No! there was no trace of blood, and he was ready to kiss the good steel for its innocence.

He thrust the weapon into his own pocket; he would restore it as soon as possible to its well-known place in the gallery.

Yet, why had Caterina taken this dagger?
What was it that had happened in the Rookery?
Was it only a delirious vision of hers?
He was afraid to ring--afraid to summon any one to Caterina's assistance.
What might she not say when she awoke from this fainting fit?
She might be raving.

He could not leave her, and yet he felt as if he were guilty for not following Sir Christopher to see what was the truth.

It took but a moment to think and feel all this, but that moment seemed such a long agony to him that he began to reproach himself for letting it pass without seeking some means of reviving Caterina.