It was late before Tito came. Romola had been pacing up and down the long room which had once been the library, with the windows open, and a loose white linen robe on instead of her usual black garment. She was glad of that change after the long hours of heat and motionless meditation; but the coolness and exercise made her more intensely wakeful, and as she went with the lamp in her hand to open the door for Tito, he might well have been startled by the vividness of her eyes and the expression of painful resolution, which was in contrast with her usual self-restrained quiescence before him. But it seemed that this excitement was just what he expected.
“Ah! it is you, Romola. Maso is gone to bed,” he said, in a grave, quiet tone, interposing to close the door for her. Then, turning round, he said, looking at her more fully than he was wont, “You have heard it all, I see.”
Romola quivered. He then was inclined to take the initiative. He had been to Tessa. She led the way through the nearest door, set down her lamp, and turned towards him again.
“You must not think despairingly of the consequences,” said Tito, in a tone of soothing encouragement, at which Romola stood wondering, until he added, “The accused have too many family ties with all parties not to escape; and Messer Bernardo del Nero has other things in his favour besides his age.”
Romola started, and gave a cry as if she had been suddenly stricken by a sharp weapon.
“What! you did not know it?” said Tito, putting his hand under her arm that he might lead her to a seat; but she seemed to be unaware of his touch.
“Tell me,” she said, hastily—“tell me what it is.”
“A man, whose name you may forget—Lamberto dell’ Antella—who was banished, has been seized within the territory: a letter has been found on him of very dangerous import to the chief Mediceans, and the scoundrel, who was once a favourite hound of Piero de’ Medici, is ready now to swear what any one pleases against him or his friends. Some have made their escape, but five are now in prison.”
“My godfather?” said Romola, scarcely above a whisper, as Tito made a slight pause.
“Yes: I grieve to say it. But along with him there are three, at least, whose names have a commanding interest even among the popular party—Niccolò Ridolfi, Lorenzo Tornabuoni, and Giannozzo Pucci.”