the Piazza, and she found Baldassarre
standing alone against the church-door, with the horn-cup in his hand,
waiting for her. There was a striking change in him: the blank, dreamy
glance of a half-returned consciousness had given place to a fierceness
which, as she advanced and spoke to him, flashed upon her as if she had
been its object. It was the glance of caged fury that sees its prey
passing safe beyond the bars.

Romola started as the glance was turned on her, but her immediate
thought was that he had seen Tito. And as she felt the look of hatred
grating on her, something like a hope arose that this man might be the
criminal, and that her husband might not have been guilty towards him.
If she could learn that now, by bringing Tito face to face with him, and
have her mind set at rest!

"If you will come with me," she said, "I can give you shelter and food
until you are quite rested and strong. Will you come?"

"Yes," said Baldassarre, "I shall be glad to get my strength. I want to
get my strength," he repeated, as if he were muttering to himself,
rather than speaking to her.

"Come!" she said, inviting him to walk by her side, and taking the way
by the Arno towards the Ponte Rubaconte as the more private road.

"I think you are not a Florentine," she said, presently, as they turned
on to the bridge.

He looked round at her without speaking. His suspicious caution was
more strongly upon him than usual, just now that the fog of confusion
and oblivion was made denser by bodily feebleness. But she was looking
at him too, and there was something in her gentle eyes which at last
compelled him to answer her. But he answered cautiously--

"No, I am no Florentine; I am a lonely man."

She observed his reluctance to speak to her, and dared not question him
further, lest he should desire to quit her. As she glanced at him from
time to time, her mind was busy with thoughts which quenched the faint
hope that there was nothing painful to be revealed about her husband.
If this old man had been in the wrong, where was the cause for dread and
secrecy!

They walked on in silence till they reached the entrance into the Via
de' Bardi, and Romola noticed that he turned and looked at her with a
sudden movement as if some shock had passed through him. A few moments
after, she paused at the half-open door of the court and turned towards
him.

"Ah!" he said, not waiting for her to speak, "you are his wife."

"Whose