stones from Pietro, and dropping them overboard, I'll get ready for my part.”
Almost mechanically he obeyed and in the darkness he heard the soft rustle of garments as if she were discarding feminine garb that would impede her bodily freedom. He had no time to look around, and besides would not have done so lest he prove ineptly curious. Stone after stone was handed downward to him and then there was a pause, a soft, grating sound, and into his hands came bodily the ancient iron grille, and with its contact he heard Pietro's whisper, “That is all. The way is clear.”
It was time for him to interfere in this mad project. He turned and bent toward her and said, “Now tell me how I'm to go when I get inside.”
“You're not going inside,” she whispered back as she thrust herself forward past him and lifted her hands to the window sill. “You're to wait for me to return, and, if you hear any alarming noise, you and Pietro are to get away as quickly as ever you can.”
He had no time to remonstrate, to discuss, or to argue, for suddenly her lithe young body, clad in boyish knickerbockers, leaped upward, gained the stone ledge and was disappearing. There was no time to be lost. He did not wait. He threw his sailor-trained hands upward, clutched the ledge and sprang after her. There was nothing else to do, unless she were to face unforeseen perils and menaces alone and unsupported. He heard Pietro's expostulations, muttered savagely behind him, twisted his body, and jumped forward into enveloping darkness. His shoes, although he landed on the stone flagging on his toes, made a harsh noise. He felt his arm clutched with hands that even through the cloth of his pongee suit thrilled him and her voice, so close to his ear that it was fragrant with her breath, remonstrating, “No—no—no! You mustn't come in here with me! You'll spoil everything!”
“I'm going with you,” he whispered. “Where you go, I go.” And then in the excitement of the moment he added: “Always! Never from now on shall you go alone.”
In that solid, profoundly quiet darkness he sensed that she drew back, hesitated, and then he felt a hand groping for his as if, after all, in this disturbed moment she was afraid of what might come and was grateful for his support. He caught it, held it, felt its yielding appeal, and could not restrain himself even in that peculiarly trying moment, so there in the darkness lifted it to his lips. He was disappointed when, as if shocked, it was hastily withdrawn, and her whisper came to him, “We must turn to the left. Then we climb some stairs and there is a door which we must open, and then we go to the right, find another door, and are in the loggia.”
“I'm afraid you will have to hold my hand and lead me,” he whispered back.
But she did not do as he wished. Instead he felt her fingers fumble and catch his coat sleeve, urge him toward her, and then hastily pull him forward. Suddenly she stopped and again there was that fragrance of her near breath as she admonished him, “You must take off your shoes. They make a frightful noise.”
He bent over and removed his shoes and wondered why he hadn't himself thought of that precautionary measure.
“Got 'em off,” he whispered as he straightened, and again the hand found his coat sleeve and led him forward. There was a muffled bump and she stopped.
“This must be the door into the loggia,” he heard her whisper as sounds indicated that she was softly feeling, adventuring, trying to locate the latch and then, “Ah! Here it is.”
He was about to caution her to open it slowly lest the loggia be lighted and guarded, but was too late to overtake her eagerness. The door swung open and high above in the peak of that inlaid dome that he had ad- mired there shone a light bathing the great twin stairways in a dim but faintly visible mystery. They led upward from either side, step above step, worn, ancient, austere, as if watching, as through many ages they might have watched countless times, the advance of intrigue. Her hand restrained him as she paused to listen. Her suspense could have been no greater than his, as they held their very breathing and strained their ears for inimical or menacing sound.
None came. The great entryway was as silent as a dead conqueror's tomb. He felt as if they were little children lost in the legendary woods when again he felt the impulse of her urgence that pulled him ahead on their weird and lawless adventure. He knew the direction now as well as she, but permitted himself to be drawn upward until they reached the central landing, then to
