“Then you must certainly give him an audience,” answered Aubrey—­ “You may perhaps find out what has happened to bring the good Cardinal into disfavour at the Vatican, for there is no doubt that he is extremely worried and anxious.  He is strongly desirous of leaving Rome at once with that gentle lad Manuel, who, from all I can gather, has said something to displease the Pope.  Angela is out of danger now—­and I am trying to persuade the Cardinal to accompany us to England, and be present at our marriage.”

“That would be delightful!” said Sylvie with a smile,—­“But my Aubrey, where are we going to be married?”

“In England, as I said—­not here!” said Aubrey firmly—­“Not here, where evil tongues have spoken lies against my darling!” He drew her into his arms and looked at her fondly.  “I want you to start for England soon, Sylvie—­and if possible, I should like you to go, not only with the faithful Bozier, but also in the care of the Cardinal.  I will precede you by some days, and arrange everything for your reception.  And then we will be married—­in my way!”

Sylvie said nothing—­she merely nestled like a dove in the arms of her betrothed, and seemed quite content to accept whatever ordinance he laid down for the ruling of her fate.

“I think you must see Gherardi,” he resumed—­“Write a line and say you will be happy to receive him at the hour he appoints.”

Sylvie obeyed—­and despatched the note at once to the Vatican by her man-servant.

Aubrey looked at her intently.

“I wonder—­Sylvie, I wonder—­” he began, and then stopped.

She met his earnest eyes with a smile in her own.

“You wonder what, caro mio?” she enquired.

“I wonder whether you could endure a very great trial—­or make a very great sacrifice for my sake!” he said,—­then as he saw her expression, he took her little hand and kissed it.

“There!  Forgive me!  Of course you would!—­only you look such a slight thing—­such a soft flower of a woman—­like a rose-bud to be worn next the heart always—­that it seems difficult to picture you as an inflexible heroine under trying circumstances.  Yet of course you would be.”

“I make no boast, my Aubrey!” she said gently.

He kissed her tenderly,—­reverently,—­studying her sweet eyes and delicate colouring with all the fond scrutiny of a love which cannot tire of the thing it loves.

“Are you going round to see Angela this morning?” he asked.

“Yes, I always go.  She is much better—­she sits up a little every day now.”

“She says nothing of her assassin?”

“Nothing.  But I know him!”

“We all know him!” said Aubrey sternly—­“But she will never speak—­ she will never let the world know!”

“Ah, but the world will soon guess!” said Sylvie—­“For everyone is beginning to ask where her fiance is—­why he has shown no anxiety—­ why he has not been to see her—­and a thousand other questions.”