"For the love of Heaven, a matter of life or death!" said Isotta, and in her despair she would have knelt, only Valentine dragged her back beside her. "It is very serious," she said. "After the Duke has entered, we may leave?" she asked. "Indeed, ye cannot stay us." "Aye, leave after the Duke has entered, but now, clear yourself away; my lord comes apace, some allies with him----" and with a wave of his halberd he swept them back. Valentine flushed at his tone, yet drew back, her hand on the page's shoulder. But Isotta struggled free and again rushed forward. "I will pass!" she cried wildly. "I will! I have not got so far to be stopped now!" "Oh! thy madness!" murmured Valentine. But Isotta had rushed to the very gate itself, and was only forced back by the pikes at her breast. The officer looked at the group with mistrust. "What is this?" he said. "What means this passion?" "She is half distraught," said Valentine. "Beggary is no small matter, messer. We will be quiet, though, I promise you, until the Duke is past----" And to Isotta at her side she whispered, holding her hand tight, "Thou wilt ruin all; control thyself." But the unfortunate Isotta was calm enough now; she followed Valentine without resistance. And now Carrara's army had reached the gates, and fell back to await Visconti. The whole city was in tumult, the streets filling with excited people; there was mad shouting, the clash of arms. "A Visconti! a Visconti!" "We shall be crushed to death," said Adrian. "I must find you shelter, lady," and he looked around eagerly. "The Duke--the Duke!" and the great gates began to open. "It is useless!" cried Valentine, "and as well die this way as another." "There is a door here," said Isotta; and turning with difficulty, they saw indeed a door, deep set in the wall and closely shut. In desperation, Adrian knocked loudly. "A Visconti!" shouted the soldiers. "A Visconti!" They were fast being hemmed in by the crowd, soldiers were pouring through the gates in companies, strange soldiers, the new allies; and as Valentine beheld them in strength and numbers, and heard them shout her brother's name, she felt her last desperate throw was lost. "A Visconti!" "Knock on the door again," cried Isotta, "knock again." Cavalry was passing, going at a trot, so close, the hoofs were almost in their faces, the foam flew over their mantles. Then in wild confusion they pressed back against the door; passing close, a host of pennons waved from glittering spears, the tossing of horses' heads, the champing of their bits, a clamor of noises, deafening shouts, a hurry of the cavalcade, and then--suddenly a horse drawn up close to the shrinking group in the shadow of the doorway, and a rider looking down at them. Wild with terror, Isotta flung herself against the door, which yielded. Valentine looked up at the man who had stopped--saw her brother's face.