Marjorie Bowen

“ He struck his hand against the window-frame violently—Visconti had triumphed!
This evening had he meant to seize Milan—the evening of this very day; and, behold, now it was all to be done again, the weary, weary waiting, the watching, the planning, the soothing his allies, the making good Carrara's treachery; and meanwhile—Isotta!
Della Scala dropped his head into his hands with a cry wrung from his heart. "Isotta! Isotta!"
The sunlight fell too on the crumpled parchment on the floor, and Mastino, raising his head, saw it lying there and ground it beneath his heel. ”

“ They say Carrara himself is dead."
"Carrara dead!" cried Mastino with a sudden fierceness, savage as a bite. "Now, I had promised myself to kill Carrara. Who has forestalled me?"
"It is said—Visconti himself—they do not know."
"And the traitor dead," broke in Della Scala, "was there not one—not one to lead the men back to me again? Visconti, single-handed and unarmed, was allowed to take an army into Milan?"
"Alas, my lord, not only Carrara, his captains too, as it appears, have all been bought."
"Tell me no more," cried Mastino. "I am alone to blame. I cannot learn to deal with traitors." ”

“ Mastino looked from them to the crucifix, and his fervent faith sank, chilled.
"Stone," he murmured in his heart. "Stone and paint," and he noticed the empty lamps that should be blazing with eternal fire, and he cried aloud in bitterness. "Men keep those alight, and without them the eternal fire dies! Stone angels and a painted God! What help in them?" And he dropped again upon the floor. "The lamps burn bright on Visconti's altars, and his saints smile—for the painter limned them so."
He turned from the dismantled chapel and rushed up the three steps, half distraught. ”