t. It is the dearest frolic
ever my soldiering led me into. I came to Roccaleone with a message of
warning; but underneath, deep down in my heart, I bore the hope that
mine should be more than a messenger's part; that mine it might be to
remain by you and do such work as I am doing."

"Without you they would have forced me by now to surrender."

"Perhaps they would. But while I am here I do not think they will. I
burn for news of Babbiano. If I could but tell what is happening there
I might cheer you with the assurance that this siege can last but a few
days longer. Gian Maria must get him home or submit to the loss of
his throne. And if he loses that your uncle would no longer support so
strenuously his suit with you. To you, Madonna, this must be a cheering
thought. To me--alas! Why should I hope for it?"

He was looking away now into the night, but his voice quivered with the
emotion that was in him. She was silent, and emboldened perhaps by
that silence of hers, encouraged by the memory of what he had seen that
morning reflected in her eyes:

"Madonna," he cried, "I would it might be mine to cut a road for you
through that besieging camp, and bear you away to some blessed place
where there are neither courts nor princes. But since this may not be,
Madonna mia, I would that this siege might last for ever."

And then--was it the night breeze faintly stirring through his hair that
mocked him with the whisper, "So indeed would I?" He turned to her, his
hand, brown and nervous, fell upon hers, ivory-white, where it rested on
the stone.

"Valentina!" he cried, his voice no louder than a whisper, his eyes
ardently seeking her averted ones. And then, as suddenly as it had leapt
up, was the fire in his glance extinguished. He withdrew his hand from
hers, he sighed, and shifted his gaze to the camp once more. "Forgive,
forget, Madonna," he murmured bitterly, "that which in my madness I have
presumed."

Silent she stood for a long moment; then she edged nearer to him, and
her voice murmured back: "What if I account it no presumption?"

With a gasp he swung round to face her, and they stood very close,
glance holding glance, and hers the less timid of the two. They thus
remained for a little space. Then shaking his head and speaking with an
infinite sadness:

"It were better that you did, Madonna," he made answer.

"Better? But why?"

"Because I am no duke, Madonna."

"And what of that?" she cried, to add with sc