"Do not let me detain you," said De Vitry, with his usual frank, soldier-like manner. "Tell the duke, Visconti, that I think all danger past, but that I will hold my ground till the last-named day has seen the sun set, and then retire to Ravenna. My lord of Imola, I ought to have paid my respects to you yesterday, but we were all tired with a long march. Tomorrow, when the sun is declining, I will be with you; but, I beg, no ceremony. I come but scantily attended, and form and display are needless. Will you not taste more wine?" Both Ramiro and Lorenzo declined; and the former felt well satisfied when he saw the readiness with which the young prefect accompanied him, for evil purposes are always suspicious, and he had thought the few words spoken in private between Lorenzo and De Vitry must have some reference to himself. "He suspects nothing," he thought, as they remounted and rode on; "but how could he? I am too eager. Like a boy chasing a butterfly, or a youth a woman, I fear the prize will escape me, even when it is within my grasp." The rest of the journey was uninteresting. The two cavaliers soon reached the object to which their steps tended--a small town, or rather village, which Ramiro was fortifying, to command a pass through a morass. The Etruscan tomb was forgotten, and their return to Imola was made by a narrower and steeper, but much shorter path, which brought them to the gates just as the sun had set. A single lantern, which hung from the vault of the arched gateway, gave them barely light to guide their horses, and as it fell upon the dark countenances of the guard, Lorenzo thought, "It feels like entering a prison." At this moment a man stepped out of the shadow and handed Ramiro d'Orco a paper, with the one word "important." "A light! bring me a light!" exclaimed the Lord of Imola; and, with some difficulty, a torch was lighted at the lantern, and held up so that he could read. The contents of the letter seemed to puzzle him for a moment, but gradually his pale cheek flushed, and his eye flashed with a triumphant light. "Here we must fain part for the night, my lord prefect," he said. "You take to the bishop's square, and I, I am sorry to say, back to the castle, for business of importance will keep me there to-night. We shall meet again to-morrow. Good night." "Good night," replied Lorenzo; and he turned his horse into the street just within the walls. "Oh, my lord, my lord," cried a voice, ere he had ridden a hundred yards, "what news I have to tell you! Alas! alas! my lady is dead." "Dead!" exclaimed Lorenzo, throwing his horse almost on his haunches by the suddenness with which he reined him up; "dead! The man is mad! Why, Bazil, what do you mean?" "Too true, too true, my noble lord," replied the Frenchman; "she died at two o'clock--quite suddenly. But come up, my lord. 'Tis ill talking of such things here in the street."