He broke off and closed his eyes.
"I crave my youth!" cried Ilaria unheeding. "My youth, and the joy of life which comes but once. If one will not give me what I seek—I look elsewhere, if so I may!" Her lips trembled. "Why do you look at me so?" she continued impatiently after an instant's pause. "Before you came into the wood I saw your eyes, and I see them still in the dark! What was the object of that mission?"
Francesco drooped his head, but made no reply. In a clover leaf at his feet a dew-drop mirrored a star, breaking the light into a thousand tiny shafts.
"I will give you your youth," he spoke at last in a low strained voice that sounded like a broken sob.
Ilaria laid her hand on his and spoke low. Her light soft fingers were fevered.
"What do you mean?"
"It is a simple matter!"
She gazed at him startled, terrified. Suddenly she threw her arms about him.
"Forgive me! Forgive!"