Having succeeded so far, Valentine had little fear; it was now an almost easy matter for her to accomplish the remainder of her plan.

She had the palace keys in her possession, and they unlocked secret doors, and more than one hidden entry and private way, entries and ways she knew well, and yet otherwise could not have used.

Soon after the dawn that saw Carrara fall by the wayside, Isotta d’Este and Valentine slipped from the palace; aided by Costanza, and joined by Adrian in the long gallery, they passed through the secret door that led through winding passages to the old part of the building, and thence by another entrance almost beneath the walls themselves.

Valentine wore a page’s suit, her upper lip darkened, a heavy cloak, with a hood such as was worn in travelling, drawn about her, and by her side Visconti’s dagger.

Despite her anxiety, her passionate desire to frustrate her brother’s tyranny, her wild eagerness to be free and outside Milan, Valentine almost enjoyed the part that she was playing; she swaggered more than Adrian, and looked with some scorn on the weakness of Mastino’s wife, who wept with her happiness.

The thought of Gian’s rage and discomfiture was very sweet to Valentine, almost as sweet as the thought of Conrad in della Scala’s camp, and the happy life of freedom coming.

Rapidly they traversed the narrow street that led to the gate, Valentine erect and joyful, Isotta leaning on her arm, happy too, with a deeper happiness, but faint and bewildered from her long imprisonment, nervous and fearful of every sound.

Behind them strode Adrian, with eager eyes and swelling heart — the Lady Valentine had smiled on him!

But the lady’s thoughts were not on the page. With every step to freedom, Count Conrad’s blue eyes and merry laugh rose before her the more clearly, and she remembered that last time she had essayed escape, and he had near given her, for all he knew, his life. He was in della Scala’s camp.

But, hasten as she might, Isotta dragged her on yet faster. Her eagerness was pitiful to see; Valentine looked down at her white face and trembling lips, and with a sudden impulse stooped and kissed her.

It was still so early that the streets were empty, save at the gate where the soldiers clustered, but they took small heed, for the three looked no unusual figures.

‘Now the passports,’ whispered Valentine. ‘Adrian must show them, but do ye stand ready, Isotta, to answer if they question. I dare not, lest they know my face. Remember, Adrian, an escort meets us half a league away, and ’tis a quiet village that we travel to.’

Isotta d’Este steadied herself against the wall, and grasping Valentine’s hand, followed Adrian toward the soldiers on guard.

‘Stand to thy part now, Adrian,’ said Valentine; ‘remember ’tis our lives.’

A growing knot of men stood outside the guard-room; there seemed to be some great excitement; ringing orders, loud talk, increasing bustle. No one took heed of the three, nor even noticed them, and only after a delay at which Isotta’s heart sickened could Adrian find an officer to whom to show the passports.

He glanced them over hastily. ‘They seem to be in order,’ he said, then suddenly turned to the woman of the three: ‘What do ye do leaving Milan, mistress, when the country is in arms, with no escort save two boys?’

She hesitated, and Valentine stepped forward quietly.

‘Our father is sick,’ she said, ‘and ’tis a pressing question of inheritance. Our kinsfolk promise us an escort.’

The officer shrugged his shoulders.

”Tis your own lives,’ he said. ‘Later in the day ye can go. Not now. There is an army coming, and the Duke in front of it.’ Valentine stood still and calm.

‘Our father is very ill,’ she said; ‘if we are not in time, we may be beggared. Our passports were signed by the Duke himself. We demand to go.’

But the officer had hardly heard her. A fresh detachment, of soldiers had ridden up, and the man’s thoughts and eyes were engaged in half a dozen places.

Half mad, Isotta sprang forward, shaking off Valentine’s restraining hand.

‘We must pass, we must through this moment,’ she cried. ‘Let us through, and we’ll make it worth thy while.’

At the eagerness of her tone the officer turned, surprised. ‘Ye are very anxious,’ he said.

‘For the love of Heaven, a matter of life or death!’ said Isotta, and in her despair she would have knelt, only Valentine dragged her back beside her.

‘It is very serious,’ she said. ‘After the Duke has entered, we may leave?’ she asked. ‘Indeed, ye cannot stay us.’

‘Aye, leave after the Duke has entered, but now, clear yourself away; my lord comes apace, some allies with him —’ and with a wave of his halberd he swept them back.

Valentine flushed at his tone, yet drew back, her hand on the page’s shoulder.

But Isotta struggled free and again rushed forward.

‘I will pass!’ she cried wildly. ‘I will! I have not got so far to be stopped now!’

‘Oh! thy madness!’ murmured Valentine.

But Isotta had rushed to the very gate itself, and was only forced back by the pikes at her breast.

The officer looked at the group with mistrust.

‘What is this?’ he said. ‘What means this passion?’

‘She is half distraught,’ said Valentine. ‘Beggary is no small matter, messer. We will be quiet, though, I promise you, until the Duke is past —’ And to Isotta at her side she whispered, holding her hand tight, ‘Thou wilt ruin all; control thyself.’

But the unfortunate Isotta was calm enough now; she followed Valentine without resistance.

And now Carrara’s army had reached the gates, and fell back to await Visconti. The whole city was in tumult, the streets filling with excited people; there was mad shouting, the clash of arms. ‘A Visconti! A Visconti!’

‘We shall be crushed to death,’ said Adrian. ‘I must find you shelter, lady,’ and he looked around eagerly.

The Duke — the Duke!’ and the great gates began to open. ‘It is useless!’ cried Valentine, ‘and as well die this way as another.’

‘There is a door here,’ said Isotta; and turning with difficulty, they saw indeed a door, deep set in the wall and closely shut.

In desperation, Adrian knocked loudly. ‘A Visconti!’ shouted the soldiers. ‘A Visconti!’

They were fast being hemmed in by the crowd, soldiers were pouring through the gates in companies, strange soldiers, the new allies; and as Valentine beheld them in strength and numbers, and heard them shout her brother’s name, she felt her last desperate throw was lost.

‘A Visconti!’

‘Knock on the door again,’ cried Isotta, ‘knock again.’ Cavalry was passing, going at a trot, so close the hoofs were almost in their faces, the foam flew over their mantles.

Then in wild confusion they pressed back against the door; passing close, a host of pennons waved from glittering spears, the tossing of the horses’ heads, the champing of their bits, a clamour of noises, deafening shouts, a hurry of the cavalcade, and then — suddenly a horse drawn up close to the Shrinking group in the shadow of the doorway, and a rider looking down at them.

Wild with terror, Isotta flung herself against the door, which yielded. Valentine looked up at the man who had stopped — saw her brother’s face.

‘Ah, my sister,’ he said between his teeth; and Valentine, scarce knowing what she did, fled after Isotta, the page behind, closing the door upon Visconti.

In the pleasant courtyard was a girl, dressed in scarlet, who rose, surprised at their disordered aspect.

”Tis only a moment gained,’ cried Valentine, hoarsely. ‘He will follow!’

Isotta turned to Graziosa in an agony. Tor the love of Heaven hide us — for the love of Heaven, from Visconti!’

‘Hide us!’ said Valentine bitterly. ‘Hide us from Visconti!’ And Graziosa thought of the secret passage.

‘I will help you,’ she said. ‘I and my father do not love Visconti —’

‘Quick, maiden,’ cried the page. ‘I see the spears are motionless outside. I will guard the door.’

‘They will kill thee,’ cried Isotta. ‘Thou art too young.’

But Valentine turned to the boy and gave him her beautiful hand. ‘Guard the door, gain us a moment, Adrian — for me,’ she said, and hurried across the sunny courtyard, followed by Graziosa and Isotta.

Tor me!’ repeated Adrian, and set himself before the door proudly, with flashing eyes and dagger drawn. He was only a boy, a page, she a princess, but he could set his life against her smile, and think himself well paid.

Graziosa, panting with excitement, hurried them into the house, and into the lower room from which the secret passage opened. The pleasant little home was still half dismantled from the recent attack of the Germans, the neat trimness of the cool chambers gone.

At their entrance Agnolo came forward in alarm, but at his daughter’s hurried explanation, turned willingly to the secret door he kept well concealed. For the little painter took no thought of w............