His great chest was heaving; he whipped out his sword, and stood glaring and at bay. Bembo had thrown himself between the upraised thong and its quivering victim. He, too, faced the stricken mob.
'Christ is coming! Christ is coming!' he shrieked. 'Prepare ye all to answer to Him for this!'
A dead silence fell. Some turned their faces in terror. Here and there a woman cried out. In the midst, Messer Jacopo raised his eyes to the battlements, and saw a white hand lifted against the blue. He shrugged round grumpily on his fellows.
'Unbind him,' he said; and the whip was lowered.
The poor body sunk beside the post. Bembo knelt, with a sob of pity, to whisper to it—
'Courage, sad heart! He comes indeed.'
The livid and suffering face was twisted to view its deliverer.
'Escape, then,' the blue lips muttered, 'while there is time.'
Bembo cried out: 'O, thou mistakest who I mean!'
The face dropped again.