"Lord, thou understandest! Because I cannot deck thy altars with the gold of victory, thou wilt not forsake me, thou wilt have mercy on me and on her!" And he stretched out his arms to the figure in an exaltation of trust and hope. "Even as I spare those who betray, so wilt thou spare her, O Christ!" He flung himself from his knees, face downward on the stones, in a tumult of hope and trust. Around the folds of Mastino's cloak lay the leaves of some dead roses that had fluttered at his movement, from forgotten wreaths, hanging brown against the wall. Mastino rose, eager for some answer--some assent. But the dead Christ was silent. Mastino could see the cracking paint on the ribs, the tawdry gold of the halo, and he came still nearer in a strange desperation. Half-hidden in shadow, two faces looked down on him--expressionless, stone, the angels on the wall. Mastino looked from them to the crucifix, and his fervent faith sank, chilled. "Stone," he murmured in his heart. "Stone and paint," and he noticed the empty lamps that should be blazing with eternal fire, and he cried aloud in bitterness. "Men keep those alight, and without them the eternal fire dies! Stone angels and a painted God! What help in them?" And he dropped again upon the floor. "The lamps burn bright on Visconti's altars, and his saints smile--for the painter limned them so." He turned from the dismantled chapel and rushed up the three steps, half distraught. In the outer chamber the sunlight dropped strong and golden, and Mastino shut the door of the dark and gloomy chapel behind him with a shudder. "Lord!" cried an eager voice. "Lord!" It was Tomaso and his father. "Did ye fear for me, Ligozzi?" said Della Scala kindly. "I have been praying for a patient heart." And the two who loved him looked at him awhile and could say nothing. "My lord," began Tomaso again with a timid eagerness, "there is news----" "Tomaso," said his father, "thy news can wait." Mastino picked up his gauntlet from the deep window-seat where he had laid it down, and fastening it on, looked at Ligozzi. "What hast thou to say, Ligozzi? Have any of the men returned?" Ligozzi stood fidgeting with his cap, looking uneasily at the ground. "Come," and Mastino smiled sadly, "I am used to bad news, Ligozzi." "Some few men have indeed returned from Giacomo's army, my lord, some fourscore----" "Some fourscore!" repeated Della Scala. "Are there so many as fourscore that will not serve Visconti?" "They have strange tales, my lord. They say Carrara himself is dead." "Carrara dead!" cried Mastino with a sudden fierceness, savage as a bite. "Now, I had promised myself to kill Carrara. Who has forestalled me?" "It is said--Visconti himself--they do not know." "And the traitor dead," broke in Della Scala, "was there not one--not one to lead the men back to me again? Visconti, single-handed and unarmed, was allowed to take an army into Milan?"