r the lady of his mind
was such that he could not evade it.

"You take the language of metaphor, Messere," said he, rather stiffly,
"to serve your occasions. You are of course within your rights. However,
I will beg leave to be excused the red pepper of Messer Ugolino."

"You prefer coals?" cried Ugolino, starting up. "Good! you shall have
them."

That was all; but the malign smile upon the dark youth's face gave a
ring to the words, and an omen.

Late that night Cino was in his chamber writing a _ballata_. His little
oil-lamp was by his side; the words flowed freely from his pen; tears
hot and honest were in his eyes as he felt rather than thought his
exquisite griefs. Despised and rejected of men was he--and why? For the
love of a beautiful lady. Eh, Mother of God, but that was worth the
pain! She had barely lifted her eyes upon him all that day, and while
her brothers gibed had been at no concern to keep straight her scornful
lip. Patience, he was learning his craft! The words flowed like blood
from a vein.

"Love struck me in the side,
And from the wound my soul took wing and flew
To Heaven, and all my pride
Fell, and I knew
There was no balm could stay that wound so wide."

At this moment came a rapping at his door. He went to open it, dreaming
no harm. There stood Ridolfo and Ugolino with swords in their right
hands; in his left Ugolino carried a brazier.

"Gentlemen," said Cino, "what is the meaning of this? Will you break in
upon the repose of your father's guest? And do you come armed against an
unarmed man?"

The pair of them, however, came into the room, and Ridolfo locked the
door behind him. "Look you, Cino," said he, "our father's guests are not
our guests, for our way is to choose our own. There is a vast difference
between us, and it lies in this, that you and the like of you are
word-mongers, phrasers, heart-strokers; whereas we, Master Cino, are, in
Scripture language, doers of the word, rounding our phrases with iron,
and putting in full-stops with the point when they are needed. And we do
not stroke girls' hearts, Cino, but as often as not break men's heads."

Cino, for all his dismay, could not forbear a glance at the speaker's
own damaged pate. "And, after all, Messer Ridolfo, in that you do but
as you are done by, and who will blame you?"

"Hark'ee, Master Giurista," broke in Ugolino, "we have come to prove
some of these fine words of yours. It will be we