know I am not foolish. I would not come to you without reason. Is it too late to warn you against any one, every one who seems to be working on your side? Is it too late to say, 'Go to your villa and keep away in the country when these three more days of office are over? 'Oh, God! perhaps it is too late! and if any harm comes to you, it will be as if I had done it!"
The last words had burst from Romola involuntarily: a long-stifled feeling had found spasmodic utterance. But she herself was startled and arrested.
"I mean," she added, hesitatingly, "I know nothing positive. I only know what fills me with fears."
"Poor child!" said Bernardo, looking at her with quiet penetration for a moment or two. Then he said—"Go, Romola, go home and rest. These fears may be only big ugly shadows of something very little and harmless. Even traitors must see their interest in betraying; the rats will run where they smell the cheese, and there is no knowing yet which way the scent will come."
He paused, and turned away his eyes from her with an air of abstraction, till, with a slow shrug, he added—
"As for warnings, they are of no use to me, child. I enter into no plots, but I never forsake my colours. If I march abreast with obstinate men, who will rush
