pointed to the ground at a spot where
two slabs met.

"I saw nothing, Illustrious."

"It was like a flash of yellow light below there. What is under us here?
I'll swear there's treachery at work. Get down on your knees, and try if
anything is to be seen."

With a wondering glance at the courtier's white, twitching face, the
unfortunate young man went down on all fours to do his bidding. After
all--poor fellow!--he was hardly intelligent as Fortemani opined.

"There is nothing, Excellency," he said. "The plaster is cracked.
But---- Ah!"

In a panic of haste Gonzaga had whipped the dagger from its sheath and
sunk it into the middle of Aventano's broad back. The fellow's arms slid
out, and with a long-drawn, gurgling sigh he sank down and stretched
himself horribly on the stones.

In that instant the clouds parted overhead and the sun came out in a
blaze of golden glory. High above Gonzaga's head a lark burst into song.

For a moment the assassin remained standing above the body of his victim
with head sunk between the shoulders like a man who expects a blow, his
face grey, his teeth chattering, and his mouth twitching hideously. A
shudder shook him. It was the first life he had taken, and that carrion
at his feet filled him with sickly horror. Not for a kingdom--not
to save his vile soul from the eternal damnation that act had earned
it--would he have dared stoop to pluck the dagger from the back of the
wretch he had murdered. With something like a scream he turned, and fled
in a panic from the spot. Panting with horror, yet subconsciously aware
of the work he had to do, he paused a moment to wave a kerchief, then
dashed down the steps to the postern.

With trembling fingers he unlocked the door and set it wide to Gian
Maria's men, who, in answer to his signal, were now hurrying forward
with a bridge composed of pine trees, that they had hastily and roughly
put together during the previous day. This, with some efforts and more
noise than Gonzaga relished, was thrust across the moat. One of the men
crept across, and assisted Gonzaga to make fast his end.

A moment later Gian Maria and Guidobaldo stood in the castle-yard, and
after them came almost every man of the five score that Gian Maria had
brought to that siege. This was what Francesco had confidently expected,
knowing that it was not his cousin's way to run any risks.

The Duke of Babbiauo, whose face was disfigured by a bristling hedge of
reddish stubbl