e field together. In
Cercamorte's castle, dice-throwing and drinking gave place to
drinking and plotting. Strange messengers appeared. In an upper
chamber a shabby priest from the nearest town--the stronghold of
Count Nicolotto Muti--neatly wrote down, at Lapo's dictation, the
tally of available men, horses, and arms. Then one morning Cercamorte
said to Baldo, his lieutenant:

"I am off for a talk with Nicolotto Muti. The house is in your care."

And glumly Lapo rode down from his castle, without a glance toward
the casements of Madonna Gemma's bower.

She watched him depart alone, his helmet dangling from his saddle-bow.
Then she saw, below her on the hillside, also watching him, the
horse-boy, Foresto, his graceful figure hinting at an origin
superior to his station, his dark, peaked face seeming to mask some
avid and sinister dream. Was she wrong in suspecting that Foresto
hated Lapo Cercamorte? Might he not become an ally against her
husband?

Her gaze travelled on to the houses at the foot of the hill, to the
hut where, under Lapo's protection, dwelt a renegade Arabian,
reputed to be a sorcerer. No doubt the Arabian knew of subtle poisons,
charms that withered men's bodies, enchantments that wrecked the
will and reduced the mind to chaos.

But soon these thoughts were scattered by the touch of the spring
breeze. She sank into a vague wonder at life, which had so cruelly
requited the fervours of her girlhood.

On the third day of Cercamorte's absence, while Madonna Gemma was
leaning on the parapet of the keep, there appeared at the edge of
the woods a young man in light-blue tunic and hood, a small gilded
harp under his arm.

* * * * *

Because he was the young brother of Nicolotto Muti they admitted him
into the castle.

His countenance was effeminate, fervent, and artful. The elegance of
his manner was nearly Oriental. The rough soldiers grinned in
amusement, or frowned in disgust. Madonna Gemma, confronted by his
strangeness and complexity, neither frowned nor smiled, but looked
more wan than ever.

Perfumed with sandalwood, in a white, gold-stitched robe, its bodice
tight, its skirts voluminous, she welcomed him in the hall. The
reception over, old Baldo spoke with the crone who served Madonna
Gemma as maid:

"I do not know what this pretty little fellow has in mind.
While I watch him for spying, do you watch him for love-making.
If we discover him at either, perha