descent at a good pace, were so winded that we could get no more than an
amble out of them, saving mine, which was tolerably fresh.

At this a new terror assailed the timorous Giacopo. His head was ever
turned to look behind--unfailing index of a frightened spirit; his eyes
were ever on the crest of the hills, expecting at every moment to behold
the flash of the pursuers' steel. The end soon followed. He drew rein
and called a halt, sullenly sitting his horse like a man deprived of wit--
which is to pay him the compliment of supposing that he ever had wit to be
deprived of.

Instantly the curtain-rings rasped, and Madonna Paola's head appeared, her
voice inquiring the reason of this fresh delay.

Sullenly Giacopo moved his horse nearer, and sullenly he answered her.

"Madonna, our horses are done. It is useless to go farther."

"Useless?" she cried, and I had an instance of how sharply could ring the
voice that I had heard so gentle. "Of what do you talk, you knave? Ride
on at once."

"It is vain to ride on," he answered obdurately, insolence rising in his
voice. "Another half-league--another league at most, and we are taken."

"Cagli is less than a league distant," she reminded him. "Once there,
we can obtain fresh horses. You will not fail me now, Giacopo!"

"There will be delays, perforce, at Cagli," he reminded her, "and,
meanwhile, there are these to guide the Borgia sbirri." And he pointed to