s
portals stood wide, and in the opening swung a heavy crimson curtain,
embroidered with a huge golden cross which was bellying outward like an
enormous gonfalon. On the steps a few crippled beggars whined, and a few
faithful took their way to early Mass.

On, up the steep, ill-paved street we climbed to the mighty grey citadel
looming on the hill's crest, like a gigantic guardian brooding over the
city of his trust. We crossed the drawbridge unchallenged, passed under
the tunnel of the gateway, and so came into the vast, untenanted bailey
of the fortress.

I looked about me, beat my hands together, and raised my voice to shout

"Ola! Ola!"

In answer to my call the door of the guardhouse opened presently, and
a man looked out. He frowned at first; then his brows went up and his
mouth fell open.

"It is the Madonnino!" he shouted over his shoulder, and hurried forward
to take my reins, uttering words of respectful welcome, which seemed to
relieve the fears of my peasant, who had never quite believed me what I
proclaimed myself.

There was a stir in the guardhouse, and two or three men of the absurd
garrison my mother kept there shuffled in the doorway, whilst a burly
fellow in leather with a sword girt on him thrust his way through
and hurried forward, limping slightly. In the dark, lowering face
I recognized my old friend Rinolfo, and I marvelled to see him thus
accoutred.

He halted before me, and gave me a stiff and unfriendly salute; then he
bade the man-at-arms to hold my stirrup.

"What is your authority here, Rinolfo?" I asked him shortly.

I am the castellan," he informed me.

"The castellan? But what of Messer Giorgio?"

"He died a month ago."

"And who gave you this authority?"

"Madonna the Countess, in some recompense for the hurt you did me," he
replied, thrusting forward his lame leg.

His tone was surly and hostile; but it provoked no resentment in me
now. I deserved his unfriendliness. I had crippled him. At the moment I
forgot the provocation I had received--forgot that since he had raised
his hand to his lord, it would have been no great harshness to have
hanged him. I saw in him but another instance of my wickedness, another
sufferer at my hands; and I hung my head under the rebuke implicit in
his surly tone and glance.

"I had not thought, Rinolfo, to do you an abiding hurt," said I, and
here checked, bethinking me that I lied; for had I not expressed regret
that I had not broken