.

THE LETTER.
On tiptoe I crept down that corridor to the gallery above the banqueting-hall, secure from sight in the enveloping darkness, and intent upon allowing no sound to betray my presence, lest Ramiro should have awakened.

Behind me, treading as lightly, came Messer Mariani.
Thus we gained the gallery.

I leaned against the stout oaken balustrade, and looked down into the black pit of the hall, broken in the centre by the circle of light from the two tapers that burnt upon the table.

The other torches had all been quenched.
At the table sat Messer Ramiro, his head fallen forward and sideways upon his right arm which was outstretched and limp along the board.
Before him lay a paper which I inferred to be the letter whose possession might mean so much.
I could hear the old man breathing heavily beside me as I leaned there in the dark, and sought to devise a means by which that paper might be obtained.