were at an end, and there came the train of un- | The procession was about to close with the Priors tonsured secular priests.

Then followed the twenty-one incorporated Arts of Florence in long array, with their banners floating above them in proud declaration that the bearers had their distinct functions, from the bakers of bread to the judges and notaries. And then all the secondary officers of State, beginning with the less and going on to the greater, till the line of secularities was broken | by the Canons of the Duomo, carrying a sacred relic-the very head, inclosed in silver, of San Zenobio, immortal bishop of Florence, whose virtues were held to have saved the city perhaps a thousand years before.

Be

Here was the nucleus of the procession. hind the relic came the archbishop in gorgeous cope, with canopy held above him; and after him the mysterious hidden Image-hidden first by rich curtains of brocade inclosing an outer painted tabernacle, but within this, by the more ancient tabernacle which had never been opened in the memory of living men, or the fathers of living men. In that inner shrine was the image of the Pitying Mother, found ages ago in the soil of L'Impruneta, uttering a cry as the spade struck it. Hitherto the unseen Image had hardly ever been carried to the Duomo without having rich gifts borne before it. There was no reciting the list of precious offerings made by emulous men and communities, especially of veils and curtains and mantles. But the richest of all these, it was said, had been given by a poor abbess and her nuns, who, having no money to buy materials, wove a mantle of gold brocade with their prayers, embroidered it and adorned it with their prayers, and, finally, saw their work presented to the Blessed Virgin in the great Piazza by two beautiful youths who spread out white wings and vanished in the blue.

and the Gonfaloniere; the long train of companies and symbols, which have their silent music and stir the mind as a chorus stirs it, was passing out of sight, and now a faint yearning hope was all that struggled with the accustomed despondency.

Romola, whose heart had been swelling, half with foreboding, half with that enthusiasm of fellowship which the life of the last two years had made as habitual to her as the consciousness of costume to a vain and idle woman, gave a deep sigh, as at the end of some long mental tension, and remained on her knees for very languor; when suddenly there flashed from between the houses on to the distant bridge something bright-colored. In the instant Romola started up and stretched out her arms, leaning from the window, while the black drapery fell from her head, and the golden gleam of her hair and the flush in her face seemed the effect of one illumination. A shout arose in the same instant; the last troops of the procession 'paused, and all faces were turned toward the distant bridge.

But the bridge was passed now; the horseman was pressing at full gallop along by the Arno; the sides of his bay horse, just streaked with foam, looked all white from swiftness; his cap was flying loose by his red becchetto, and he waved an olive branch in his hand. It was a messenger-a messenger of good tidings! The blessed olive branch spoke afar off. But the impatient people could not wait. They rushed to meet the on-comer, and seized his horse's rein, pushing and trampling.

And now Romola could see that the horseman was her husband, who had been sent to Pisa a few days before on a private embassy. The recognition brought no new flash of joy into her eyes.

She had checked her first impulsive attitude of expectation; but her governing anxiety was still to know what news of relief had come for Florence. "News to

"Good news!" "Best news!" be paid with hose (novelle da calze)!" were the vague answers with which Tito met the impor

But to-day there were no gifts carried before the tabernacle: no donations were to be given to-day except to the poor. That had been the advice of Fra Girolamo, whose preaching never insisted on gifts to the invisible powers, but only on help to visible need; and altars had been raised at various points in front of the churches, on which the oblations for the poor were de-tunities of the crowd, until he had succeeded in posited. Not even a torch was carried. Surely the hidden Mother cared less for torches and brocade than for the wail of the hungry people. Florence was in extremity: she had done her utmost, and could only wait for something divine that was not in her own power.

The Frate in the torn mantle had said that help would certainly come, and many of the faint-hearted were clinging more to their faith in the Frate's word than to their faith in the virtues of the unseen Image. But there were not a few of the fierce-hearted who thought with secret rejoicing that the Frate's word might be proved false.

pushing on his horse to the spot at the meeting of the ways where the Gonfaloniere and the Priors were awaiting him. There he paused, and, bowing low, said:

"Magnificent Signori! I have to deliver to you the joyful news that the galleys from France, laden with corn and men, have arrived safely in the port of Leghorn, by favor of a strong wind, which kept the enemy's fleet at a distance."

The words had no sooner left Tito's lips than they seemed to vibrate up the streets. A great shout rang through the air, and rushed along the river; and then another, and another; and the shouts were heard spreading along the line Slowly the tabernacle moved forward, and of the procession toward the Duomo; and then knees were bent. There was profound stillness; there were fainter answering shouts, like the infor the train of priests and chaplains from L'Im-termediate plash of distant waves in a great lake pruneta stirred no passion in the on-lookers. I whose waters obey one impulse.

For some minutes there was no attempt to | If she could learn that now, by bringing Tito face speak further: the Signoria themselves lifted to face with him, and have her mind set at rest! up their caps, and stood bareheaded in the presence of a rescue which had come from outside the limit of their own power-from that region of trust and resignation which has been in all ages called divine.

"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," At last, as the signal was given to move for- he repeated, as if he were muttering to himself ward, Tito said, with a smile: rather than speaking to her.

"Come," she said, inviting him to walk by her side, and taking the way by the Arno toward 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 confu

"I ought to say that any hose to be bestowed by the Magnificent Signoria, in reward of these tidings, are due, not to me, but to another man, who had ridden hard to bring them, and would have been here in my place if his horse had not broken down just before he reached Signa. Meo di Sasso will doubtless be here in an hour or two, and may all the more justly claim the glory of the messenger, because he has had the chief la-sion and oblivion was made denser by bodily bor and has lost the chief delight."

It was a graceful way of putting a necessary statement, and after a word of reply from the Proposto, or spokesman of the Signoria, this dignified extremity of the procession passed on, and Tito turned his horse's head to follow in its train, while the great bell of the Palazzo Vecchio was already beginning to swing, and give a louder voice to the people's joy.

In that moment, when Tito's attention had ceased to be imperatively directed, it might have been expected that he would look round and recognize Romola; but he was apparently engaged with his cap, which, now the eager people were leading his horse, he was able to seize and place on his head, while his right hand was still encumbered with the olive-branch. He had a becoming air of lassitude after his exertions; and Romola, instead of making any effort to be recognized by him, threw her black drapery over her head again, and remained perfectly quiet. Yet she felt almost sure that Tito had seen her; he had the power of seeing every thing without seeming to see it.

CHAPTER XLIV.

THE VISIBLE MADONNA.

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 toward him.

66

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

"Whose wife?" said Romola, flushing and trembling.

It would have been impossible for Baldassarre to recall any name at that moment. The very force with which the image of Tito pressed upon him seemed to expel any verbal sign. He made no answer, but looked at her with strange fixedness.

THE crowd had no sooner passed onward than Romola descended to the street, and hastened She opened the door wide and showed the to the steps of San Stefano. Cecco had been court covered with straw, on which lay four or attracted with the rest toward the Piazza, and five sick people, while some little children crawlshe found Baldassarre standing alone against ed or sat on it at their ease— -tiny pale creatures, the church-door, with the horn cup in his hand, biting straws and gurgling. waiting for her. There was a striking change "If you will come in," said Romola, tremuin him; the blank, dreamy glance of a half-re-lously, "I will find you a comfortable place, and turned 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 toward him.

bring you some more food."

"No, I will not come in," said Baldassarre. But he stood still, arrested by the burden of impressions under which his mind was too confused to choose a course.

"Can I do nothing for you?" said Romola. "Let me give you some money that you may buy food. It will be more plentiful soon.

She had put her hand into her scarsella as she spoke, and held out her palm with several grossi in it. She purposely offered him more

than she would have given to any other man in
the same circumstances. He looked at the coins
a little while, and then said,
"Yes, I will take them."

him.

But that thought stirred too many intricate fibres of feeling to be pursued now in her weariness. It was a time to rejoice, since help had come to Florence; and she turned into the

She poured the coins into his palm, and he court to tell the good news to her patients on grasped them tightly. their straw beds. She closed the door after her, "Tell me," said Romola, almost beseeching- lest the bells should drown her voice, and then ly. "What shall you-"

throwing the black drapery from her head, that
the women might see her better, she stood in
the midst and told them that corn was coming,
and that the bells were ringing for gladness at
the news. They all sat up to listen, while the
children trotted or crawled toward her, and pull-
ed her black skirts, as if they were impatient at
being all that long way off her face. She yield-
ed to them, weary as she was, and sat down on
the straw, while the little pale things peeped
into her basket and pulled her hair down, and
the feeble voices around her said, "The Holy
Virgin be praised!" "It was the procession !"
"The Mother of God has had pity on us!"
At last Romola rose from the heap of straw,

"I will come by-and-by to bring you your dinner."

"Bless you, madonna! bless you!" said the faint chorus, in much the same tone as that in which they had a few minutes before praised and thanked the unseen Madonna.

But Baldassarre had turned away from her, and was walking again toward the bridge. Passing from it, straight on up the Via del Fosso, he came upon the shop of Niccolò Caparra, and turned toward it without a pause, as if it had been the very object of his search. Niccolò was at that moment in procession with the armorers of Florence, and there was only one apprentice in the shop. But there were all sorts of weapons in abundance hanging there, and Baldassarre's eyes discerned what he was more hungry for than for bread. Niccolò himself would probably have refused to sell any thing that might serve as a weapon to this man with signs of the prison on him; but the apprentice, less observ-too tired to try and smile any longer, saying, as ant and scrupulous, took three grossi for a sharp she turned up the stone steps, hunting-knife without any hesitation. "It was a conveniently small weapon, which Baldassarre could easily thrust within the breast of his tunic; and he walked on, feeling stronger. That sharp edge might give deadliness to the thrust of an aged arm at least it was a companion, it was a power in league with him, even if it failed. It would break against armor; but was the armor sure to be always there? In those long months while vengeance had lain in prison, baseness had perhaps become forgetful and secure. The knife had been bought with the traitor's own money. That was just. Before he took the money he had felt what he should do with it-buy a weapon. Yes, and if possible, food too: food to nourish the arm that would grasp the weapon, food to nourish the body which was the temple of vengeance. When he had had enough bread he should be able to think and act to think first how he could hide himself, lest the traitor should have him dragged away again. With that idea of hiding in his mind Baldassarre turned up the narrowest streets, bought himself some meat and bread, and sat down under the first loggia to eat. The bells that swung out louder and louder peals of joy, laying hold of him and making him vibrate along with all the air, seemed to him simply part of that strong world which was against him. Romola had watched Baldassarre until he had disappeared round the turning into the Piazza de' Mozzi, half feeling that his departure was a relief, half reproaching herself for not seeking with more decision to know the truth about him, for not assuring herself whether there were any guiltless misery in his lot which she was not helpless to relieve. Yet what could she have done if the truth had proved to be the burden of some painful secret about her husband, in addition to the anxieties that already weighed upon her? Surely a wife was permitted to desire ignorance of a husband's wrong-doing, since she alone must not protest and warn men against L

Romola cared a great deal for that music. She had no innate taste for tending the sick and clothing the ragged, like some women to whom the details of such work are welcome in themselves, simply as an occupation. Her early training had kept her aloof from such womanly labors; and if she had not brought to them the inspiration of her deepest feelings, they would have been irksome to her. But they had come to be the one unshaken resting-place of her mind, the one narrow pathway on which the light fell clear. If the gulf between herself and Tito, which only gathered a more perceptible wideness from her attempts to bridge it by submission, brought a doubt whether, after all, the bond to which she had labored to be true might not itself be false-if she came away from her confessor, Fra Salvestro, or from some contact with the disciples of Savonarola among whom she worshiped, with a sickening sense that these people were miserably narrow, and with an almost impetuous reaction toward her old contempt for their superstition-she found herself recovering a firm footing in her works of womanly sympathy. Whatever else made her doubt, the help she gave to her fellow-citizens made her sure that Fra Girolamo had been right to call her back. According to his unforgotten words, her place had not been empty: it had been filled with her love and her labor. Florence had had need of her, and the more her own sorrow pressed upon her the more gladness she felt in the memories, stretching through the two long years, of hours and moments in which she had lightened the burden of life to others. All that ardor of her nature which could no longer spend

drama of human existence in which her life was
a part; and through her daily helpful contact
with the less fortunate of her fellow-citizens this
new consciousness became something stronger
than a vague sentiment; it grew into a more
and more definite motive of self-denying prac-
tice.
She thought little about dogmas, and
shrank from reflecting closely on the Frate's
prophecies of the immediate scourge and closely
following regeneration. She had submitted her
mind to his and had entered into communion
with the Church, because in this way she had
found an immediate satisfaction for moral needs
which all the previous culture and experience of
her life had left hungering. Fra Girolamo's
voice had waked in her mind a reason for living,
apart from personal enjoyment and personal af-
fection; but it was a reason that seemed to need
feeding with greater forces than she possessed
within herself, and her submissive use of all
offices of the Church was simply a watching and
waiting if by any means fresh strength might
come. The pressing problem for Romola just
then was not to settle questions of controversy,
but to keep alive that flame of unselfish emotion
by which a life of sadness might still be a life of
active love.

Her trust in Savonarola's nature as greater than her own made a large part of the strength she had found. And the trust was not to be lightly shaken. It is not force of intellect which causes ready repulsion from the aberrations and eccentricities of greatness, any more than it is force of vision that causes the eye to explore the warts on a face bright with human expression; it is simply the negation of high sensibilities. Romola was so deeply moved by the grand energies of Savonarola's nature that she found herself listening patiently to all dogmas and prophecies, when they came in the vehicle of his ardent faith and believing utterance.*

promised favor of fortune, Tito had other commissions to fulfill of a more premeditated character. He paused at the Palazzo Vecchio, and awaited there the return of the Ten, who managed external and war affairs, that he might duly deliver to them the results of his private mission to Pisa, intended as a preliminary to an avowed embassy of which Bernardo Rucellai was to be the head, with the object of coming, if possible, to a pacific understanding with the Emperor Maximilian and the League.

Tito's talents for diplomatic work had been well ascertained, and as he gave with fullness and precision the results of his inquiries and interviews, Bernardo del Nero, who was at that time one of the Ten, could not withhold his admiration. He would have withheld it if he could; for his original dislike of Tito had returned, and become stronger, since the sale of the library. Romola had never uttered a word to her godfather on the circumstances of the sale, and Bernardo had understood her silence as a prohibition to him to enter on the subject, but he felt sure that the breach of her father's wish had been a blighting grief to her, and the old man's keen eyes discerned other indications that her married life was not happy.

"Ah," he said, inwardly, "that doubtless is the reason she has taken to listening to Fra Girolamo, and going among the Piagnoni, which I never expected from her. These women, if they are not happy, and have no children, must either take to folly or to some overstrained religion that makes them think that they've got all heaven's work on their shoulders. And as for my poor child Romola, it is as I always said the cramming with Latin and Greek has left her as much a woman as if she had done nothing all day but prick her fingers with the needle. And this husband of hers, who gets employed every where, because he's a tool with No soul is desolate as long as there is a hu- a smooth handle, I wish Tornabuoni and the man being for whom it can feel trust and rever-rest may not find their fingers cut. Well, well, ence. Romola's trust in Savonarola was some- solco torto, sacco dritto-many a full sack comes thing like a rope suspended securely by her path, from a crooked furrow; and he who will be capmaking her step elastic while she grasped it; iftain of none but honest men will have small hire it were suddenly removed, no firmness of the to pay." ground she trod could save her from staggering, or perhaps from falling.

CHAPTER XLV.

AT THE BARBER'S SHOP.

With this long-established conviction that there could be no moral sifting of political agents, the old Florentine abstained from all interference in Tito's disfavor. Apart from what must be kept sacred and private for Romola's sake, Bernardo had nothing distinct to allege against the useful Greek, except that he was a Greek, and that he, Bernardo, did not like him; for AFTER that welcome appearance as the mes- the doubleness of feigning attachment to the senger with the olive-branch, which was an un-popular government while at heart a Medicean was common to Tito with more than half the Medicean party. He only feigned with more So Bernardo skill than the rest: that was all. was simply cold to Tito, who returned the coldness with a scrupulous, distant respect. And it was still the notion in Florence that the old tie between Bernardo and Bardo made any service done to Romola's husband an acceptable homage to her godfather.

He himself had had occasion enough to note the efficacy of that vehicle. "If," he says in the Compendium Revelationum, "you speak of such as have not heard these things from me, I admit that they who disbelieve are more than they who believe, because it is one thing to hear him who inwardly feels these things, and another to hear him who feels them not;....and therefore it is well said by St. Jerome, Habet nescio quid latentis energiæ vivæ vocis actus, et in aures discipuli de auctoris ore trans

fusa fortis sonat.""