I have scarce been out of the saddle for three days and three
nights--this is the fourth," I informed him. "I have had but three hours'
sleep since we left Rome. I am done," I admitted. "You, sir, had best
take your daughter. She is no longer safe with me."

It was so. The fierce tension which had banished sleep from me whilst
these things were doing, being now relaxed, left me exhausted as
Galeotto had been at Bologna. And Galeotto had urged me to halt and rest
there! He had begged for twelve hours! I could now thank Heaven from a
full heart for having given me the strength and resolution to ride on,
for those twelve hours would have made all the difference between Heaven
and Hell.

Cavalcanti himself would not take her, confessing to some weakness. For
all that he insisted that his wound was not serious, yet he had lost
much blood through having neglected in his rage to stanch it. So it was
to Falcone that fell the charge of that sweet burden.

The last thing I remember was Cavalcanti's laugh, as, from the high
ground we had mounted, he stopped to survey a ruddy glare above the city
of Piacenza, where, in a vomit of sparks, Cosimo's fine palace was being
consumed.

Then we rode down into the valley again; and as we went the thud of
hooves grew more and more distant, and I slept in the saddle as I rode,
a man-at-arms on either side of me, so that I remember no more of the
doings of that strenuous night.

CHAPTER XI. THE PENANCE

I awakened in the chamber that had been mine at Pagliano before my
arrest by order of the Holy Office, and I was told upon awakening that I
had slept a night and a day and that it was eventide once more.

I rose, bathed, and put on a robe of furs, and then Galeotto came to
visit me.

He had arrived at dawn, and he too had slept for some ten hours since
his arrival, yet despite of it his air was haggard, his glance overcast
and heavy.

I greeted him joyously, conscious that we had done well. But he remained
gloomy and unresponsive.

"There is ill news," he said at last. "Cavalcanti is in a raging fever,
and he is sapped of strength, his body almost drained of blood. I even
fear that he is poisoned, that Farnese's dagger was laden with some
venom."

"O, surely... it will be well with him!" I faltered. He shook his head
sombrely, his brows furrowed.

"He must have been stark mad last night. To have raged as he did with
such a wound upon him, and to have ridden ten miles aft