’For only a woman’s reason,’ she answered. ’Wouldst thou understand it? Not though I spoke an hour by St. Ambrose’ clock. I would deal the blow myself, in my own way—that is all.’ ’Thou wouldst ruin Bona?’ ’Ay, and her saint, who robbed me of my love.’ ’By her connivance? Marry, be honest, sweet lady. Was it not rather Messer Bembo who denied you Messer Bembo?’ ’Will you have the names?’ ’Hold a little. Here’s matter black enough, but unsupported. I must have some proof. Tell me who’s your informant?’ ’And have you go and bleed him? Nay, I am learning my tools.’ ’Bravo!’ he said, and kissed his hand to her. ’Well, I see, we must call a truce awhile.’ ’And I will keep the ring,’ she said. He beamed thoughtfully on her. No doubt he was considering the possibility of improving the interval by rooting out, on his own account, details of the secret she held from him. ’Provisionally,’ he said pleasantly—’provisionally, Madonna; so long as you undertake to make no use of it until you hear from me my decision.’ ’The longer that is delayed, the better for your purpose, Messer,’ she dared to say. He smiled blankly at her a little; then courteously advancing, and raising her hand, imprinted a fervent kiss on it. ’Though I fail to gather your meaning,’ he said, ’it is nevertheless certain that you would make a very imposing Duchess, Monna Beatrice.’ *CHAPTER XVI* ’Father Abbot, we thank you for your trust. We were less than human to abuse it. O, it flew with white wings to shelter in our bosom! Shall we be hawks to such a dove! Take comfort. It hath ruffled its feathers on our heart; it hath settled itself thereon, and hatched out a winged love. Pure spirit of the Holy Ghost, whence came it? From a star, they say, born of some wedlock between earth and sky. I marvel you could part with it. I could never.... The pretty chuck! What angel heresies it dares! "Marry," saith the dove, "I have been discussing with Christ the subtleties of dogmatic definition, and I find he is no Christian." This for intolerance! He finds honesty in schism—speaks with assurance of our Saviour, his discourses with Him by the brook, in the garden, under the trees—but doubtless you know. How can we refute such evidence, or need to? Alas! we are not on speaking terms with divinity. But we listen and observe; and we woo our winsome dove with pretty scarves and tabbards embroidered by our fingers; and some day we too hope to hear the voices. Not yet; the earth clings to us; but he dusts it off. "Make not beauty a passion, but passion a beauty," says he. "Learn that temperance is the true epicurism of life. The palate cloys on surfeit." O, we believe him, trust me! and never his pretty head is turned by our adoring.... "By love to make law unnecessary,"—there runs his creed: the love of Nature’s truths—continence, sobriety, mate bound to mate like birds. Only our season’s life. He convinces us apace.