lung away his cap, saying, not peevishly, but in a
fatigued tone of remonstrance, as he gave a slight shudder--

"Romola, I wish you would give up sitting in this library. Surely our
own rooms are pleasanter in this chill weather."

Romola felt hurt. She had never seen Tito so indifferent in his manner;
he was usually full of lively solicitous attention. And she had thought
so much of his return to her after the long day's absence! He must be
very weary.

"I wonder you have forgotten, Tito," she answered, looking at him
anxiously, as if she wanted to read an excuse for him in the signs of
bodily fatigue. "You know I am making the catalogue on the new plan
that my father wished for; you have not time to help me, so I must work
at it closely."

Tito, instead of meeting Romola's glance, closed his eyes and rubbed his
hands over his face and hair. He felt he was behaving unlike himself,
but he would make amends to-morrow. The terrible resurrection of secret
fears, which, if Romola had known them, would have alienated her from
him for ever, caused him to feel an alienation already begun between
them--caused him to feel a certain repulsion towards a woman from whose
mind he was in danger. The feeling had taken hold of him unawares, and
he was vexed with himself for behaving in this new cold way to her. He
could not suddenly command any affectionate looks or words; he could
only exert himself to say what might serve as an excuse.

"I am not well, Romola; you must not be surprised if I am peevish."

"Ah, you have had so much to tire you to-day," said Romola, kneeling
down close to him, and laying her arm on his chest while she put his
hair back caressingly.

Suddenly she drew her arm away with a start, and a gaze of alarmed
inquiry.

"What have you got under your tunic, Tito? Something as hard as iron."

"It _is_ iron--it is chain-armour," he said at once. He was prepared
for the surprise and the question, and he spoke quietly, as of something
that he was not hurried to explain.

"There was some unexpected danger to-day, then?" said Romola, in a tone
of conjecture. "You had it lent to you for the procession?"

"No; it is my own. I shall be obliged to wear it constantly, for some
time."

"What is it that threatens you, my Tito?" said Romola, looking
terrified, and clinging to him again.

"Every one is threatened in these times, who is not a rabid enemy of the
Medici. Don't look distressed, my Romola