to the hall. Donna Tullia and her guests had finished
dinner, and the servants had retired to theirs; indeed the footman had
complained to Temistocle of being called away from his meal to open the
door. The Neapolitan pushed his master out upon the stairs, urging him to
use all speed. As the two men hurried along the dark street they
conversed in low tones. Del Ferice was trembling in every joint.

"But Donna Tullia," he almost whined. "I cannot leave her so--she must
know--"

"Save your own skin from the Holy Office, master," answered Temistocle,
dragging him along as fast as he could. "I will go back and tell your
lady, never fear. She will leave Rome to-morrow. Of course you will go
to Naples. She will follow you. She will be there before you."

Del Ferice mumbled an unintelligible answer. His teeth were chattering
with cold and fear; but as he began to realise his extreme peril, terror
lent wings to his heels, and he almost outstripped the nimble Temistoele
in the race for safety. They reached at last the ruined part of the city
near the Porta Maggiore, and in the shadow of the deep archway where the
road branches to the right towards Santa Croce in Gerusalemme, Temistocle
halted.

"Here," he said, shortly. Del Ferice said never a word, but began to
undress himself in the dark. It was a gloomy and lowering night, the
roads were muddy, and from time to time a few drops of cold rain fell
silently, portending a coming storm. In a few moments the transformation
was complete, and Del Ferice stood by his servant's side in the shabby
brown cowl and rope-girdle of a Capuchin monk.

"Now comes the hard part," said Temistocle, producing a razor and a pair
of scissors from the bottom of the bag. Del Ferice had too often
contemplated the possibility of flight to have omitted so important a
detail.

"You cannot see--you will cut my throat," he murmured plaintively.

But the fellow was equal to the emergency. Retiring deeper into the
recess of the arch, he lit a cigar, and holding it between his teeth,
puffed violently at it, producing a feeble light by which he could just
see his master's face. He was in the habit of shaving him, and had no
difficulty in removing the fair moustache from his upper lip. Then,
making him hold his head down, and puffing harder than ever, he cropped
his thin hair, and managed to make a tolerably respectable tonsure. But
the whole operation had consumed half an hour at the least, and Del
Feric