full of spirit; and
really not unlike. One was his very image. "There," said she. "Now thou
seest who was my teacher."

"Not I, signora."

"What, know you not who teaches us women to do all things? 'Tis love,
Gerar-do. Love made me draw because thou draweth, Gerar-do. Love prints
thine image in my bosom. My fingers touch the pen, and love supplies the
want of art, and lo thy beloved features lie upon the paper."

Gerard opened his eyes with astonishment at this return to an
interdicted topic. "Oh, Signora, you promised me to be friends and
nothing more."

She laughed in his face. "How simple you are: who believes a woman
promising nonsense, impossibilities? Friendship, foolish boy, who
ever built that temple on red ashes? Nay Gerardo," she added gloomily,
"between thee and me it must be love or hate."

"Which you will, signora," said Gerard firmly. "But for me I will
neither love nor hate you; but with your permission I will leave you."
And he rose abruptly.

She rose too, pale as death, and said, "Ere thou leavest me so, know thy
fate; outside that door are armed men who wait to slay thee at a word
from me."

"But you will not speak that word, signora."

"That word I will speak. Nay, more, I shall noise it abroad it was for
proffering brutal love to me thou wert slain; and I will send a special
messenger to Sevenbergen: a cunning messenger, well taught his lesson.
Thy Margaret shall know thee dead, and think thee faithless; now, go to
thy grave; a dog's. For a man thou art not."

Gerard turned pale, and stood dumb-stricken. "God have mercy on us
both."

"Nay, have thou mercy on her, and on thyself. She will never know in
Holland what thou dost in Rome; unless I be driven to tell her my tale.
Come, yield thee, Gerar-do mio: what will it cost thee to say thou
lovest me? I ask thee but to feign it handsomely. Thou art young: die
not for the poor pleasure of denying a lady what-the shadow of a heart.
Who will shed a tear for thee? I tell thee men will laugh, not weep
over thy tombstone-ah!" She ended in a little scream, for Gerard threw
himself in a moment at her feet, and poured out in one torrent of
eloquence the story of his love and Margaret's. How he had been
imprisoned, hunted with bloodhounds for her, driven to exile for her;
how she had shed her blood for him, and now pined at home. How he
had walked through Europe environed by perils, torn by savage brutes,
attacked by furious men with sword and axe