The light footfall drew close and halted. I looked up into the face of the Princess.
She came, picking her way across the mire; and with caution, as if she feared to be overheard. Clearly she had expected to find the sty empty, for even to my dazed senses her dismay was evident as she caught sight of me beneath the hurdle.
"You have not gone! Oh, why have you not gone?"
She was on her knees beside me in the filth. I heard her calling to Marc'antonio, and presently Marc'antonio came, obedient as ever, yet protesting.
"He has not gone!" She moved her hands with a wringing gesture.
I tried to speak, but for answer could only spread my hand, which still grasped the file: and for days after it kept a blue weal bitten across the palm.
I heard Marc'antonio's voice protesting as she took the file and sawed with it frantically across my neck-chain.
"But he must escape and hide, at least."
"He cannot, Princess. The torture has worn him out."
"It were better he died, then. For I must go."