"Francesco!" she cried to him, as she saw him plunge to a gallop, saw the shield between his shoulders dwindle into the night.
"Francesco!" she cried again, a sudden loneliness seizing on her heart. "Francesco, come back! Francesco—"
The cry was in vain, for he would not listen, deeming her pity more grievous than her scorn. Despair spurred him on; the black night called.
Ilaria watched him vanish into the increasing gloom, while on the cliffs San Nicandro stood, like the great gate of death.
[CHAPTER IV]
DEAD LEAVES
THROUGH bleak and desolate stretches Francesco spurred his steed, as if to outstrip his mastering agony.