But now Caponsacchi himself grew restless, nervous: here was Castelnuovo, as good as Rome:
"Say you are saved, sweet lady!"
She awoke. The sky was fierce with the sunset colours—suddenly she cried out that she must not die:
"'Take me no farther, I should die: stay here!
I have more life to save than mine!' She swooned.
We seemed safe: what was it foreboded so?"
He carried her,
"Against my heart, beneath my head bowed low,
As we priests carry the paten,"
into the little inn and to a couch, where he laid her, sleeping deeply. The host urged him to leave her in peace till morn.
"Oh, my foreboding! But I could not choose."
All night he paced the passage, throbbing with fear from head to foot, "filled with a sense of such impending woe" . . . and at the first pause of night went to the courtyard, ordered the horses—the last moment came, he must awaken her—he turned to go: