ian Maria running through
his mind. "Treachery?"

"It is what I thought."

Gonzaga took the man by the sleeve of his doublet, and drew him back to
the parapet. They peered over, and from out of the blackness they were
hailed by a faint "Ola!"

"Who goes there?" demanded Romeo.

"A friend," came the answer softly. "A messenger from Babbiano with
letters for the Lord Count of Aquila. Throw me a rope, friends, before I
drown in this trough."

"You rave, fool!" answered him Gonzaga. "We have no counts at
Roccaleone."

"Surely, sir sentinel," replied the voice, "my master, Messer Francesco
del Falco, is here. Throw me a rope, I say."

"Messer Fran----" began Gonzaga. Then he made a noise like a man
choking. It was as if a sudden light of revelation had flooded his
brain. "Get a rope," he harshly bade the sentry. "In the armoury yard.
Despatch, fool!" he added sharply, now fearing interruption.

In a moment the man was back, and the rope was lowered to the visitor
below. A few seconds later Zaccaria stood on the ramparts of Roccaleone,
the water dripping from his sodden garments, and gathering in a pool
about his feet.

"This way," said Gonzaga, leading the man towards the armoury tower,
where a lanthorn was burning. By the light of it he surveyed the
newcomer, and bade the sentry close the door and remain within call,
without.

Zaccaria looked startled at the order. This was scarcely the reception
he had expected after so imperilling his life to reach the castle with
his letter.

"Where is my lord?" he inquired, through teeth that chattered from
the cold of his immersion, wondering vaguely who this very magnificent
gentleman might be.

"Is Messer Francesco del Falco your lord?" asked Romeo.

"He is, sir. I have had the honour to serve him these ten years. I bring
him letters from Messer Fanfulla degli Arcipreti. They are very urgent.
Will you lead me to him?"

"You are very wet," murmured Gonzaga solicitously. "You will take your
death from cold, and the death of a man so brave as to have found a way
through Gian Maria's lines were truly deplorable." He stepped to the
door. "Ola!" he called to the sentry. "Take this brave fellow up there
and find him a change of raiment." He pointed to the upper chamber of
the tower, where, indeed, such things were stored.

"But my letters, sir!" cried Zaccaria impatiently. "They are very
urgent, and hours have I wasted already in waiting for the night."

"Surely you c