there for a spell, and gazed and gazed,
his mind running on visions which godly men have had of saints from
Paradise.

At last the spell was broken by Peppino's voice, addressing her, his
back servilely bent. Francesco bethought him of the deference due to one
so clearly noble, and leaping to his feet, his wound forgotten, he bowed
profoundly. A second later he gasped for breath, reeled, and swooning,
collapsed supine among the bracken.

CHAPTER IV. MONNA VALENTINA

In after years the Lord of Aquila was wont to aver in all solemnity that
it was the sight of her wondrous beauty set up such a disorder in his
soul that it overcame his senses, and laid him swooning at her feet.
That he, himself, believed it so, it is not ours to doubt, for all that
we may be more prone to agree with the opinion afterwards expressed
by Fanfulla and the friar--and deeply resented by the Count--that in
leaping to his feet in over-violent haste his wound re-opened, and the
pain of this, combining with the weak condition that resulted from his
loss of blood, had caused his sudden faintness.

"Who is this, Peppe?" she asked the fool, and he, mindful of the oath
he had sworn, answered her brazenly that he did not know, adding that it
was--as she might see---some poor wounded fellow.

"Wounded?" she echoed, and her glorious eyes grew very pitiful. "And
alone?"

"There was a gentleman here, tending him, Madonna; but he is gone with
Fra Domenico to the Convent of Acquasparta to seek the necessaries to
mend his shoulder."

"Poor gentleman," she murmured, approaching the fallen figure. "How came
he by his hurt?"

"That, Madonna, is more than I can tell."

"Can we do nothing for him until his friends return?" was her next
question, bending over the Count as she spoke. "Come, Peppino," she
cried, "lend me your aid. Get me water from the brook, yonder."

The fool looked about him for a vessel, and his eye falling upon the
Count's capacious hat, he snatched it up, and went his errand. When he
returned, the lady was kneeling with the unconscious man's head in
her lap. Into the hatful of water that Peppe brought her she dipped a
kerchief, and with this she bathed the brow on which his long black hair
lay matted and disordered.

"See how he has bled, Peppe," said she. "His doublet is drenched, and
he is bleeding still! Vergine Santa!" she cried, beholding now the
ugly wound that gaped in his shoulder, and turning pale at the sight.
"Ass