oh never!—shall I be more to her than yon weeds that grow in the stagno.'
There was that accent of passionate truth in him which carries conviction to its hearers whenever it can obtain a hearing.
He was well known along all the seaboard of Maremma; even her accusers began to think better of her since the dauntless sailor of Palermo loved her.
As the people of the Orbetellano sat about by the sea-wall, and spread out their nets to dry in the sun, they began to say, after all, her story might be true—why not? And the tide of opinion turned in her favour.
All through the hottest weather he stayed there, and was thankful that he had leisure and time to serve her.
Once, in each two weeks, they let him see her in the presence of the guards or gaoler; and he persuaded her to speak a little, very little, enough to give him some clue by which to do something for her. The name of Este, of course, she never spoke. They might have kept her there all the years of her life, but she would never have disclosed it.
He only saw her thus in cruel fleeting
