I could make no guess at what the youth had meant; but the girl's
face told me that the stroke was cruel, and (as often happens with
the weak) his own cruelty worked him into a passion.
"But who is this man with you?" he demanded, the blood rushing to his
face. "And how came you alone with him, and Stephanu, and
Marc'antonio? You don't tell me that the others have deserted!"
"No one has deserted, brother. You will find them all upon the
mountain."
"And the recruits? Is this a recruit?"
"There are no recruits."
"No recruits? By God, sister, this is too bad! Has this cursed
rumour spread, then, all over the countryside that honest men avoid
us like a plague--us, the Colonne!" He checked his tongue as she
drew herself up and turned from him, before the staring soldiery,
with drawn mouth and stony eyes; but stepped a pace after her on a
fresh tack of rage.
"But you have not answered me. Who is this man, I repeat? And eh?--
but what in God's name have we here?" He halted, staring at the
half-digged grave and Nat's body laid beside it.
Marc'antonio stepped forward.
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