“We must part.”

“Part!”

“Yes, Nina—­your guard is preparing; you have relations, I have friends, at Florence.  Florence must be your home.”

“Cola,—­”

“Look not on me thus.—­in power, in state, in safety—­you were my ornament and counsellor.  Now you but embarrass me.  And—­”

“Oh, Cola, speak not thus!  What hath chanced?  Be not so cold—­frown not—­turn not away!  Am I not something more to thee, than the partner of joyous hours—­the minion of love?  Am I not thy wife, Cola—­not thy leman?”

“Too dear—­too dear to me,” muttered the Tribune; “with thee by my side I shall be but half a Roman.  Nina, the base slaves whom I myself made free desert me.—­Now, in the very hour in which I might sweep away for ever all obstacles to the regeneration of Rome—­now, when one conquest points the path to complete success—­now when the land is visible, my fortune suddenly leaves me in the midst of the seas!  There is greater danger now than in the rage of the Barons—­the Barons are fled; it is the People who are becoming traitors to Rome and to me.”

“And wouldst thou have me traitor also!  No, Cola; in death itself Nina shall be beside thee.  Life and honour are reflected but from thee, and the stroke that slays the substance, shall destroy the humble shadow.  I will not part from thee.”

“Nina,” said the Tribune, contending with strong and convulsive emotion—­“it may be literally of death that you speak.—­Go! leave one who can no longer protect you or Rome!”

“Never—­Never.”

“You are resolved?”

“I am.”

“Be it so,” said the Tribune, with deep sadness in his tone.  “Arm thyself for the worst.”

“There is no worst with thee, Cola!”

“Come to my arms, brave woman; thy words rebuke my weakness.  But my sister!—­if I fall, you, Nina, will not survive—­your beauty a prey to the most lustful heart and the strongest hand.  We will have the same tomb on the wrecks of Roman liberty.  But Irene is of weaker mould; poor child, I have robbed her of a lover, and now—­”

“You are right; let Irene go.  And in truth we may well disguise from her the real cause of her departure.  Change of scene were best for her grief; and under all circumstances would seem decorum to the curious.  I will see and prepare her.”

“Do so, sweetheart.  I would gladly be a moment alone with thought.  But remember, she must part today—­our sands run low.”

As the door closed on Nina, the Tribune took out the letter and again read it deliberately.  “So the Pope’s Legate left Sienna:—­prayed that Republic to withdraw its auxiliary troops from Rome—­proclaimed me a rebel and a heretic;—­thence repaired to Marino;—­now in council with the Barons.  Why, have my dreams belied me, then—­false as the waking things that flatter and betray by day?  In such peril will the people forsake me and themselves?  Army of saints and martyrs, shades of heroes and patriots, have ye abandoned for ever your ancient home?  No, no, I was not raised to perish thus; I will defeat them yet—­and leave my name a legacy to Rome; a warning to the oppressor—­an example to the free!”