, and framed his face in her hands, pushing it a little away
from her to see it better.

No; he was himself, his straight dark hair was neatly combed, his cheek
was smooth and fresh and cool, his collar was spotless and lay over his
dark coat just as it always did. She was either still asleep and
dreaming, or she had dreamed every terror she remembered. To be sure
that she was awake, she opened and shut her eyes several times very
quickly, and then gazed at him in sweet surprise.

[Illustration: 'She sat up in his arms and framed
his face in her hands']

'Beloved, am I awake? I do not understand----'

Instead of answering her in words, he kissed her again, and the long
thrill that made her quiver from head to foot told her that she was
indeed awake.

Presently they began to talk, and each told what the other could not
know, till there was nothing more to tell; moreover, Ortensia's tale was
by far the longer, and Stradella's eyes darkened more than once at what
he heard, but whenever she saw that look in his face, she kissed it
away, and told him that they were safe now, if only he could sing to the
Pope to-day as he had sung yesterday for her in the Lateran.

'But what can I sing?' he asked.

'"Lord have mercy on us!"' answered Ortensia, almost laughing. 'That
must be the meaning of the song, at all events.'

'A _miserere_?' Stradella was surprised at the suggestion, for old men
do not usually like dirges.

'No, sweetheart, I did not mean that! It must not be in Latin, but in
Italian, an appeal from you, as a man who has committed a fault, to the
Pope, as a sovereign, who has power to forgive it if he will.'

'Do you mean that I am to compose the words and the music between now
and sunset?' asked the musician, somewhat startled.

'Why not? Did you not compose the greatest love song you ever wrote in a
few hours, and for me? What is the use of being a man of genius, my
beloved? Just for that, and nothing else!'

'But I am not a man of genius! And I have spent the night in prison!'

'You look as fresh as a May morning!' laughed Ortensia. 'Whereas I am
all bedraggled, and scratched, and dishevelled, and everything I should
not be.'

'I dressed while you were sleeping,' answered Stradella. 'There was
plenty of time!'

'Do you mean to say that you had the inhuman cruelty not to wake me the
instant you came home? And you pretend to love me! I shall never believe
you again. But that only proves that you are