girl he did not believe, and besides, it
was much more likely that Pignaver would prefer to torment her to death
at his leisure, after assassinating her lover. Stradella guessed as much
as that from what he knew of the Senator's character.

As for himself, when he was able to reflect soberly after being several
hours alone in the dark, the singer came to the conclusion that he was
in no immediate danger of his life, though he owed his present
imprisonment to his enemy. It looked as if he stood a good chance of
being sent to Rome, as Bartolo the counterfeiter, to be tried; but once
there, he would have no difficulty in obtaining his liberation, for he
was well known to many distinguished persons, including Cardinal Altieri
himself. Pignaver had cleverly cut short his flight in order to take
Ortensia from him, but to accomplish this the Senator had been obliged
to put off the murder he doubtless contemplated. Stradella's life would
probably be attempted in Rome, as soon as he was free, but meanwhile he
could not but admit that the Senator had succeeded in making him
exceedingly uncomfortable, merely from a material point of view. It was
not likely that prisoners were sent to Rome more than once a month, and
the last convoy had perhaps left yesterday. He might have to spend
thirty days in the cell.

As the hours passed he forgot himself again, and thought only of
Ortensia. In his imagination he fancied her already far on her way to
Rovigo in the jolting coach with her captors; in the very coach,
perhaps, in which he had brought her to Ferrara only last night. He
called up her face, and saw it as pale as death; her eyes were half
closed and her lips sharp-drawn with pain. He could hardly bear to think
of her suffering, but not to think of her he could not bear at all.

He did not know how long he had been locked up, when he noticed that the
faint glimmer at the grated hole was almost gone, and suddenly he felt
horribly hungry, in spite of his misery, for it was nearly twenty-four
hours since he had tasted food. The gaolers had brought a little bread
and a jug of water, and had set them down on the ground at one end of
the bench. He felt about till he found them, and he gnawed the tough
crust voraciously, though it tasted of the damp earth on which it had
lain since morning.

After a long time he fell asleep with the stone pillow under his head.

CHAPTER IX

Cucurullo came back to the inn in less than an hour a