Then-- "I honour and respect him for a noble, chivalrous and gifted gentleman," she answered me, and her answer made me singularly content, spreading a balm upon the wounds my soul had taken.

But to her fresh intercessions that I should carry a letter to him, I shook my head again.

My mood was stubborn.
"Believe me, Madonna, it were not only unwise, but futile." She protested.
"I swear it would be," I insisted, with a convincing force that left her staring at me and wondering whence I derived so much assurance.

"We must wait.

From now till Christmas we have more than two months.