She stared down at them from a high window, peering down at their moonlit faces in the bed heavy with furs, the same bed where she had given birth to Gianfrancesco’s dead son. " "Blueskin, clear the room," cried the Master; "these gentlemen would be private. But you——” Something seemed to catch his breath. “It really is not necessary. "But if it is thy will to take me from him," she continued, as soon as her emotion permitted her,—"if he must be left an orphan amid strangers, implant, I beseech thee, a mother's feelings in some other bosom, and raise up a friend, who shall be to him what I would have been. "It's all up, master," groaned Ben, "nothin' short of a merracle can save us. Kneebone! you would greatly oblige me by surrendering yourself.
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