The whole town, gathered below, waited in an awful silence. The shock of
this danger had come upon them like a day of judgment.
Dylar stood apart, gazing alternately at the signals and at Iona’s form,
the blue flutter of her garments like a puff of smoke on the mountain
side.
No one ventured to approach him.
There was a struggle in his mind. What should he do with these men? A
fierce rage was boiling in his heart toward them. It was of their own
seeking—the meddlers!
A hand was laid on his arm. Professor Pearlstein stood beside him. They
were in the Square near the pulpit, on the front of which were letters
of gold. His hand still pressing Dylar’s arm, the old man stretched his
staff out and drew it along the words: _Thou shalt not kill_.
Dylar turned away, and began to walk to and fro. He became aware of his
people all about him, and of Tacita, her child in her arms, crouched on
a mat at his feet. She gave the infant to a woman near her, and went to
link her arm in his.
“My Love,” she said, “the torrent is turned. It was turned before the
door was open.”
He stopped to look at the signals. He had not looked for half an hour.
The door was open; but the road had first been closed.
A murmur of prayer rose trembling. The shock had been too great. The
strain was yet too great.
And then again the signals changed. All danger was over. The strangers
were gone on their way.
And yet the people waited, only whispering their thanksgiving.
Soon came the signal that all was well, and Elena at the Pines ready to
enter.
Then the bells were rung and they sang “Te Deum.”
But no one went indoors. Not till Elena had come, till all was
explained, could they think of anything else.
The messenger from the castle arrived with his story, and the cards of
their visitors.
“Don Claudio Loredan!” exclaimed Tacita, looking at her husband.