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 around with that shrewd mind of his to see what road there was to keep my lady and his own life. The days dragged by slow as the coming of death, yet they ran, and each day Mazzaleone said to me, "The days grow short; shall it be to-night?"

Each time I shook my head. So for a week all San Moglio fought; now its men and women drew themselves together in a knot of venomous hate, and again, with hearts calm and hate dead in them, listened to Brother Agnello, and none might tell who would gain the victory until but two nights and one day were left us—and Simonetta did not cease to cry.

"Let the others listen to Brother Agnello, but be sure that the cobbler's son will not." So at last, for I loved life, "He shall die," I told her.

At that she kissed me and left me, and I felt I had betrayed my Master and that the triumph of love was far away; and I wept.