armless
clerical visage. He had received an excellent education, and knew vastly
more Latin than the majority of mendicant monks. As a good Roman he was
well acquainted with every convent in the city, and knew the names of all
the chief dignitaries of the Capuchin order. When a lad he had frequently
served at Mass, and was acquainted with most of the ordinary details of
monastic life. The worst that could happen to him might be to be called
upon in the course of his travels to hear the dying confession of some
poor wretch who had been stabbed after a game of _mora_. His case was
altogether not so bad as might seem, considering the far greater evils he
had escaped.

At the Porta San Lorenzo the gates were closed as usual, but the dozing
watchman let Del Ferice out of the small door without remark. Any one
might leave the city, though it required a pass to gain admittance during
the night. The heavily-ironed oak clanged behind the fugitive, and he
breathed more freely as he stepped upon the road to Tivoli. In an hour he
had crossed the Ponte Mammolo, shuddering as he looked down through the
deep gloom at the white foam of the Teverone, swollen with the winter
rains. But the fear of the Holy Office was behind him, and he hurried on
his lonely way, walking painfully in the sandals he had been obliged to
put on to complete his disguise, sinking occasionally ankle-deep in mud,
and then trudging over a long stretch of broken stones where the road had
been mended; but not noticing nor caring for pain and fatigue, while he
felt that every minute took him nearer to the frontier hills where he
would be safe from pursuit. And so he toiled on, till he smelled the
fetid air of the sulphur springs full fourteen miles from Rome; and at
last, as the road began to rise towards Hadrian's Villa, he sat down upon
a stone by the wayside to rest a little. He had walked five hours through
the darkness, seeing but a few yards of the broad road before him as he
went. He was weary and footsore, and the night was growing wilder with
gathering wind and rain as the storm swept down the mountains and through
the deep gorge of Tivoli on its way to the desolate black Campagna. He
felt that if he did not die of exposure he was safe, and to a man in his
condition bad weather is the least of evils.

His reflections were not sweet. Five hours earlier he had been dressed as
a fine gentleman should be, seated at a luxurious table in the company of
a handsom