left there to die, and waited momently for the summoning angel, commending my simple soul to the advocacy of the Blessed Virgin and the merits of my patron St. Francis of Assisi.  I thought, with a pang, of my mother, who might be praying for me now; beside her hallowed image even Aurelia’s was dim.  Then all visions faded out.  Out of the midst of that glaring sky there beamed, as it appeared to me, a ray of intense light, which grew steadily to an intolerable radiancy.  I believed it to be the sword of God in St. Michael Archangel’s hand, held out to give me the accolade, and make me Cavalier of Paradise.  “God and our Lady!” my soul’s voice cried.  An unearthly note of trumpet-music responded to my call, beginning very far away, and swelling in volume of sound until all the air seemed vibrant with it.  Then said my soul, “In manus tuas, Domine Jesu!” and I knew nothing more.

And yet again I awoke, in the level light of early evening, unspeakably refreshed, free from bonds, and little more than stiff in the limbs.  Fra Palamone was by my side, a cup of broth in his hands.  “Drink this, poor suffering Francis,” he said, as gently as a woman.  “Henceforth all shall be harmony betwixt me and thee.”  He put the basin to my lips and lifted my head on his knee that I might drink more at ease.  It was a strong, invigorating stuff, with a cordial in it, I know not of what kind.  Had it been vitriol I had been too weak to refuse it.  It brought my vigour back in a tide; I sat up.  Fra Palamone began to talk, with more candour and fair reason than his late exploits warranted.

He said that a great danger, greater than my ignorance of this country would allow me to guess, had threatened me of late, had come to his knowledge in Florence, and had been forestalled by himself, under the merciful guiding of Heaven, at the last moment.  The Government of Tuscany, owing to the dotage of the Grand Duke and the wicked influence of Donna Violante over her brother-in-law, the Grand Prince Gastone, was impotent; there was no police, but indeed a flagrant anarchy abroad, where private malice stalked in the cloak of justice, and the passions of evil men had scope for the utmost indulgence.  Great men did as they chose—­which was to do evil; the most unnatural debauchery obtained; the Grand Prince Gastone ran spoiling about the country, a satyr heading a troop of satyrs.  No honest person was safe from ruin.  He told me that I had been remarked in Pistoja, and my name and origin guessed at.  They knew me as consorting with profligates and criminals, and accused me of having stolen a young girl from the Marchese Semifonte, upon whose estate she had been born and bred.  It was said that I had brought her to dishonour; the laws were to be put in operation against me, or what masqueraded as laws; worse than death would have been my portion had he not intervened and saved me.  He had been ill-advised perhaps in the manner of doing; but I was to reflect—­was not secrecy essential?