I heard his gasping sob, and the sound smote upon my heart and hurt me as
if it had been iron. I had failed him. He must suffer more in the
knowledge of my unworthiness to be called the son of that master whom he
had worshipped than in the destitution that might await him.

I reached the door.

"My lord! My lord!" he cried after me despairingly. On the very threshold
I stood arrested by that heartbroken cry of his. I half turned.

"Falcone..." I began.

And then my mother's white hand fell upon my wrist.

"Come, my son," she said, once more impassive.

Nervelessly I obeyed her, and as I passed out I heard Falcone's voice
crying:

"My lord, my lord! God help me, and God help you!" An hour later he had
left the citadel, and on the stones of the courtyard lay ten golden ducats
which he had scattered there, and which not one of the greedy grooms or
serving-men could take courage to pick up, so fearful a curse had old
Falcone laid upon that money when he cast it from him.




CHAPTER III