Her own words had been little more than a petulant outburst.

Of actually finding a way to elude her uncle's wishes she had no thought--unless it lay in carrying out that threat of hers to take the veil.

Now, however, that Gonzaga spoke so bravely of doing what man could do to help her to evade that marriage, the thought of active resistance took an inviting shape.
A timid hope--a hope that was afraid of being shattered before it grew to any strength--peeped now from the wondering eyes she turned on her companion.
"Is there a way, Gonzaga ?" she asked, after a pause.
Now during that pause his mind had been very busy.

Something of a poet, he was blessed with wits of a certain quickness, and was a man of very ready fancy.

Like an inspiration an idea had come to him; out of this had sprung another, and yet another, until a chain of events by which the frustration of the schemes of Babbiano and Urbino might be accomplished, was complete.
"I think," he said slowly, his eyes upon the ground, "that I know a way." Her glance was now eager, her lip tremulous, and her face a little pale.
She leant towards him.
"Tell me," she besought him feverishly.
He set his lute on the seat beside him, and his eyes looked round in apprehensive survey.
"Not here," he muttered.