Lorenzo seated himself in the large chair, so that he could see through the open door the bed and its inanimate burden. I will not attempt to trace his feelings. Twice he rose, went to the bedside, gazed upon the pale face, and returned to his watching-place; and often he covered his eyes with his hands. There were various sounds without--the return of priests--the movements of the servants; but he gave them no heed; and shortly all was silent again. At length there came a nearer sound. It seemed in the room beside him--near, very near; and Lorenzo, starting, turned his head. Suddenly his arms were seized by two strong men, and a third put his hand upon the hilt of Lorenzo's sword to prevent him from drawing it. "You are our prisoner, my lord prefect," said one of the men, "charged with the murder of your wife. Come with us without resistance, for resistance is vain. The palace is in our hands." Lorenzo gazed round from one to another, and perceived that there were several more figures at the door. He had no thought of resistance, however. Taken by surprise at a moment when his mind was overpowered with grief and horror, the fire of his character was quite subdued. "The murder of my wife!" he said, "the murder of my wife! Who dares to charge me? Who is mad enough to accuse me?" "Of that we know nothing, my lord," replied the man who had before spoken; "but you must come with us." Silently, and without even caring to take his bonnet from the table, he accompanied his captors, looking round the vacant corridors and halls with a feeling of desolation words cannot convey. Not one of all his servants was to be seen; no familiar face presented itself; he was all alone in the hands of an enemy. The truth had flashed upon his mind at length, but how he knew not. Was it an instinct? was it the accumulated memories of many little incidents in the past, each next to nothing by itself, but swelling to a mountain by the piling of one small grain upon another, which showed him now, that Ramiro d'Orco was his foe, and had been compassing his destruction? Or was it that a dark and terrible--almost prophetic warning, which that same man had given him in the palace of Cæsar Borgia, came back to his recollection then?