their seats and exalted them of low
degree.'"

The wanderers rose very slowly from their knees and went very slowly
out at the sea-door, followed by Hieronymus, who almost carried Robert
in his arms to the outer air.

For some minutes the little church was empty and dark and silent. Then a
side door opened and a woman and a man entered, coming from a quiet
street. The woman was Lycabetta; the man was Hildebrand. Hildebrand
looked curiously around him.

"Why have you brought me here?" he asked.

"Answer me first," Lycabetta replied. "How is the King?"

Hildebrand shrugged his shoulders. "Bloody of purpose, and yet
bloodless. Lustful of purpose, and yet loveless. In his prisons many
wait for death, but none perish; for the King has sworn that none shall
die before the fool Diogenes, and we cannot find the fool. The loveliest
women of Sicily have been torn from their homes to his palace, but they
have not seen the King, for he will love no woman until he has found the
girl Perpetua. And the girl cannot be found."

Lycabetta whispered in his ear:

"Listen; this morning in the flower-market my Lysidice noted a hooded
friar who bought white roses. A wind stirred his cowl and she saw the
face of Diogenes."

Hildebrand started.

"Was she sure?"

"'Tis no face to forget," Lycabetta answered; "though she swears it less
frightful than of old. She made no sign, but she bribed a child to
follow the false friar, and the brat ran him to earth here."

Hildebrand grinned savagely.

"If they be here, no fable of the plague shall save them this time."

Lycabetta caught him eagerly by the arm and drew him behind a concealing
pillar. She had seen the sea-door open and had seen a figure in a
friar's gown.

"Who is this?" she whispered triumphantly to Hildebrand.

Robert came through the sea-door. Inside the church he threw back his
hood and his face was plainly visible to the watchers, themselves
invisible, screened by the pillars and the gloom. Hildebrand pressed
Lycabetta's hand significantly. He had seen all he wanted to see. The
pair slipped quietly out by the door through which they had entered.
Robert advanced slowly to the altar and flung himself on the steps.

"Dear God," he prayed, "let not the guiltless suffer for my guilt.
Punish me to the top of my sin, but pity Sicily."

XV

THE HUNTER'S VOICE

Out of the shadow-land at the back of the altar emerged a white figure,
with a fair face and hair the