CHAPTER VII

"ROSARIO IS DEAD!"


Fenella never became absolutely unconscious. She was for some time
in a state apparently of intense nervous prostration. Her breath was
coming quickly, her eyes and her fingers seemed to be clinging to
his as though for support. Her touch, her intimate presence, her
reliance upon him, seemed to Arnold to infect the very atmosphere of
the place with a thrill of the strangest excitement.

"You think that he is dead?" she faltered once.

"Of course not," he replied reassuringly. "I saw no weapon at all.
It was just a quarrel."

She half closed her eyes.

"There was blood upon his waistcoat," she declared, "and I saw
something flash through the window."

"I will go and see, if you like," Arnold suggested.

Her fingers gripped his.