ry instant I make my claim you will say yes?"

"I shall not have strength for more than to nod."

Carlo shuddered at the delicious image of her weakness.

"My Sandra! Vittoria, my soul! my bride!"

"O my Carlo! Do you go to Vicenza? And did you know I was among these
people?"

"You will hear everything from little Leone Rufo, who is wounded and
accompanies you to Brescia. Speak of nothing. Speak my name, and look at
me. I deserve two minutes of blessedness."

"Ah! my dearest, if I am sweet to you, you might have many!"

"No; they begin to hum a reproach at me already, for I must be marching.
Vicenza will soon bubble on a fire, I suspect. Comfort my mother; she
wants a young heart at her elbow. If she is alone, she feeds on every
rumour; other women scatter in emotions what poisons her. And when my
bride is with her, I am between them."

"Yes, Carlo, I will go," said Vittoria, seeing her duty at last through
tenderness.

Carlo sprang from her side to meet Angelo, with whom he exchanged some
quick words. The bugle was sounding, and Barto Rizzo audible. Luigi came
to, her, ruefully announcing that the volunteers had sacked the carriage
behaved worse than the Austrians; and that his padrone, the signor
Antonio-Pericles, was off like a gossamer. Angelo induced her to remain
on the spot where she stood till the carriage was seen on the Schio road,
when he led her to it, saying that Carlo had serious work to do. Count
Karl Lenkenstein was lying in the carriage, supported by Wilfrid and by
young Leone Rufo, who sat laughing, with one eye under a cross-bandage
and an arm slung in a handkerchief. Vittoria desired to wait that she
might see her lover once more; but Angelo entreated her that she should
depart, too earnestly to leave her in doubt of there being good reason
for it and for her lover's absence. He pointed to Wilfrid: "Barto Rizzo
captured this man; Carlo has released him. Take him with you to attend on
his superior officer." She drew Angelo's observation to the first morning
colours over the peaks. He looked up, and she knew that he remembered
that morning of their flight from the inn. Perhaps he then had the image
of his brother in his mind, for the colours seemed to be plucking at his
heart, and he said, "I have lost him."

"God help you, my friend!" said Vittoria, her throat choking.

Angelo pointed at the insensible nobleman: "These live. I do not grudge
him his breath or his chances; but why should the