ind voice to sing for his
liberty and Ortensia's, if not for his life.

'Pieta, Signore----'

The first words broke from his chilled lips in a low cry of despair, so
strange and moving, and yet so musical, that the Cardinal started
visibly, and the Pope raised his white head and looked slowly down the
room, as if some suffering creature must be there at the very point of
death, and crying low for pity and forgiveness. Even Ortensia, who had
heard all, could not believe her ears, though she knew her husband's
genius well.

'Signor pieta----' he sang again.

Fear was gone now, but art poured out the appeal for pardon with supreme
power to move, roused to outdo itself, perhaps, by that first piteous
cry that had broken from the master-singer's lips. The plaintive notes
floated on the golden air as if a culprit spirit were pleading for
forgiveness at the gates of paradise, a wonder to hear.

Ortensia held her breath, her eyes fixed on the aged Pontiff's rapt
face; for he was gazing at the singer while he listened to a strain such
as he had never heard in all his eighty years of life; and his kind old
eyes were dewy with compassion.

The last note lingered on the air and died away, and there was silence
in the great room while one might have counted ten. Then the shadowy
white hand was slowly stretched out in a beckoning gesture, and the Pope
spoke.

'Come,' he said, 'you are forgiven.'

They came and knelt at his feet again, and he, leaning forward in his
great chair, bent his head towards them.

'You were pardoned in my heart already, my son,' he said to Stradella,
'for I have been told the truth, and the provocation you suffered was
great. Go free, and fear nothing, for while you dwell under our care in
Rome you shall be as safe as I who speak to you. Go free, and use the
great gift you have received from heaven to raise men's hearts
heavenwards, as you have raised mine to-day.'

He gave his hand to Stradella and then to Ortensia, and they kissed the
great ring with devout gratitude, deeply touched by his words. Then he
spoke again, and still more kindly.

'Will you ask anything of me before you go?'

'Your blessing on us, as man and wife, Holy Father,' Stradella answered.

'Most willingly, my children.'

With fatherly tenderness he joined their right hands under his left, and
then, lifting his right above their bowed heads, and looking up, he
blessed them very solemnly.

* * *