Now in the solitude of his studio he had found leisure to follow out the results to the last link of the chain.
He saw clearly that even if he eluded discovery after the crime, he could never escape from the horror of his dead brother's presence.
He laid the silver figure of the Christ straight before him upon the leathern pad, and looked intently at it, while his hands played idly with the tools upon the table.

His deep-set, heavy eyes gazed fixedly at the wonderful face, with an expression which had not yet been there.
There was no longer any smile upon his thin lips, and his dark emaciated features were restful and quiet, almost solemn in their repose.
"I am glad I did not do it," he said aloud after some minutes.
Still he gazed at his work, and the impression stole over him that but for a slight thing he might yet have killed his brother.

If he had left the figure more securely propped upon the pad, it could not have slipped upon the bench; it could not have made that small distinct sound just as he was examining the place which was to have been his brother's grave; he would not have been suddenly frightened; he would not have gone over the matter in his mind as he had done, from the point of view of a future fear; he would have waited anxiously for another opportunity, and when it presented itself he would have struck the blow, and Paolo would have been dead, if not to-day, to-morrow.

There would have been a search which might or might not have resulted in the discovery of the body.
Then there would have been, the heartrending grief of his wife, of Lucia, and the black suspicious looks of Gianbattista.

The young man had heard him express a wish that Paolo might disappear.