"The promise of the day!" said Visconti, dreamily and sadly. "Hath it never struck thee how that promise never is fulfilled? Day after day, since the world began, something in the mystery of the dawn is promised--something the sunset smiles to see unfulfilled--something men have been ever cheated of--something men will never know--the promise of the dawn!" The road began now to be fringed with poplars, and in the faint light the colors of the wayside flowers were visible. They rode awhile in silence. Carrara looked back at the small rearguard in the distance, and before him along the road to his army blackening the plain, and then again at Visconti. "Either he is always mad or----" With a sharp exclamation he fell forward on his horse's neck, but recovered himself instantly. Visconti turned to him, still with that far-away look in his eyes. "The road is stony," he said. "Thy horse stumbled?" "Fool or devil?" Carrara was still wondering, and, looking at Visconti's face, he almost thought him a fool. "You and I," cried Visconti, with a sudden change, "together, Carrara! Lords of Lombardy!" And he struck his horse into a gallop so unexpectedly that Carrara had difficulty to keep abreast with him. "I have been so long away!" he cried. "Haste! I long to be in my city again. Valentine--and others--will be grieving. Haste!" And he still urged his horse. Carrara, galloping at his side, suddenly reeled in the saddle, with a cry of anguish. "Faster!" cried Visconti. "Faster!" With an effort Carrara kept his horse to the pace, but his face was deathly, his lips set. Visconti never looked at him; his gaze was toward Milan and the sunrise. Suddenly Carrara cried aloud. "Not so fast, Visconti, not so fast!" But Gian flew along the level road. "Milan!" he cried, "on to Milan!" Carrara swayed forward to grasp Visconti's cloak, but he shook him off with a laugh. "What ails you, Carrara? The army waits, you must ride faster still if you mean to ride into Milan to-day with me." But Carrara was clutching at the neck of his doublet with staring eyes. "My heart!" he gasped. "I suffocate--ah----!" And he rode on blindly. "Your heart?" laughed Visconti, drawing rein a little. "Do your treacheries stop its beating? You suffocate?--Do your lies choke you?" A cry of mortal agony broke from the unhappy Carrara. "Stop!" he gasped; "I am--dying--stop----" Then his glazing eyes fell on the brilliant blue gloves he wore, and he sat upright with a scream of rage. "The gloves! the gloves!" And with his remaining strength he tried to tear them off. "O fool! A Visconti!... I might--have known----" Frantically he pulled at them, while Visconti, now moving almost at a walk, looked dreamily ahead at the fast nearing city. "Fiend!" cried Carrara wildly. "Fiend!" And he lurched forward, falling heavily onto the road, where he lay, convulsed, the turquoise gloves still on his hands.