first to my confessor, Fra Cristoforo, at Santa Croce, and
he told me how it was all the work of the devil, this preaching and
prophesying of their Fra Girolamo, and the Dominicans were trying to
turn the world upside down, and I was never to go and hear him again,
else I must do penance for it; for the great preachers Fra Mariano and
Fra Menico had shown how Fra Girolamo preached lies--and that was true,
for I heard them both in the Duomo--and how the Pope's dream of San
Francesco propping up the Church with his arms was being fulfilled
still, and the Dominicans were beginning to pull it down. Well and
good: I went away _con Dio_, and made myself easy. I am not going to be
frightened by a Frate Predicatore again. And all I say is, I wish it
hadn't been the Dominicans that poor Dino joined years ago, for then I
should have been glad when I heard them say he was come back--"

"Silenzio!" said Bardo, in a loud agitated voice, while Romola half
started from her chair, clasped her hands, and looked round at Tito, as
if now she might appeal to him. Monna Brigida gave a little scream, and
bit her lip.

"Donna!" said Bardo, again, "hear once more my will. Bring no reports
about that name to this house; and thou, Romola, I forbid thee to ask.
My son is dead."

Bardo's whole frame seemed vibrating with passion, and no one dared to
break silence again. Monna Brigida lifted her shoulders and her hands
in mute dismay; then she rose as quietly as possible, gave many
significant nods to Tito and Romola, motioning to them that they were
not to move, and stole out of the room like a culpable fat spaniel who
has barked unseasonably.

Meanwhile, Tito's quick mind had been combining ideas with
lightning-like rapidity. Bardo's son was not really dead, then, as he
had supposed: he was a monk; he was "come back:" and Fra Luca--yes! it
was the likeness to Bardo and Romola that had made the face seem
half-known to him. If he were only dead at Fiesole at that moment!
This importunate selfish wish inevitably thrust itself before every
other thought. It was true that Bardo's rigid will was a sufficient
safeguard against any intercourse between Romola and her brother; but
_not_ against the betrayal of what he knew to others, especially when
the subject was suggested by the coupling of Romola's name with that of
the very Tito Melema whose description he had carried round his neck as
an index. No! nothing but Fra Luca's death could rem