Old Busio uttered a long, croaking wail, and went down on his knees beside
the master he had served so long--the master who would never more need
servant in this world.
It was upon the wings of that pitiful cry that the full understanding of
the thing I had done was borne in upon my soul. I bowed my head, and took
my face in my hands. I saw myself in that moment for what I was. I
accounted myself wholly and irrevocably damned, Be God never so clement,
surely here was something for which even His illimitable clemency could
find no pardon.
I had come to Fifanti's house as a student of humanities and divinities;
all that I had learnt there had been devilries culminating in this hour's
work. And all through no fault of that poor, mean, ugly pedant, who indeed
had been my victim--whom I had robbed of honour and of life.
Never man felt self-horror as I felt it then, self-loathing and self-
contempt. And then, whilst the burden of it all, the horror of it all was
full upon me, a soft hand touched my shoulder, and a soft, quivering voice
murmured urgently in my ear:
"Agostino, we must go; we must go."
I plucked away my hands, and showed her a countenance before which she
shrank in fear.
"We?" I snarled at her. "We?" I repeated still more fiercely, and drove
her back before me as if I had done her a bodily hurt.
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