"He generally uses other men for his," answered his lord, with a doubtful look. "Great stones are moved by great levers," said Antonio; "and I have got the lever in my hands, my lord, with which I can move this mighty man to do well-nigh what I wish. I will set out to-morrow evening, I think, and ride by night---no, it must be on the following day. There is a game playing even now upon which I must have my eye. In the mean time, your lordship had better see the Signor Leonardo; he will tell you much; and if there be a lingering doubt, as there well may be, that your poor servant has ascertained the facts he states beyond a doubt, the maestro will confirm all I have said." "Antonio," said Lorenzo, giving him his hand, "if ever there was a man who faithfully loved and served another, so you have loved and served me. But love and service are sometimes blind and dull. Not such have been yours. Where I have wanted wisdom, perception, or discretion, you have furnished them to me; and of all the many benefits conferred on me by Lorenzo de Medici, his placing you near me was the greatest. Power, and wealth, and authority are often irritable, and sometimes unjust. If I have ever shown myself so to you, Antonio, forgive me for it; but never believe that, knowing you as I know you, I ever doubt your truth." Antonio made no reply, but kissed his lord's hand, as was the custom in those reverent ages, and left him with a swimming eye. Lorenzo cast from him the gorgeous dress at that time common in Italy, the gorgeous chain of gold, the knightly order of St. Michael, the surcoat of brown and gold, the vest and haut-de-chaussée of white satin and silver, and, after plunging his burning head several times in water, cast on a loose dressing-gown, and seating himself in a wide easy-chair, endeavoured to sleep. The day had been one of fatigue and excitement. Neither mind nor body had enjoyed any repose, but sleep was long a stranger to his eyelids. At length she came, fanning his senses with her downy wings, but only as a vampire, to wound his heart while she seemed to soothe. He dreamed of Eloise. He saw her dying by the dagger-blow of a hand issuing from a cloud. All was forgotten--indignation, anger, shame, I may say contempt. She was his wife, the wife of his bosom, the wife plighted to him by the solemn vow of the altar. He seized the visionary hand, uplifted for a second blow, and pushed it back, exclaiming, "No, no, strike me! If any one must die, strike me!" and then he woke. The lights which he had left burning were nearly in the sockets. The first blue gleam of morning was seen through the windows; and Lorenzo, dressing himself quietly in his ordinary garments, descended to the court-yard, endeavouring to forget the troublous visions of the night. CHAPTER XLII.