red, neglected old man; but she was used now to be very
near to such people, and to think a great deal about their troubles.
Gradually his glance gathered a more definite expression, and at last he
said with abrupt emphasis--

"Ah! you would have been my daughter!"

The swift flush came in Romola's face and went back again as swiftly,
leaving her with white lips a little apart, like a marble image of
horror. For her mind, the revelation was made. She divined the facts
that lay behind that single word, and in the first moment there could be
no check to the impulsive belief which sprang from her keen experience
of Tito's nature. The sensitive response of her face was a stimulus to
Baldassarre; for the first time his words had wrought their right
effect. He went on with gathering eagerness and firmness, laying his
hand on her arm.

"You are a woman of proud blood--is it not true? You go to hear the
preacher; you hate baseness--baseness that smiles and triumphs. You
hate your husband?"

"Oh God! were you really his father?" said Romola, in a low voice, too
entirely possessed by the images of the past to take any note of
Baldassarre's question. "Or was it as he said? Did you take him when
he was little?"

"Ah, you believe me--you know what he is!" said Baldassarre, exultingly,
tightening the pressure on her arm, as if the contact gave him power.
"You will help me?"

"Yes," said Romola, not interpreting the words as he meant them. She
laid her palm gently on the rough hand that grasped her arm, and the
tears came to her eyes as she looked at him. "Oh, it is piteous! Tell
me--you were a great scholar; you taught him. How is it?"

She broke off Tito's allegation of this man's madness had come across
her; and where were the signs even of past refinement? But she had the
self-command not to move her hand. She sat perfectly still, waiting to
listen with new caution.

"It is gone!--it is all gone!" said Baldassarre; "and they would not
believe me, because he lied, and said I was mad; and they had me dragged
to prison. And I am old--my mind will not come back. And the world is
against me."

He paused a moment, and his eyes sank as if he were under a wave of
despondency. Then he looked up at her again, and said with renewed
eagerness--"But _you_ are not against me. He made you love him, and he
has been false to you; and you hate him. Yes, he made _me_ love him: he
was beautiful and gentle, and I was a l