The sun had set. A cold breeze stirred the leaves against the pale sky, but to Mastino, leaning against the tree trunk, waiting, no foreboding came. It was success, success--at last! "Tomaso is long," said Ligozzi. "The way is long," smiled Mastino. "But not so long that we shall not enter Milan before dawn!" The passage opened into the undergrowth from the wide mouth of a cave, and Della Scala, in his eagerness, stepped forward into the shadow of its blackness, listening intently. No sound broke the stillness save the little murmur of the wind, the occasional clank of the bridles of the idle horses. "Hark!" cried Mastino. "I hear him!" He turned with shining eyes to Ligozzi. "My friend, at last Heaven has heard!" "He carries no torch," said Ligozzi, wonderingly, for though footsteps ascended, no ray of light fell across the dark. "He stayed not for torch," cried Della Scala. "Bring up the men, Ligozzi!" As he spoke, a figure forced itself out of the dark, a wild figure, and yet Tomaso's; his white face was smeared with blood which trickled from a great gash on his forehead, his doublet was rent and torn, and he reeled as if hurt and spent. "O Mother of God!" muttered Mastino. "Mother of God!" Tomaso sank at his feet with a bitter cry. "All is over!" he cried. "We are betrayed. Oh, would I were dead before I had to tell thee!" "Betrayed?" echoed Della Scala. All the life was struck out of him, he steadied himself against the cavern wall and looked at the boy dully. "Betrayed?" "Betrayed? By whom?" cried Ligozzi. "Ah, thou art hurt!" "Nothing, nothing. I am in time--Visconti--his men guard the other entrance--with difficulty I escaped to warn thee," gasped Tomaso. "Who betrayed us?" demanded his father, his face dark with passion. "The girl," said Tomaso, bitterly; "the girl who loved Visconti." "And Heaven favors her love and not mine!" The cry was wrung from Mastino. "We are betrayed for a girl's love of Visconti. And my wife waits for me!" He laughed wildly, and drew a faded rose from the folds of his sash, flinging it on to the ground. "Look, Ligozzi, a sign from Heaven--a sign I thought had been fulfilled. But a girl prayed for Visconti, doubtless, and her prayers are heard. Isotta must perish, but Visconti is saved! To mock, Heaven sends me a sign." He ground the rose to powder beneath his heel, and Ligozzi quailed at the wild anguish of his face. "I should have known," he cried. "I should have known. I called on God and this is His answer. I will fight Visconti alone!" He turned from the cavern to the open, and stepped out among the waiting officers. "Back to camp!" he cried wildly. "We are betrayed again, by a woman who loves Visconti! The Duke of Milan is fortunate; who would do the like for me?" And he flung himself down upon the bank, and sank to the ground. "Leave us," whispered Ligozzi. "Leave us, all is over for to-night, the Prince and I will follow." "He is much moved," returned one of the officers.