ustrated the plot. On the other hand, by deferring his warning to
Savonarola until the morning, he would be almost sure to lose the
opportunity of warning Spini that the Frate had changed his mind; and
the band of Compagnacci would come back in all the rage of
disappointment. This last, however, was the risk he chose, trusting to
his power of soothing Spini by assuring him that the failure was due
only to the Frate's caution.

Tito was annoyed. If he had had to smile it would have been an unusual
effort to him. He was determined not to encounter Romola again, and he
did not go home that night.

She watched through the night, and never took off her clothes. She
heard the rain become heavier and heavier. She liked to hear the rain:
the stormy heavens seemed a safeguard against men's devices, compelling
them to inaction. And Romola's mind was again assailed, not only by the
utmost doubt of her husband, but by doubt as to her own conduct. What
lie might he not have told her? What project might he not have, of
which she was still ignorant? Every one who trusted Tito was in danger;
it was useless to try and persuade herself of the contrary. And was not
she selfishly listening to the promptings of her own pride, when she
shrank from warning men against him? "If her husband was a malefactor,
her place was in the prison by his side"--that might be; she was
contented to fulfil that claim. But was she, a wife, to allow a husband
to inflict the injuries that would make him a malefactor, when it might
be in her power to prevent them? Prayer seemed impossible to her. The
activity of her thought excluded a mental state of which the essence is
expectant passivity.

The excitement became stronger and stronger. Her imagination, in a
state of morbid activity, conjured up possible schemes by which, after
all, Tito would have eluded her threat; and towards daybreak the rain
became less violent, till at last it ceased, the breeze rose again and
dispersed the clouds, and the morning fell clear on all the objects
around her. It made her uneasiness all the less endurable. She wrapped
her mantle round her, and ran up to the loggia, as if there could be
anything in the wide landscape that might determine her action; as if
there could be anything but roofs hiding the line of street along which
Savonarola might be walking towards betrayal.

If she went to her godfather, might she not induce him, without any
specific revelation