anything
else, Tito,--I would leave Florence,--what else did I live for but for
him and you? But I will not give up that duty. What have I to do with
your arguments? It was a yearning of _his_ heart, and therefore it is a
yearning of mine."

Her voice, from having been tremulous, had become full and firm. She
felt that she had been urged on to say all that it was needful for her
to say. She thought, poor thing, there was nothing harder to come than
this struggle against Tito's suggestions as against the meaner part of
herself.

He had begun to see clearly that he could not persuade her into assent:
he must take another course, and show her that the time for resistance
was past. That, at least, would put an end to further struggle; and if
the disclosure were not made by himself to-night, to-morrow it must be
made in another way. This necessity nerved his courage; and his
experience of her affectionateness and unexpected submissiveness, ever
since their marriage until now, encouraged him to hope that, at last,
she would accommodate herself to what had been his will.

"I am sorry to hear you speak in that spirit of blind persistence, my
Romola," he said, quietly, "because it obliges me to give you pain. But
I partly foresaw your opposition, and as a prompt decision was
necessary, I avoided that obstacle, and decided without consulting you.
The very care of a husband for his wife's interest compels him to that
separate action sometimes--even when he has such a wife as you, my
Romola."

She turned her eyes on him in breathless inquiry.

"I mean," he said, answering her look, "that I have arranged for the
transfer, both of the books and of the antiquities, where they will find
the highest use and value. The books have been bought for the Duke of
Milan, the marbles and bronzes and the rest are going to France: and
both will be protected by the stability of a great Power, instead of
remaining in a city which is exposed to ruin."

Before he had finished speaking, Romola had started from her seat, and
stood up looking down at him, with tightened hands falling before her,
and, for the first time in her life, with a flash of fierceness in her
scorn and anger.

"You have _sold_ them?" she asked, as if she distrusted her ears.

"I have," said Tito, quailing a little. The scene was unpleasant--the
descending scorn already scorched him.

"You are a treacherous man!" she said, with something grating in her
voice,