Francesco seemed lost in thought. He bowed his head and looked long into the valley.
"Am I he who slew Raniero Frangipani?"
"Courage!" said the duke.
"My blood is as water, my heart as wax. Death and destiny are over my head!"
"Speak not to me of destiny and look not to the skies! I have closed my account with Heaven! In himself is man's power! You have broken the crucifix! Now trust your own soul. So long as you did serve a superstition had you lost your true heaven!"
"And yet—"
"You have played the god, and the Father in Heaven must love you for your strength! God does not love a coward! He will let you rule your destiny—not destiny your soul!"
"Strange words—"
"But true! Were I God, should I love the monk puling prayers in a den? Nay—that man should I choose who dared to follow the dictates of his own soul and strangle Fate with the grip of truth. Great deeds are better than mumbled prayers!"
The horseman in the valley had swept at a gallop through a sea of sun-bronzed fern. His eyes were full of a restless glitter, as the eyes of a man, whose heart is troubled. He sprang from the saddle, and, leading his horse by the bridle, bent low before the twain.