ing--it matters not which--to
charge the princely murderer with his deeds, he tacitly accepted the
finding of his commission of inquiry:--"Ferdinando de' Medici,
Cardinal-Priest of San Giorgio, Grand Duke of Tuscany, poisoned his
brother and his sister at Poggio a Caiano."

Now must the story be told, gathered out of records, more or less
reliable--more or less biassed. It is a story which brings a blush to
the cheek and a lump in the throat, and calls forth feelings of
detestation for the murderer. At the same time it is a thrilling story
of a love stronger than death.

* * * * *

Late one dark night, in November 1563, a gondola shot out from the deep
shadow of the church of Sant' Appolinare, upon the Rio della Canonica,
in Venice, dipped under the Ponte del Storto, and sped its way, swiftly
propelled by two stalwart boatmen.

There was little use to cry out "_Lei_" or "_Stali_," for no other craft
was afloat at that hour, and the gondola was unimpeded in its course.
Crossing the Grand Canal the helmsman made for the Guidecca, and on past
the Punta di Santa Maria, and on still, away across the wide and silent
lagune, right on to Fusina, on the mainland.

In the herse were two persons--a boy and a girl--fast clasped in each
other's arms: she sobbing upon his breast, he comforting her with hot
kisses upon her lips. They were Pietro de' Buonaventuri and Bianca de'
Cappelli. The elopement was complete, and all Pietro's manhood rose as
he held his sweetheart in a strong embrace: he would guard her with his
life, come what might. He knew they were safe from present pursuit, for
to none had he revealed his plans; but he also knew that a price would
be set upon their heads, and daggers dodge their course. Stepping
lightly ashore with his sweetheart, the young man paid his boatmen and
bade them not hurry back to Venice. Then the young couple took the road
to Bologna, on their way to Florence. They had very little money between
them, but Bianca had stuffed into her pocket her jewellery and Pietro
had just received his quarter's salary.

At the Cappello mansion, on the morrow, was a scene of wild confusion.
Messer Bartolommeo Cappello was like a madman; he demanded his daughter
at the hand of her faithful maid, Maria del Longhi, and laid the matter
at once before the Supreme Council. On enquiry, Pietro Buonaventuri, who
had been for long Bianca's most favoured admirer, was neither at the
Sal