“My sister is ill,” said Philip, “and Miss Abbott is guiltless. I should be glad if you did not have to trouble them.” Gino had stooped down by the way, and was feeling the place where his son had lain. Now and then he frowned a little and glanced at Philip. “It is through me,” he continued. “It happened because I was cowardly and idle. I have come to know what you will do.” Gino had left the rug, and began to pat the table from the end, as if he was blind. The action was so uncanny that Philip was driven to intervene. “Gently, man, gently; he is not here.” He went up and touched him on the shoulder. He twitched away, and began to pass his hands over things more rapidly--over the table, the chairs, the entire floor, the walls as high as he could reach them. Philip had not presumed to comfort him. But now the tension was too great--he tried. “Break down, Gino; you must break down. Scream and curse and give in for a little; you must break down.” There was no reply, and no cessation of the sweeping hands. “It is time to be unhappy. Break down or you will be ill like my sister. You will go--” The tour of the room was over. He had touched everything in it except Philip. Now he approached him. He face was that of a man who has lost his old reason for life and seeks a new one. “Gino!” He stopped for a moment; then he came nearer. Philip stood his ground. “You are to do what you like with me, Gino. Your son is dead, Gino. He died in my arms, remember. It does not excuse me; but he did die in my arms.” The left hand came forward, slowly this time. It hovered before Philip like an insect. Then it descended and gripped him by his broken elbow. Philip struck out with all the strength of his other arm. Gino fell to the blow without a cry or a word. “You brute!” exclaimed the Englishman. “Kill me if you like! But just you leave my broken arm alone.” Then he was seized with remorse, and knelt beside his adversary and tried to revive him. He managed to raise him up, and propped his body against his own. He passed his arm round him. Again he was filled with pity and tenderness. He awaited the revival without fear, sure that both of them were safe at last. Gino recovered suddenly. His lips moved. For one blessed moment it seemed that he was going to speak. But he scrambled up in silence, remembering everything, and he made not towards Philip, but towards the lamp. “Do what you like; but think first--” The lamp was tossed across the room, out through the loggia. It broke against one of the trees below. Philip began to cry out in the dark.