ndow of the turret, lifted the latch
of an iron-studded door in the opposite wall, and, pushing it open,
motioned me to enter.

"But what is this?" said I, gazing around upon two camp beds, spread
with white coverlets, and a dressing-table with a jugful of
lilac-coloured stocks, such as grew in the crannies of the keep and
the rock-ledges under the platform.

"I had no mother," said she, "to prepare my bride-chamber, and rough
is the best I can prepare for my child. But it is done with my
blessing."

"Madame--" said I, flushing hotly, and paused at the sound of a
footstep on the stair.

It was the Princess who came; and in an angry haste. She kissed her
mother, thrust her gently from the room, and so, closing the door,
stood with her back against it.

"You knew of this?" she demanded.

"Before God, I did not," I answered.

"It is folly." She glanced around the room. "You will admit that it
is folly," she insisted.

I bowed my head. "It is folly, if you choose to call it so."

"I have been wanting to tell you . . . I believe you to be a good
man. Oh yes, the fault is with me! This morning--you remember what
your father said? Well, I listened, and the truth was made clear to
me, that I cannot give you the like of such love--or the like of any
such as a woman ought to give, who--who--"

"Say no more," said I, as gently as might be. "I understand."

"Ah, that is kind of you!" She caught at the admission eagerly.
"It is not that I doubted; I see now that some men are not vile.
But until I can _feel_ it, what use is being convinced?"
She paused, "Moreover, to-night I go on a journey."

"And I, too," said I, meeting her eyes firmly. "To Genoa, is it
not?"

"You guessed it? . . . But you have no right--" she faltered.

I laughed. "But excuse me, my wife, I have all the right in the
world. At what hour will Marc'antonio be ready with the boat?"

CHAPTER XXVIII.

GENOA.

"_Gobbo_. Master young gentleman, I pray you, which is the
way to Master Jew's?

"_Launcelot_. Turn up on the right hand at the next turning,
but at the very next turning of all, on your
left: marry at the very next turning, turn of no
hand, but turn down indirectly to the Jew's
house.

"_Gobbo_. By God's sonties, 'twill be a hard way to hit."
_The Me