"Grapple the days to come!" he said. "Let Scripture and ethics rot! My men are at your command! Let them ride by stream and forest, moor and mere! Let them ride in quest of your lost one, ride like the wind!" Francesco looked at the duke through a mist of tears. "You know?" he faltered. "For this I came!" replied the duke, extending his hand. "You will find her whom your heart seeks. Like a golden dawn shall she rise out of the past. Blow your horn! Let us not tarry!" CHAPTER VIII THE ANCHORESS OF NARNI Six days had passed. Once more the sun had tossed night from the sky and kindled hope in the hymning east. The bleak wilderness barriered by sea and crag had mellowed into the golden silence of the autumnal woods. The very trees seemed tongued with prophetic flame. The world leaped radiant out of the dawn. Through the reddened woods rode Francesco, the Duke of Spoleto silent by his side. Gloom still reigned on the pale, haggard face and there was no lustre in the eyes that challenged ever the lurking shade of Death. Six nights and six days had the quest been baffled. Near and far armor glimmered in the reddened sanctuaries of the woods. Not a trumpet brayed, though a host had scattered in search of a woman's face. On the seventh day, the trees drew back before Francesco where the shimmering waters of the Nera streaked the meads. Peace dwelled there and calm eternal, as of the Spirit that heals the throes of men. Rare and golden lay the dawn-light on the valleys. The songs of the birds came glad and multitudinous as in the burgeoning dawn of a glorious day. Francesco had halted under a great oak. His head was bare in the sun-steeped shadows, his face was the face of one weary with long watching under the voiceless stars. Great dread possessed him. He dared not question his own soul. A horn sounded in the woods, wild, clamorous and exultant. It was as the voice of a prophet, clearing the despair of a godless world. Even the trees stood listening. Far below, in the green shadows of the valley, a horseman spurred his steed. Francesco's eyes were upon him. Yet he dared not hope, gripped by a great fear. "I am even as a child," he said. The duke's lips quivered. "The dawn breaks,--the night is past. Tidings come to us. Let us ride out!" Francesco seemed lost in thought. He bowed his head and looked long into the valley. "Am I he who slew Raniero Frangipani?" "Courage!" said the duke. "My blood is as water, my heart as wax. Death and destiny are over my head!" "Speak not to me of destiny and look not to the skies! I have closed my account with Heaven! In himself is man's power! You have broken the crucifix! Now trust your own soul. So long as you did serve a superstition had you lost your true heaven!" "And yet--" "You have played the god, and the Father in Heaven must love you for your strength! God does not love a coward! He will let you rule your destiny--not destiny your soul!" "Strange words--"