ar of yours, dear Lazzaro? Am I more than woman,
or you less than man that you should tremble for the confession that in
a wild moment I have dragged from you? For that wild moment I shall be
thankful to my life's end; for your words have been the sweetest ever
my poor ears listened to. Once I thought that I loved the Lord Giovanni
Sforza. But it was you I loved; for the deeds that earned him my
affection were deeds of yours and not of his. Once I told you so in
scorn. Yet since then I have come soberly to ponder it. I account you,
Lazzaro, the noblest friend, the bravest gentleman and the truest lover
that the world has known. Need it surprise you, then, that I love you
and that mine would be a happy life if I might spend it in growing
worthy of this noble love of yours?"

There was a knot in my throat and tears in my eyes--a matter at which I
take no shame. Air seemed to fail me for a moment, and I almost thought
that I should swoon, so overcome was I. Transport the blackest soul from
among the damned of Hell, wash it white of its sins and seat it on one
of the glorious thrones of Heaven, then ponder its emotions, and you
may learn something of what I felt. At last, when I had mastered the
exquisite torture of my joy--

"Madonna mia," I cried, "bethink you of what you say. You are the noble
lady of Santafior, and I--"

"No more of this," she interrupted me. "You are Lazzaro Biancomonte, of
patrician birth, no matter to what odd shifts a cruel fortune may have
driven you. Will you take me?"

She had my face between her palms, and she forced my glance to meet her
own saintly eyes.

"Will you take me, Lazaro?" she repeated.

"Holy Flower of the Quince!" was all that I could murmur, whereat she
gently smiled. "Santo Fior di Cotogno!"

And then a great sadness overwhelmed me. A tide that neaped the frail
bark of happiness high and dry upon the shores of black despair.

"To-morrow Madonna, comes the Lord Ignacio Borgia," I groaned.

"I know, I know," said she. "But I have thought of that. Paula Sforza
di Santafior is dead. Requiescat! We must dispose that they will let her
rest in peace."

CHAPTER XV. AN ILL ENCOUNTER

Speechless I stared at her a moment, so taken was I with the immensity
of the thing that she suggested. Fear, amazement, and joy jostled one
another for the possession of my mind.

"Why do you look so, Lazzaro?" she exclaimed at last. "What is it daunts
you?

"How is the thing possibl