must soon be mine. Meanwhile I was an agent of that ruin. Dear God! how
that reflection warmed me! What joy I took in the thought that, though
he knew it not, nor could come to know it, I Lazzaro Biancomonte, whom he
had abused and whose spirit he had broken--was become a tool to expedite
the work of abasement and destruction that was ripening for him. And
realizing all this, that letter I vowed to Heaven I would carry,
suffering no obstacle to daunt me, suffering nothing to turn me from my
path.

And then another voice seemed to arise within me, to cry out impatiently:
"Yes, yes; but how?"

I rose, and approaching the table, I took up the jug of wine and poured
myself a draught. I drank it off, and cast the dregs at an inquisitive
rat that had thrust its head above the boards. Then I quenched the
light, and flung myself once more upon my bed, in the hope that darkness
would prove a stimulant to thought and bring me to the solution I was
seeking. It brought me sleep instead. Unconsciously I sank to it, my
riddle all unsolved.

I did not wake until the pale sun of that January morning was drawing the
pattern of my lattice on the ceiling. The stormy night had been
succeeded by a calm and sunlit day. And by its light the place wore a
more loathsome look than it had done last night, so that at the very
sight of it I leapt from my couch and grew eager to be gone. I set a
ducat on the table, and going to the door I called my hostess. The
stairs creaked presently 'neath her portentous weight, and, panting
slightly, she stood before me.

At sight of me, for I was without my cloak, and my motley was revealed in