that she would not have welcomed me naked, have cherished me dying, have
died herself to save me? Alas, no! It was because I had been drawn on to
Siena by that lovely, haunting, beckoning, beguiling vision of Aurelia,
my torture and stem of shame. Why, finally, were my eyes not lifted up
to her wistful eyes, as she sat--poor sempstress--in that upper room? It
was because of my accursed prosperity. It was because my eyes were cased
and swollen in pride; because my fine horse held them; because I thought
I had but to nod and be obeyed by--my wife! Thy wife, sayest thou,
Francis? Nay, wretched fool, but thy SLAVE! Out upon thee--out!

White and suffering, not knowing what to do, I sat by my untasted board
and gave the letter into Belviso's hand to read. He read it carefully,
and Fra Palamone peeped over his shoulder. He was the first to speak.

He clacked his tongue to his palate--that gross and forcible rogue; he
looked all about him with his arms spread abroad, as if he were scouring
the air to find Virginia. "She's off," he said, "she's off, that's
plain. Bolted like a coney to the hills. Now, who's our man?"

I struck my breast. "It is I, Fra Palamone. I am her man."

He inspected me for half a moment, as if to judge of the possibility;
but took no further notice of me. He walked to the window and looked
out--up and down the street. "Clean heels," says he, "and she was within
reach of my hand."

"What!" I cried. "It was she who----" I did not finish but rushed at the
door. Belviso, divining my insane purpose, caught me by the coat.

"Stay, Don Francis--let any one go but you." Seeing that I paused