f hers.
Considering the state of their secret hearts this might have led to
matter of tragic concern; if they had loved less it would have done so.
As it was, they were quite indifferent. Their hours were a series of
breathless escapades--romance at fever heat. Stolen meetings before
dawn among the dewy rose-bushes, chance touchings, chance kisses,
embraces half tasted, and looks often crossed--of such were their days
at the Schifanoia. Meantime a coiled ladder watched out the sun from a
myrtle thicket, of which and its works came their happy nights. Then, as
she lay in his arms, the Maid of Honour vanished in the child who was so
lovely because she so loved; she could prattle, in the soft Venetian
brogue, of boundless faith in her little lord, of her simple admiration
of him and all he did, of her wonder and delight to be loved. She could
tell him of what she could do, and of how much she could never do, to
please him and pay him honour. And Angioletto would nod gravely at each
point that she made, and kiss her now and then very softly to show her
that he was perfectly satisfied. So soon as the first swallow twittered
in the eaves, or the first pale line of light trembled at the casement,
he had to fly. But he waited in the rosery till she came tiptoe out; and
then the day's alarms and the day's delight began. Eh! It was a royal
month, a honeymoon indeed!

But it could not last--barely saw its round of eight and twenty days.
Lionella was a lady born, as it were, in the purple. Command sat lightly
on her; she had never been disobeyed. She now grew querulous, exacting,
suspicious, moody, sometimes petulant, sometimes beseeching. It gave
Angioletto the deuce's own time now and then; but he might yet have
weathered the rocks--for his tact was only equalled by his good
temper--if the Countess had not precipitated matters. There came a day,
and an hour of a day, when she spoke to him. She had spoken before; her
ambitions had always been verbal--but now they were literal, all the
"t's" were crossed. That was a moment for Angioletto to take with quick
breath.

He took it so. Instead of hinting at his duty, or hers, he blundered out
the fact that he did not love her.

"Dog," cried the Countess, "do you dare to tell me that?"

"Madama, I do indeed," he answered sadly, for he saw his house about his
ears.

Lionella checked herself; she bit her lip, put her hands ostentatiously
behind her back.

"You had better leave the h