"He is not fickle, my good friend. He will be there within a month after you reach Florence; the ways are all open now, and there is nothing to impede him; but even if, from some accident which we cannot foresee, he should be delayed a fortnight or three weeks longer, I would have you stay for him. Few men, my good Mardocchi, are likely to be fickle with my daughter."
He laid an emphasis on the word "my", but yet there was something of paternal pride and tenderness in his tone.
"I should think it would be somewhat dangerous," said the friar with a laugh; "however, I will be ready, my lord, at your command, and will obey you to the tittle."
"Dangerous!" said Ramiro, after the man left him. "But this is nonsense; he dare not slight her."
In some eighteen days' time Leonora appeared in Imola, more beautiful, perhaps, than ever, and many of the young nobles of the neighbouring country would willingly have disputed her hand with any one; but Ramiro d'Orco took care to make it known that her heart, with his approbation, had been won by another, whose bride she was soon to be. Toward her he was, perhaps, in some degree, more tender than he had shown himself before, yet there was but little difference in his manner or his conduct; there was the same indulgence of her slightest wishes; the same grave, almost studied reserve. He told her more as a command than a permission, that she would be united to Lorenzo as soon as he arrived; and Leonora's heart beat high with hope and expectation.
Week passed by after week, and still Lorenzo did not come. One letter arrived from Florence informing Ramiro and his daughter that Mona Francesca, deprived of Leonora's society, which had of late been her only solace, had retired from the world even earlier than she had intended; but nothing was heard of Mardocchi, though he was known to be a good scribe.
Six weeks--two months passed, and fears of various kinds took possession of Leonora's heart. Ramiro d'Orco said nothing, but he appeared more grave and stern than ever.
At length a carrier passing by Imola brought a letter from Mardocchi. It was merely to ask if he should return. He made no mention of Lorenzo, but he merely laconically remarked that he thought he had stayed long enough. Ramiro d'Orco laid the letter before his daughter without remark, but he took advantage of a messenger going to France from Cæsar Borgia to order Mardocchi to return.
And what did Leonora do? A tear or two dropped on the villain's letter. She had no doubt of Lorenzo's constancy. His heart was imaged in her own, and she saw nothing fickle, nothing doubtful there. She thought he must be ill--wounded, perhaps, in some encounter--unable to come or write, But she had heard of the courier's passing too, and she longed to write. There had been something in her father's manner, however, that made her hesitate, and, after long thought she went boldly up to his private cabinet. He was seated, signing some official papers, but he looked up the moment she entered, saying--
"What is it, Leonora?"