who sat by him, and
was a connection of the husband's, threw comfits at her to make her
return his gaze, warning him at the same time to do nothing which could
compromise her. He accepted the warning, but could not forget the face.
He felt a sudden disgust for the light women and the light pleasures
which were alone within his reach, and determined to change his mode of
life, and leave Arezzo for Rome.

At this juncture a love-letter was brought to him. It purported to come
from the lady at whom he had flung the comfits;[27] offered him her
heart, and begged an interview with him. The bearer was a masked woman,
who owned to an equivocal position in Count Guido's household.
Caponsacchi saw through the trick, declined the proposed interview on
the ground of his priesthood, and completed his answer with an allusion
to the husband, which would punish him in the probable case of its
passing directly into his hands. The next day the same messenger
appeared with a second letter, reproaching him for his cruelty; he
answered in the same strain. But the letters continued, now dropped into
his prayer-book, now flung down to him from a window. At length they
changed their tone. He had been begged to come: he was now entreated to
stay away. The husband, before absent, had returned: indifferent, had
become jealous. His vengeance was aroused; and the sooner Caponsacchi
escaped to Rome, the better. This challenge to his courage had the
intended effect. He wrote word that the street was public if the house
was not, and he would be under the lady's window that evening.

He went. She was standing there, lamp in hand, like Our Lady of Sorrows
on her altar. She vanished, reappeared on a terrace close above his
head, and spoke to him. He had sent her letters, she said, which she
could not read; but she had been told that they spoke of love. She
thought at first that he must be wicked, and then she felt that he could
not be so wicked as to have meant what that woman said; and now that she
saw his face she knew he did not write it. Still, he meant her well when
no one else did. Her need was sore; he alone in the world could help
her; she had determined to call to him. If he had some feverish fancy
for what was not her's to give, he would be cured of it so soon as he
knew all. She told him her story, and entreated him to take her to
Rome, and consign her to her parents' care. He promised, and then his
heart misgave him. Would it be right in hi