'Yes,' said Angelo; 'he has taught us to read God's handwriting. I
revere him. It's odd; I always fancy I hear his voice from a dungeon,
and seeing him looking at one light. He has a fault: he does not
comprehend the feelings of a nobleman. Do you think he has made a
convert of our Carlo in that? Never! High blood is ineradicable.'

'I am not of high blood,' said Vittoria.

'Countess Ammiani overlooks it. And besides, low blood may be elevated
without the intervention of a miracle. You have a noble heart,
signorina. It may be the will of God that you should perpetuate our
race. All of us save Carlo Ammiani seem to be falling.'

Vittoria bent her head, distressed by a broad beam of sunlight. The
country undulating to the plain lay under them, the great Alps above, and
much covert on all sides. They entered a forest pathway, following
chance for safety. The dark leafage and low green roofing tasted sweeter
to their senses than clear air and sky. Dark woods are home to
fugitives, and here there was soft footing, a surrounding gentleness,--
grass, and moss with dead leaves peacefully flat on it. The birds were
not timorous, and when a lizard or a snake slipped away from her feet, it
was amusing to Vittoria and did not hurt her tenderness to see that they
were feared. Threading on beneath the trees, they wound by a valley's
incline, where tumbled stones blocked the course of a green water, and
filled the lonely place with one onward voice. When the sun stood over
the valley they sat beneath a chestnut tree in a semicircle of orange
rock to eat the food which Angelo had procured at the inn. He poured out
wine for her in the hollow of a stone, deep as an egg-shell, whereat she
sipped, smiling at simple contrivances; but no smile crossed the face of
Angelo. He ate and drank to sustain his strength, as a weapon is