e had
given his wife to save him. He felt so little sure of himself that he
never once looked back, lest he should be tempted to send a second man to
stop the fugitive and deliver him up to justice. He ground his teeth
together, and his heart was full of bitter curses as he rode up the hill,
hardly daring to reflect upon what he had done. That, in the eyes of the
law, he had wittingly helped a traitor to escape, troubled his conscience
little. His instinct bade him destroy Del Ferice by giving him up, and he
would have saved himself a vast deal of trouble if he had followed his
impulse. But the impulse really arose from a deep-rooted desire for
revenge, which, having resisted, he regretted bitterly--very much as
Shakespeare's murderer complained to his companion that the devil was at
his elbow bidding him not murder the duke. Giovanni spared his enemy
solely to please his wife, and half-a-dozen words from her had produced a
result which no consideration of mercy or pity could have brought about.

Corona and Gouache had halted at the top of the road to wait for him. By
an imperceptible nod, Giovanni informed his wife that Del Ferice was
safe.

"I am sorry to have cut short our ride," he said, coldly. "My wife found
it chilly in the valley."

Anastase looked curiously at Giovanni's pale face, and wondered whether
anything was wrong. Corona herself seemed strangely agitated.

"Yes," answered Gouache, with his gentle smile; "the mountain air is
still cold."

So the three rode silently back to the castle, and at the gate Gouache
dismounted and left them, politely declining a rather cold invitation to
come in. Giovanni and Corona went silently up the staircase together, and
on into a small apartment which in that cold season they had set apart as
a sitting-room. When they were alone, Corona laid her hands upon
Giovanni's shoulders and gazed long into his angry eyes. Then she threw
her arms round his neck and drew him to her.

"My beloved," she cried, proudly, "you are all I thought--and more too."

"Do not say that," answered Giovanni. "I would not have lifted a finger
to save that hound, but for you."

"Ah, but you did it, dear, all the same," she said, and kissed him.

On the following evening, without any warning, old Saracinesca arrived,
and was warmly greeted. After dinner Giovanni told him the story of Del
Ferice's escape. Thereupon the old gentleman flew into a towering rage,
swearing and cursing in a most ch