Bob Tulloch, who had been with me at Charterhouse, stroked his dark beard and replied in the negative, while the stranger, who had been watching us very closely, said in Italian in a low faint voice:-- "I know! I know! I'm dying--dying!" and he laughed curiously, almost triumphantly. "I'm dying--and I shall escape them. Ah! signore," he added, with his bright black eyes fixed upon mine, "if you only knew the truth--the terrible, awful truth--you would pity me--you would, I am convinced, stand my friend. You would not believe the evil that men say of me." "Then tell me the truth," I urged quickly, bending down to him in eagerness. But he only shook his head and clenched his even white teeth. "No," he said, with a fierce imprecation in Italian. "Mine is a secret--her secret--a secret that I have kept until now--a secret that none shall know!" CHAPTER TWO. TOUCHES A WOMAN'S HONOUR. Tulloch left half an hour later, and Sammy, whose curiosity had been aroused concerning the foreigner, entered the room and inquired after the patient. But hoping to learn more from the stricken man, I sent my friend back to bed and remained there through the night, administering to the patient what my friend Tulloch had ordered. The long hours dragged on in silence. Only the ticking of the cheap American clock broke the quiet. Lying upon his back the stranger fixed his dark eyes upon me, until his hard gaze caused me quite an uncomfortable feeling. It is unpleasant to have a dying man's eyes fixed so attentively upon one. Therefore I shifted my chair, but even then I could not escape that intent penetrating gaze. He seemed as if he were reading my very soul. If I spoke he answered only in low monosyllables. Whenever I attempted to put a question he made a quick gesticulation, indicating his impossibility to reply. And so passed the whole long vigil until day broke in brightening grey, and the sun shone forth again. Yet the man's hard stony stare was horrifying. Somehow it utterly unnerved me. Had Tulloch not declared that the fellow was dying, I should certainly have left him; yet I felt it was my duty as a man to remain there, for was I not the only person in that household acquainted with the Italian tongue? Ever and anon he clenched his teeth tightly and drew a long hard breath, as though bitterly vengeful at thought of some incident of the past. "_Accidenti_!" was an ejaculation that escaped his lips now and then, and by it I knew that he was praying that an accident might befall his enemies--whoever they were. He uttered the most bitter curse that an Italian could utter. Presently, about five o'clock, just as the sun's rays entering through the opening between the dingy old rep curtains fell across the threadbare carpet in a golden bar, he became quiet again. "Ah, signore," he said gratefully, "it is really extremely good of you to put yourself out on my account--a perfect stranger."