignitary who was returning homeward; the suggestion of the dead body and the pestilence was Tito's device for getting rid of Spini without telling him to go. The moment he had moved away, Tito turned to Romola, and said, quietly,—
"Do not be alarmed by anything that bestia has said, my Romola. We will go on now: I think the rain has not increased."
She was quivering with indignant resolution; it was of no use for Tito to speak in that unconcerned way. She distrusted every word he could utter.
"I will not go on," she said. "I will not move nearer home until I have some security against this treachery being perpetrated."
"Wait, at least, until these torches have passed," said Tito, with perfect self-command, but with a new rising of dislike to a wife who this time, he foresaw, might have the power of thwarting him in spite of the husband's predominance.
The torches passed, with the Vicario dell' Arcives-
