“Three hundred ducats yearly to recompense the hospitality I have given you--and six hundred later upon the coming of the Duke!” he mocked. “That was the price, my lord, of my hospitality--which was to include my wife's harlotry. Three hundred ducats! Ha! ha! Three hundred thousand million years in Hell! That is the price, my lord--the price that you shall pay, for I present the reckoning and enforce it. You shall be shriven in iron--you and your wanton after you. “Shall I be caged for having shed a prelate's sacred blood? for having sent a prelate's soul to Hell with all its filth of sin upon it? Shall I? Speak, magnificent; out of the fullness of your theological knowledge inform me.” I had listened in a sort of fascination to that tirade of venomous mockery. But now I stirred, and pulled the casement open. I peered down into the darkness and hesitated. The wall was creeper-clad to the window's height; but I feared the frail tendrils of the clematis would never bear me. I hesitated. Then I resolved to jump. It was but little more than some twelve feet to the ground, and that was nothing to daunt an active lad of my own build, with the soft turf to land upon below. It should have been done without hesitation; for that moment's hesitation was my ruin. Fifanti had heard the opening of the casement, and fearing that, after all, his prey might yet escape him, he suddenly charged the door like an infuriated bull, and borrowing from his rage a strength far greater than his usual he burst away the fastenings of that crazy door. Into the room hurtled the doctor, to check and stand there blinking at me, too much surprised for a moment to grasp the situation. When, at last, he understood, the returning flow of rage was overwhelming. “You!” he gasped, and then his voice mounting--“You dog!” he screamed. “So it was you! You!” He crouched and his little eyes, all blood-injected, peered at me with horrid malice. He grew cold again as he mastered his surprise. “You!” he repeated. “Blind fool that I have been! You! The walker in the ways of St. Augustine--in his early ways, I think. You saint in embryo, you postulant for holy orders! You shall be ordained this night--with this!” And he raised his sword so that little yellow runnels of light sped down the livid blade. “I will ordain you into Hell, you hound!” And thereupon he leapt at me. I sprang away from the window, urged by fear of him into a very sudden activity. As I crossed the room I had a glimpse of the white figure of Giuliana in the gloom of the passage, watching. He came after me, snarling. I seized a stool and hurled it at him. He avoided it nimbly, and it went crashing through the half of the casement that was still closed. And as he avoided it, grown suddenly cunning, he turned back towards the door to bar my exit should I attempt to lead him round the table. We stood at gaze, the length of the little low-ceilinged chamber between us, both of us breathing hard.