"Bolt the wicket!" shouted Ireton, who, with the others, had been not a little entertained by the gallant turnkey's discomfiture. A pretty piece. But it means no end of a row. Supper was quickly served; the oldest bottle of wine was brought from the cellar; the strongest barrel of ale was tapped; but not one of the party could eat or drink—their hearts were too full. The pleasure intensified quickly, it was as much control as she dared to lose as she heard herself calling his name with all her breath. She did not resist him, she could not. His name was Bartolomeo di Alberti. “To the best of my belief, I have never seen the man in my life. There was the cottage she had inhabited for so many years,—in those fields she had rambled,—at that church she had prayed.
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