She cropped her
anger in mid-career, and in a dangerously calm voice she bade him see to
it that by morning he was no longer in Roccaleone. "Profit by the
night," she counselled him, "and escape the vigilance of Gian Maria as
best you can. Here you shall not stay."
At that a great fear took possession of him, putting to flight the last
remnant of his anger. Nor fear alone was it, to do him full justice. It
was also the realisation that if he would take payment from her for this
treatment of him, if he would slake his vengeance, he must stay. One
plan had failed him. But his mind was fertile, and he might devise
another that might succeed and place Gian Maria in Roccaleone. Thus
should he be amply venged. She was turning away, having pronounced his
banishment, but he sprang after her, and upon his knees he now besought
her piteously to hear him yet awhile.
And she, regretting her already of her harshness, and thinking that
perhaps in his jealousy he had been scarce responsible for what he had
said, stood still to hear him.
"Not that, not that, Madonna," he wailed, his tone suggesting the
imminence of tears. "Do not send me away. If die I must, let me die
here at Roccaleone, helping the defence to my last breath. But do not
cast me out to fall into the hands of Gian Maria. He will hang me for my
share in this business. Do not requite me thus, Madonna. You owe me a
little, surely, and if I was mad when I talked to you just now, it was
love of you that drove me--love of you and suspicion of that man of whom
none of us know anything.
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