She fell into a deep delirium, whispering hoarsely to her dead mother, cursing God in Heaven, cursing her doctor, cursing herself as apparitions of devils and demons pulled at her with yellow ochre hands. Sir John felt that after all forty-five was not so very old. They said no more for a moment, and each was now acutely aware of the other. She had not felt comfortable in his presence from the first, and with Leonardo’s precepts in mind, was loath to trust him. He smiled grandly; she could feel the radiance of his approval from across the wedding table. But his grief was of short duration.
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