"And we sit talking here, whilst
this... whilst this... O God!" I sobbed. "We may yet be in time. To horse,
then! Let us away!"

He, too, came to his feet. "Ay, you are right. It but remains to remedy
the evil. Come, then. Anger shall mend my spent strength. It can be
done in three days. We will ride as none ever rode yet since the world
began."

And we did--so desperately that by the morning of the third day,
which was a Sunday, we were in Forli (having crossed the Apennines at
Arcangelo) and by that same evening in Bologna. We had not slept and
we had scarcely rested since leaving Rome. We were almost dead from
weariness.

Since such was my own case, what must have been Galeotto's? He was
of iron, it is true. But consider that he had ridden this way at
as desperate a pace already, to save me from the clutches of the
Inquisition; and that, scarce rested, he was riding north again.
Consider this, and you will not marvel that his weariness conquered him
at last.

At the inn at Bologna where we dismounted, we found old Falcone awaiting
us. He had set out with his master to ride to Rome. But being himself
saddle-worn at the time, he had been unable to proceed farther than
this, and here Galeotto in his fierce impatience had left him, pursuing
his way alone.

Here, then, we found the equerry again, consumed by anxiety. He leapt
forward to greet me, addressing me by the old title of Madonnino which
I loved to hear from him, however much that title might otherwise arouse
harsh and gloomy memories.

Here at Bologna Galeotto announced that he would be forced to rest, and
we slept for three hours--until night had closed in. We were shaken out
of our slumbers by the host as he had been ordered; but even then I lay
entranced, my limbs refusing their office, until the memory of what was
at issue acted like a spur upon me, and caused me to fling my weariness
aside as if it had been a cloak.

Galeotto, however, was in a deplorable case. He could not move a limb.
He was exhausted--utterly and hopelessly exhausted with fatigue and
want of sleep. Falcone and I pulled him to his feet between us; but he
collapsed again, unable to stand.

"I am spent," he muttered. "Give me twelve hours--twelve hours' sleep,
Agostino, and I'll ride with you to the Devil."

I groaned and cursed in one. "Twelve hours!" I cried. "And she... I can't
wait, Galeotto. I must ride on alone."

He lay on his back and stared up at me, and his eyes had