re me, in positive fear of my hands, I
think.

I swung on my heel and pursued my way.

I went above to seek Cavalcanti, and found him newly risen. Wrapped in
a gown of miniver, he received me with the news that having given the
matter thought, he had determined to sacrifice his pride and remove
Bianca not later than the morrow, as soon as he could arrange it. And to
arrange it he would ride forth at once.

I offered to go with him, and that offer he accepted, whereafter I
lounged in his antechamber waiting until he should be dressed, and
considering whether to impart to him the further information I had that
morning gleaned. In the end I decided not to do so, unable to bring
myself to tell him that so much turpitude might possibly be plotting
against Bianca. It was a statement that soiled her, so it seemed to me.
Indeed I could scarcely bear to think of it.

Presently he came forth full-dressed, booted, and armed, and we went
along the corridor and out upon the gallery. As side by side we were
descending the steps, we caught sight of a singular group in the
courtyard.

Six mounted men in black were drawn up there, and a little in the
foreground a seventh, in a corselet of blackened steel and with a steel
cap upon his head, stood by his horse in conversation with Farnese. In
attendance upon the Duke were Cosimo and some three of his gentlemen.

We halted upon the steps, and I felt Cavalcanti's hand suddenly tighten
upon my arm.

"What is it?" I asked innocently, entirely unalarmed. "These are
familiars of the Holy Office," he answered me, his tone very grave. In
that moment the Duke, turning, espied us. He came towards the staircase
to meet us, and his face, too, was very solemn.

We went down, I filled by a strange uneasiness, which I am sure was
entirely shared by Cavalcanti.

"Evil tidings, my Lord of Pagliano," said Farnese. "The Holy Office has
sent to arrest the person of Agostino d'Anguissola, for whom it has been
seeking for over a year."

"For me?" I cried, stepping forward ahead of Cavalcanti. "What has the
Holy Office to do with me?"

The leading familiar advanced. "If you are Agostino d'Anguissola, there
is a charge of sacrilege against you, for which you are required to
answer before the courts of the Holy Office in Rome."

"Sacrilege?" I echoed, entirely bewildered--for my first thought had
been that here might be something concerning the death of Fifanti,
and that the dread tribunal of the