Antonio shook his head and said lightly, "But I think he cannot take me by force, and I know of no man in all the Duchy that would betray me to a shameful death." "And of no woman?" she asked, glancing at him from under drooping lashes. "No, for I have wronged none; and women are not cruel." "Yet there may be some, my lord, who call you cruel and therefore would be cruel in vengeance. A lover faithful as you can have but one friend among women." "I know of none such," he laughed. "And surely the vengeance would be too great for the offence, if there were such." "Nay, I know not that," said Venusta, frowning. "I would trust myself to any woman, even though the Duke offered her great rewards, aye, as readily as I put faith in Lucia herself, or in you." "You couple me with her?" "In that matter most readily," said Antonio. "But in nothing else?" she asked, flushing again in anger, for still his eyes were distant, and he turned them never on her. "You must pardon me," he said. "My eyes are blinded." For a moment she sat silent; then she said in a low voice, "But blind eyes have learned to see before now, my lord." Then Antonio set his eyes on her; and now she could not meet them, but turned her burning face away. For her soul was in tumult, and she knew not now whether she loved or hated him, nor whether she would save or still betray him. And the trust he had in her gnawed her guilty heart. So that a sudden passion seized her, and she caught Antonio by the arm, crying, "But if a woman held your life in her hand and asked your love as its price, Antonio?" "Such a thing could not be," said he, wondering. "Nay, but it might. And if it were?" And Antonio, marvelling more and more at her vehemence, answered, "Love is dear, and honour is dear; but we of Monte Velluto hold life of no great price." "Yet it is a fearful and shameful thing to hang from the city wall." "There are worse things," said he. "But indeed I count not to do it;" and he laughed again. Venusta sprang to her feet and paced the space between the cave and the river bank with restless steps. Once she flung her hands above her head and clasped them; then, holding them clasped in front of her, she stood by Antonio and bent over him, till her hair, falling forward as she stooped, brushed his forehead and mingled with his fair locks; and she breathed softly his name, "Antonio, Antonio!" At this he looked up with a great start, stretching up his hand as though to check her; but he said nothing. And she, suddenly sobbing, fell on her knees by him; yet, as suddenly, she ceased to sob, and a smile came on her lips, and she leant towards him, saying again, "Antonio." "I pray you, I pray you," said he, seeking to stay her courteously.