"I tried"--it was my own voice saying this--"yes, indeed, I tried to
save him. He would not, and they killed him . . . and now they also
are killed."
"Yes--yes, I heard them." She peered close. "Can you walk? Try to
think it is a little way; for it is most necessary you should walk."
I had not the smallest notion whether I could walk or not.
It appeared more important that my head was being eaten with red-hot
teeth. But she took my arm and led me.
"Go before us, foolish girl, and make less noise," she commanded the
sobbing Bianca.
"But you must try for _my_ sake," she whispered, "to think it but a
little way."
And I must have done so with success; for of the way through the
streets I remember nothing but the end--a light shining down the
passage of Messer' Fazio's house, a mandolin still tinkling over the
archway behind us, and a door opening upon a company seated at table,
the faces of all--and of Mr. Fett especially--very distinct under the
lamp-light. They rose--it seemed, all at once--to welcome us, and
their faces wavered as they rose.
CHAPTER XXX.
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