"Doubtless," replied Antonio; "but it gives me a secret how to accelerate your cure, my good lord--A wet napkin round his head will take off the head-ache, at all events," he muttered to himself; "but not just yet. Better let these men depart first. "Now, Antonio, sit down and tell me all that has befallen since I sent you to Milan," said Lorenzo. "Did you find the small picture of my mother where old Beatrice told me it would be found?" "Yes, my lord; but the case was much broken," replied Antonio. "Here it is." As he spoke, he produced one of those miniature portraits which sometimes even the most celebrated artists of the day were pleased to paint, and handed it to Lorenzo. It was fixed in an embossed case of gilded brass; but as the man had said, the back of the case had been apparently forced sharply open, so as to break the spring lock and one of the hinges. Lorenzo took it, and, raising himself on his elbow, gazed at the features of a very lovely woman which the picture represented. "And this was my mother!" he murmured, after looking at it for a long time; and then he added, in a still lower tone, "Vengeance is mine, saith the Lord!" He then turned the portrait, drew off the dilapidated back of the case, and read some words which were written round a small oval box forming part of the frame, but concealed by the case when it was closed. "A cure for the ills of life!" were the words; and, lifting the lid of the box, he beheld several small papers, containing some substance within them, discoloured by age. "Know you what these are?" he asked of Antonio. "No, my lord," replied the man; "poison, I suppose, as death is 'the only cure for all the ills of life.'" "Right!" replied Lorenzo, musing, "right! He told me she had only escaped dishonour by death." "Ay, my good young lord, I can tell you more of it," answered Antonio. "You were a baby then; but I am well-nigh fifteen years older, and I remember it all right well. I was then in Milan, and----" He had not time to finish the sentence ere Ramiro d'Orco entered the room, followed by Bianca Maria and Leonora. The expression of the countenance of each of the two girls was somewhat significant of their characters, Blanche Marie gazed, shrinking and timid, round the room, as if she expected to behold some ghastly spectacle, till her eyes lighted upon Lorenzo, and then a glad smile spread over her whole face. Leonora looked straight on, her eyes fixing upon her wounded lover at once, as if divining rather than seeing where he lay; and, walking straight to his bedside, she took the chair nearest, as if of right. "I have brought you two nurses, Lorenzo," said Ramiro; "they will give their whole care to you, and you will soon be well. But you must promise me, in honour of the skill which has saved your life, that you will not hazard it by attempting any exercise for several days."