seen Tito illuminated for an instant by the direct rays of the lamp, and Tito in his way was as strongly marked a personage as the captain of the Compagnacci. > Romola’s black-shrouded figure had escaped notice, and she now stood behind her husband’s shoulder in the corner of the loggia. Tito was not left to hope
“Ha! my carrier-pigeon!” grated Spini’s harsh voice, in what he meant to be an undertone, while his hand grasped Tito’s shoulder; “what did you run into hiding for? You didn’t know it was comrades who were coming. It’s well I caught sight of you; it saves time. What of the chase tomorrow morning? Will the bald-headed game rise? Are the falcons to be got ready?”
If it had been in Tito’s nature to feel an access of rage, he would have felt it against this bull-faced accomplice, unfit either for a leader or a tool. His lips turned white, but his excitement came from the pressing difficulty of choosing a safe device. If he attempted to hush Spini, that would only deepen Romola’s suspicion, and he knew her well enough to know that if some strong alarm were roused in her, she was neither to be silenced nor hoodwinked: on the other hand, if he repelled Spini angrily the wine-breathing Compagnaccio might become savage, being more ready at resentment than at the divination of motives. He adopted a third course, which proved that Romola retained one sort of power over him—the power of dread.
He pressed her hand, as if intending a hint to her, and said in a good-humoured tone of comradeship—
“Yes, my Dolfo, you may prepare in all security. But take no trumpets with you.”