ow that you ever see me, else you will lose me for
ever. And now, when I have left you, go straight home, and never follow
me again. Wait till I come to you. Good-bye, my little Tessa: I _will_
come."

There was no help for it; he must turn and leave her without looking
behind him to see how she bore it, for he had no time to spare. When he
did look round he was in the Via de' Benci, where there was no seeing
what was happening on the bridge; but Tessa was too trusting and
obedient not to do just what he had told her.

Yes, the difficulty was at an end for that day; yet this return of Tessa
to him, at a moment when it was impossible for him to put an end to all
difficulty with her by undeceiving her, was an unpleasant incident to
carry in his memory. But Tito's mind was just now thoroughly penetrated
with a hopeful first love, associated with all happy prospects
flattering to his ambition; and that future necessity of grieving Tessa
could be scarcely more to him than the far-off cry of some little
suffering animal buried in the thicket, to a merry cavalcade in the
sunny plain. When, for the second time that day, Tito was hastening
across the Ponte Rubaconte, the thought of Tessa caused no perceptible
diminution of his happiness. He was well muffled in his mantle, less,
perhaps, to protect him from the cold than from the additional notice
that would have been drawn upon him by his dainty apparel. He leaped up
the stone steps by two at a time, and said hurriedly to Maso, who met
him--

"Where is the damigella?"

"In the library; she is quite ready, and Monna Brigida and Messer
Bernardo are already there with Ser Braccio, but none of the rest of the
company."

"Ask her to give me a few minutes alone; I will await her in the
_salotto_."

Tito entered a room which had been fitted up in the utmost contrast with
the half-pallid, half-sombre tints of the library. The walls were
brightly frescoed with "caprices" of nymphs and loves sporting under the
blue among flowers and birds. The only furniture besides the red
leather seats and the central table were two tall white vases, and a
young faun playing the flute, modelled by a promising youth named
Michelangelo Buonarotti. It was a room that gave a sense of being in
the sunny open air.

Tito kept his mantle round him, and looked towards the door. It was not
long before Romola entered, all white and gold, more than ever like a
tall lily. Her white silk garmen