'My God! It's gone!'
'Gone? Look again.'
'I had it on my finger. Till this moment I had forgot it clean—my brain so ached. Cicca!'
He turned in trouble on his servant.
'I know nought of it,' growled the Fool. 'If you had but chose to tell me. I am no gossip. Bona's ring was it, and leased to thee? Mayhap the rain that night washed it from thy finger.'
'If it were so—so great a trust abused! O Carlo! What shall I do?'
'Come back and make thy peace with her.'
Yet his brow gloomed, and he shook his head.
'O, O!' choked Bernardo, noting him with anguish.
'She sent a message—I can't help myself,' grunted Carlo. 'Did you seek to retaliate on her innocent confidence by ruining her? She meant the ring—your withholding it—'twas her troth-token from the Duke. Well, this is like getting a woman into trouble.'