his room, never appearing at the supper-table, but
retiring to concert his future steps. Gerald's first care on entering
his room was to search it thoroughly, though there was not a corner nor
a cupboard capable of concealing a child. He went through the process of
investigation with all the diligence his readings prompted. He sounded
the walls for secret panels, and the floor for trapdoors; but all was
so far safe. He next proceeded to barricade his door with chairs; not,
indeed, to prevent an entrance, but arrayed so skilfully that they must
topple down at the least touch, and thus apprise him of his peril if
sleeping. He then trimmed and replenished his lamp, and with his trusty
rapier at his side, lay down, all dressed as he was, to await what might
happen.

He who has experienced in life what it is to lie watching for the dawn
of a day full of Heaven-knows-what fatalities, patiently expecting the
sun to rise upon what may prove his saddest, his last hour of existence,
even he, however, will fall short of imagining the intense anxiety of
one who with aching ears watches for the slightest sound, the lightest
footfall, or the lowest word that may betoken the approach of danger.
With the intensity of the emotion the senses become preternaturally
acute, and the brain, overcharged with thought, suggests the wildest
and strangest combinations. Through Gerald's mind, too, Cellini's daring
adventures were passing. The dark and narrow streets of old Florence;
the muffled 'sbirri' crowding in the dim doorways; the stealthy
footsteps heard and lost again; the sudden clash of swords and the cries
of combat; the shouts for succour, and the heavy plash into the dark
waters of the Arno, all filled his waking, ay, and his dreamy thoughts,
for he fell asleep at last and slept soundly. The day was just breaking,
a grey, half-pinkish light faintly struggling through his window, when
Gerald started up from his sleep. He had surely heard a sound. It was
his name was called. Was it a human voice that uttered it? or was the
warning from a more solemn world? He bent down his head to listen again;
and now he distinctly heard a low, creaking sound, and as distinctly saw
that the door was slightly moved, and then the words 'Gerald, Gerald,'
whispered. He arose at once, and quickly recognising Tina's voice, drew
nigh the door.

'You have no time to lose, Gerald,' said she rapidly. 'Pippo has taken
the boat and is rowing across the lake; and e