"You must go!" said Titian sternly.
The young man looked at him dully, almost appealingly. He shook his
head. "I have work to do."
Titian lifted an impatient hand. "The people will not permit it--I tell
you!" He spoke harshly. "Giorgione is their idol. It has been hard to
keep them--this one week! Only my promise that you go at once holds
them."
The young man smiled, a little cynically. "Do you think I fear death--I
crave it!" His arms fell at his sides.
His companion looked at him intently. "What is your plan?" he asked
shortly.
"Giorgione--" The voice was tense. "He shall pay--to the uttermost!"
"For that?" Titian made a motion toward the gloved hand.
The young man raised it with a scornful gesture.
"For that"--he spoke sternly--"I would not touch the dog. It is for
her!" His voice dropped.
Titian waited a moment. "What would you do?" he asked in a low voice.
The young man stirred. "I care not. He must suffer--as she suffered," he
added with slow significance.
"Would that content you? Would you go away--and not return?"
"I would go--yes."
Titian waited, his eyes on the gloved hand. "You can go," he said at
last, "the Lord has avenged her."
The young man leaned forward. His breath came sharply. "What do you
mean?"
"That she is avenged," said Titian slowly. "Giorgione cannot live the
year. Go away. Leave him to die in peace."
"I did not ask for peace," said the young man grimly.