“I would not, if I were you.  After all, it is a hospitable invitation, and you cannot invent any reasonable excuse for refusing to stay at least one night.  The horses are worn out, too.  You have no pretext.”

“Perhaps not.  I will see.”

The carriages moved at a foot pace.  As Veronica walked along she nodded and spoke to many of the poor people, who drew back into their doors from the narrow way.  Behind her came two more carriages laden with luggage, and one of her own men on horseback closed the procession.  By urging his stout beast up all the short cuts, he had accomplished the feat of keeping up with the vehicles.

When they reached the castle gate, the Della Spina’s two men-servants jumped down and got a sort of sedan chair from amongst the luggage, but Gianluca would not have it.

“I can walk to-day,” he said.  “Help me, Taquisara.  Have you got my stick?  Thank you.  No, do not lift me.  Let me get out alone!  I am sure that I can do it.”

Pale as he was, he blushed with annoyance at his feeble state, when he saw Veronica’s anxious eyes watching his movements.

It was early yet, but the August sun sank behind the lofty heights to westward, as he set his foot upon the ground.  Taquisara’s arm was around him, and the Sicilian’s face was quiet and unconcerned, but Veronica saw the straining of the brown hand that supported the tall invalid, and she knew that Gianluca could not have stood alone.  But he would not let the servants come near him.  The old Duca and his wife touched his sleeve and asked him nervous, futile questions, and begged him to allow himself to be carried.  Veronica stood in front, ready to lead the way.

“No, no!” exclaimed Gianluca, answering his mother.  “You see.  I can walk very well to-day, with scarcely any help.”

But his first step was unsteady, and the next was slow.  Veronica heard the uncertain footfall on the flagstones and turned again.

“Will you take my arm on this side?” she asked gently, placing herself on his right, away from Taquisara.

He hesitated, smiled, and then laid his hand upon her arm, and she and Taquisara led him in together, the old couple following, and looking at each other in silence from time to time.  Through the dark, inclined way, they all went up slowly into the courtyard and under the low door, dark even on that summer’s afternoon, slowly, stopping at every dozen paces and then moving on again.  Taquisara almost carrying his friend with his right arm, while Veronica steadied him on the other side, till they came out at last into a room which had been furnished as a sort of sitting-room and library, especially for Gianluca’s use.  He sank down into a deep chair facing the window, and drew breath, as he sought Veronica’s eyes.

“You are very kind,” he said faintly.  “But you see how much better I am,” he added at once, in a more cheerful tone.  “It is the first walk I have taken for several days, Donna Veronica.  I have really been ill, you know.”