"One of us has got to die," he panted. Threw it out. Her father, Bartolomeo, was a well-respected member of the Arte di Calimala: the Wool Makers Guild in Mantua. ’ ‘I think he only wants to help you, miss,’ offered Jack. He moved slightly, and she went on, with a slight catching of her breath: “It’s a bother and disturbance, but you see—” She had to go through with it now, because she could think of nothing but her preconceived words. Just as the attendants were preparing to lower the corpse into the earth, Jack fell on his knees beside the coffin, uttering the wildest exclamations of grief, reproaching himself with the murder of his mother, and invoking the vengeance of Heaven on his own head. What in the world was the wench up to now? For it must be she. At this juncture, a cry was raised by a servant from below, that the robbers were flying through the garden.
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