Then she went on, no longer afraid of anything that could happen to herself, but in inexpressible terror of what might have happened to her father.
When she had at last passed through the long halls in the state apartment and stood by the door to the sick-room, her hands groped a long time for the latch; and when she had found it, she had not the strength to turn the key.
Then her father called from his room and asked who was there. When she heard his voice and knew that he was alive, everything in her trembled, and burst, and lost its power to serve her. Brain and heart failed her at once, and her muscles could no longer hold her upright. She had still time to think that she had been living in terrible suspense. And with a feeling of relief, she sank down in a long swoon.
Donna Micaela regained consciousness towards morning. In the meantime much had happened. The servants had come out of their hiding-places, and had gone for Donna Elisa. She had taken charge of the deserted palace, had summoned the police, and sent a message to the White Brotherhood. And the latter had carried Giannita’s body to her mother’s house.
When Donna Micaela awoke, she found herself lying on the sofa in a room next her father’s. No one was with her, but in her father’s room she heard Donna Elisa talking.
“My son and my daughter,” said Donna Elisa, sobbing; “I have lost both my son and my daughter.”
Donna Micaela tried to raise herself, but she could not. Her body still lay in a stupor, although her soul was awake.
“Cavaliere, Cavaliere,” said Donna Elisa, “can you understand? The bandits come here from Etna, creeping down to Diamante. The bandits attack the custom-house and shout: ‘Long live Socialism!’ They do it only to frighten people away from the streets and to draw the Carabiniere down to Porta Etnea. There is not a single man from Diamante who has anything to do with it. It is the bandits who arrange it all, to be able to plunder Miss Tottenham and Donna Micaela, two women, Cavaliere! What did those officers think at the court-martial? Did they believe that Gaetano was in league with the bandits? Did they not see that he was a nobleman, a true Alagona, an artist? How could they have sentenced him?”