From the window of my saloon I could see him sauntering easily down the
hotel steps and from thence along the street. How I cursed him as he
stepped jauntily on--how I hated his debonair grace and easy manner! I
watched the even poise of his handsome head and shoulders, I noted the
assured tread, the air of conscious vanity--the whole demeanor of the
man bespoke his perfect self-satisfaction and his absolute confidence
in the brightness of the future that awaited him when that stipulated
six months of pretended mourning for my untimely death should have
expired. Once, as he walked on his way, he turned and paused--looking
back--he raised his hat to enjoy the coolness of the breeze on his
forehead and hair. The light of the moon fell full on his features and
showed them in profile, like a finely-cut cameo against the dense
dark-blue background of the evening sky. I gazed at him with a sort of
grim fascination--the fascination of a hunter for the stag when it
stands at bay, just before he draws his knife across its throat. He was
in my power--he had deliberately thrown himself in the trap I had set
for him. He lay at the mercy of one in whom there was no mercy. He had
said and done nothing to deter me from my settled plans. Had he shown
the least tenderness of recollection for me as Fabio Romani, his friend
and benefactor--had he hallowed my memory by one generous word--had he
expressed one regret for my loss--I might have hesitated, I might have
somewhat changed my course of action so that punishment should have
fallen more lightly on him than on her. For I knew well enough that
she, my wife, was the worst sinner of the two. Had SHE chosen to
respect herself, not all the forbidden love in the world could have
touched her honor. Therefore, the least sign of compunction or
affection from Ferrari for me, his supposed dead friend, would have
turned the scale in his favor, and in spite of his treachery,
remembering how SHE must have encouraged him, I would at least have
spared him torture. But no sign had been given, no word had been
spoken, there was no need for hesitation or pity, and I was glad of it!
All this I thought as I watched him standing bareheaded in the
moonlight, on his way to--whom? To my wife, of course. I knew that well
enough. He was going to console her widow's tears--to soothe her aching
heart--a good Samaritan in very earnest! He moved, he passed slowly out
of my sight. I waited till I had seen the last g