She could just discern his action as he shrugged his shoulders, and spread out his palms in silence.
That cold dislike which is the anger of unimpassioned beings was hardening within him.
“If the Frate leaves the city—if any harm happens to him,” said Romola, after a slight pause, in a new tone of indignant resolution—“I will declare what I have heard to the Signoria, and you will be disgraced. What if I am your wife?” she went on, impetuously; “I will be disgraced with you. If we are united, I am that part of you that will save you from crime. Others shall not be betrayed.”
“I am quite aware of what you would be likely to do, anima mia ,” said Tito, in the coolest of his liquid tones; “therefore if you have a small amount of reasoning at your disposal just now, consider that if you believe me in nothing else, you may believe me when I say I will take care of myself, and not put it in your power to ruin me.”
“Then you assure me that the Frate is warned—he will not go beyond the gates?”
“He shall not go beyond the gates.”
There was a moment’s pause, but distrust was not to be expelled.
“I will go back to San Marco now and find out,” Romola said, making a movement forward.
“You shall not!” said Tito, in a bitter whisper, seizing her wrists with all his masculine force. “I am master of you. You shall not set yourself in opposition to me.”
There were passersby approaching. Tito had heard them, and that was why he spoke in a whisper. Romola was too conscious of being mastered