since the
Queen was now so ill that nothing could cure or harm.

The fair young mother, fever flushed, with wandering eyes, lay tossing
on the silken cushions of her low couch--broken words feebly struggling
from the parted lips in pathetic tones, "Madonna--I am so tired--_so_
tired--take me----"

There was no recognition in her eyes, as the Lady Beata leaned over her,
startled at the words, her soul wrung with sympathy.

"Why can they do nothing?" she asked in low authoritative tones of the
physician.

"The will is gone," he answered sorrowfully; "she hath lost all desire
of life; she will not rally, being too weak for the effort, and having
no consciousness to help herself."

There was a hunted, frightened look in Caterina's face; the words came
again, more faintly--"tired--take me----"

"She shall _not_ die until she hath known this joy which Heaven hath
sent her!" the Lady Beata cried with conviction and a sudden sense of
power. "We will save her--thou, Maestro Gentile--and I--who love her.
Give her only some potion for her strengthening, I beseech thee, caro
Maestro;--life is flickering--she _must_ not die yet."

"There is no hope," he answered her again; but he gave the strengthening
draught, for he could not resist her imploring eyes.

The Lady Beata had been moving noiselessly, throwing wide the curtains;
a faint, pitying evening breeze stole into the chamber. She came now and
knelt beside the couch.

"Bring the little Prince hither with all possible haste, from his
chamber," she said without lifting her eyes from Caterina's face. "We
must rouse her!"

And now the Maestro went without further question, to do her bidding,
although the child, and all that belonged to him had been kept out of
sight and sound of the invalid, through these days of danger, lest an
emotion should snap the slender thread of life.

"Bring none with thee," she said, "save only the peasant-nurse; for we
must be alone."

Quite alone, with death so near, out of the marvellous great strength
in her heart, the Lady Beata laid her firm, cool touch on the restless
hands, scarcely restraining them--yet the spasmodic movements grew
quieter; she smiled into her eyes, until the strain of the frightened
gaze relaxed; she folded her close in the arms of her deep tenderness
and _willed_ her back to life with the strenuousness of a great
purpose--for was there not the little wailing child to live for, to give
her sight of the love and ha