resist your taking the bread from _him_."

For a few moments there was perfect silence, while Romola looked at the
faces before her, and held out the basket of bread. Her own pale face
had the slightly pinched look and the deepening of the eye-socket which
indicate unusual fasting in the habitually temperate, and the large
direct gaze of her hazel eyes was all the more impressive.

The man in the night-cap looked rather silly, and backed, thrusting his
elbow into his neighbour's ribs with an air of moral rebuke. The
backing was general, every one wishing to imply that he had been pushed
forward against his will; and the young man in the fine cloth tunic had
disappeared.

But at this moment the armed servitors of the Signoria, who had begun to
patrol the line of streets through which the procession was to pass,
came up to disperse the group which was obstructing the narrow street.
The man addressed as Cecco retreated from a threatening mace up the
church-steps, and said to Romola, in a respectful tone--

"Madonna, if you want to go on your errands, I'll take care of the old
man."

Cecco was a wild-looking figure: a very ragged tunic, made shaggy and
variegated by cloth-dust and clinging fragments of wool, gave relief to
a pair of bare bony arms and a long sinewy neck; his square jaw shaded
by a bristly black beard, his bridgeless nose and low forehead, made his
face look as if it had been crushed down for purposes of packing, and a
narrow piece of red rag tied over his ears seemed to assist in the
compression. Romola looked at him with some hesitation.

"Don't distrust me, madonna," said Cecco, who understood her look
perfectly; "I am not so pretty as you, but I've got an old mother who
eats my porridge for me. What! there's a heart inside me, and I've
bought a candle for the most Holy Virgin before now. Besides, see
there, the old fellow is eating his sop. He's hale enough: he'll be on
his legs as well as the best of us by-and-by."

"Thank you for offering to take care of him, friend," said Romola,
rather penitent for her doubting glance. Then leaning to Baldassarre,
she said, "Pray wait for me till I come again."

He assented with a slight movement of the head and hand, and Romola went
on her way towards the hospital of San Matteo, in the Piazza di San
Marco.

CHAPTER FORTY THREE.

THE UNSEEN MADONNA.

In returning from the hospital, more than an hour later, Romola took a
different road, makin