Then came so much parry and thrust, and tergiversation, and objurgation, and recrimination, that poor Giulia became seriously ill. Then the Marchioness of Pescara was very kind to her, and sat by her all day, and would have done so all night, but she fidgeted her to death, by what Giulia called preaching, though Vittoria only spoke what she meant for a word in season; and Giulia longed to tell her she would rather be nursed by her own maids. "Ah, Leila!" said Cynthia, as she knelt, fanning her mistress, "I wish we were all back at Fondi." "Why do you wish that, Cynthia?" "You would be better there, Leila. You would be under the care of Bar Hhasdai." "Bar Hhasdai has no cure for worry, Cynthia." "I think you would be better there, Leila." "Cynthia! do _you_ care for me? do you love me?" Cynthia replied by repeatedly kissing the hem of the Duchess's garment. "Ah, it is all very well to make that dumb show; but do you really love me?" "Yes, Leila, I love you. When the hound flew at me, you were bathed in my blood, and did not mind." "Of course, poor girl, I could not help pitying you. By the bye, Cynthia--would you do anything that would make me better?" "Try me, Leila." "Well then, Cynthia--do tell me--frankly, as a friend--I'll forget I am your mistress--I will not punish you. _Did_ you have any communication with Barbarossa?" Cynthia's face changed. "Oh, Leila! how can you ask?" "Well then, say no! It is so easily spoken." "It is not easy." "Easy or difficult, you _must_ say." Cynthia's obstinate look came on, which showed the case to be hopeless. "Oh, very well, Cynthia; then you do not love me, that is all." And the Duchess turned her face away. "I _do_ love you, Leila." "No, I don't believe you." Cynthia took her hand and wetted it with tears. The Duchess drew it away. "I wish you would kill me, Leila." "Don't tell such stories, Cynthia. You know it is not my nature to kill people; though there were persons wicked enough to say I had killed poor Muza, after cutting out his tongue, which you know he had lost before he ever came to me." "I know it, Leila." "Muza was perhaps sent back as a spy; though he pretended he had escaped. There are so many wicked people in the world that I do not know who to trust--I believe I shall end by distrusting everybody." "Oh no, Leila. Do not!" "Why, how can I trust _you_? You have eaten of my bread and drank of my cup these two years, and you are no more _of_ us than if you were a stone." "I love my own people, I own," said Cynthia. "And so would you love yours, if you were exiled from them." "I love mine without being exiled from them." "But you would find you loved them still more if you were sold into slavery."