ut in
a more horrible and inhuman manner than even she had suggested or
suspected.

Cavalcanti would have hurled himself against the door but that I set a
hand upon his arm to restrain him, and a finger of my other hand--the
one that held the dagger--to my lips.

Softly I tried the latch. I was amazed to find the door yield. And yet,
where was the need to lock it? What interruption could he have feared in
a house that evidently had been delivered over to him by the bridegroom,
a house that was in the hands of his own people?

Very quietly I thrust the door open, and we stood there upon the
threshold--Cavalcanti and I--father and lover of that sweet maid who was
the prey of this foul Duke. We stood whilst a man might count a dozen,
silent witnesses of that loathsome scene.

The bridal chamber was all hung in golden arras, save the great carved
bed which was draped in dead-white velvet and ivory damask--symbolizing
the purity of the sweet victim to be offered up upon that sacrificial
altar.

And to that dread sacrifice she had come--for my sake, as I was to
learn--with the fearful willingness of Iphigenia. For that sacrifice she
had been prepared; but not for this horror that was thrust upon her now.

She crouched upon a tall-backed praying-stool, her gown not more white
than her face, her little hands convulsively clasped to make her prayer
to that monster who stood over her, his mottled face all flushed,
his eyes glowing as they considered her helplessness and terror with
horrible, pitiless greed.

Thus we observed them, ourselves unperceived for some moments, for
the praying-stool on which she crouched was placed to the left, by the
cowled fire-place, in which a fire of scented wood was crackling, the
scene lighted by two golden candlebranches that stood upon the table
near the curtained window.

"O, my lord!" she cried in her despair, "of your mercy leave me, and no
man shall ever know that you sought me thus. I will be silent, my lord.
O, if you have no pity for me, have, at least, pity for yourself. Do not
cover yourself with the infamy of such a deed--a deed that will make you
hateful to all men."

"Gladly at such a price would I purchase your love, my Bianca! What
pains could daunt me? Ah, you are mine, you are mine!"

As the hawk that has been long poised closes its wings and drops at
last upon its prey, so swooped he of a sudden down upon her, caught and
dragged her up from the praying-stool to crus