aching
the thirteenth hour. Pesaro could not be more than a couple of leagues
farther, and, presently, when we had gained the summit of the slight
hill we were ascending, we beheld in the distance a blurred mass looming
on the edge of the glittering sea. A silver ribbon that uncoiled itself
from the western hills disappeared behind it. That silvery streak was
the River Foglia; that heap of buildings against the landscape's virgin
white, the town of Pesaro.

Madonna pointed to it with a sudden cry of gladness. "See Messer
Biancomonte, how near we are. Courage, my friend; a little farther, and
yonder we have rest and comfort for you."

She had need, in truth, to cry me "Courage!" for I was weakening fast
once more. It may have been the much that I had talked, or the infernal
jolting of my mule, but I was losing blood again, and as we were on the
point of riding forward my senses swam, so that I cried out; and but for
her prompt assistance I might have rolled headlong from my saddle.

As it was, she caught me about the waist as any mother might have
done her son. "What ails you?" she inquired, her newly-aroused anxiety
contrasting sharply with her joyous cry of a moment earlier. "Are you
faint, my friend?" It needed no confession on my part. My condition was
all too plain as I leaned against her frail body for support.

"It is my wound," I gasped. Then I set my teeth in anguish. So near the
haven, and to fail now! It could not be; it must not be. I summoned all
my resolution, all my fortitude; but in vain. Nature demanded payment
for the abuses she had suffered.

"If we proceed thus," she ventured fearfully, "you leaning against me,
and going at a slow pace--no faster than a walk--think you, you can bear
it? Try, good Messer 'Biancomonte."

"I will try, Madonna," I replied. "Perhaps thus, and if I am silent, we
may yet reach Pesaro together. If not--if my strength gives out--the
town is yonder and the day is coming. You will find your way without
me."

"I will not leave you, sir," she vowed; and it was good to hear her.

"Indeed, I hope you may not know the need," I answered wearily. And thus
we started on once more.

Sant' Iddio! What agonies I suffered ere the sun rose up out of the sea
to flood us with his winter glory! What agonies were mine during those
two hours or so of that last stage of our eventful journey! "I must bear
up until we are at the gates of Pesaro," I kept murmuring to myself,
and, as if my