Next morning Captain Guardiola was in a somewhat different frame of
mind. On examination of the prisoner, he could find no proof of the
latter being a spy; on the contrary, there was ample evidence of his
story being true. A score of the townsmen could identify him as having
been in the hands of the banditti. Indeed, this was not doubted by any
one; and the fact of his being an _Inglese_ was in his favour. Why
should an Englishman be meddling in the political affairs of the
country?
The commandant saw that to detain him might end in trouble to himself.
He was too intelligent not to understand the power of the English
Government, even in the affairs of Italy; and, looking forward to future
events, thought it safe upon the whole to release the artist; which he
at length did, under pretence of doing an act of grace to the _sindico_,
who had renewed his intercession on the young Englishman's behalf.
Henry Harding was once more free. Not a little to the disgust of
Guardiola, he became the _sindico's_ guest. But there was no help for
it, unless by an act of authority too arbitrary to be passed over
without investigation; and the Captain Count was compelled to swallow
his chagrin with the best grace he could.
By chance there was a spare suit of clothes, left by Luigi on his
setting out for England. They were of the _cacciatore_ cut, too
fantastic for the streets of London; for this reason they had been left
behind. They were just the sort for the mountains of the Romagna, and
of a size to suit the young Englishman, fitting him as if he had been
measured for them by the Italian tailor who made them.
The Signor Torreani insisted upon his receiving them. He could not well
refuse, considering the state of dilapidation to which his own had been
reduced, and the necessity of making a decent appearance as guest of the
donor. An hour after his release from the guard-house he was seen in
velvet jacket, buttoned breeches, and gaiters of _cacciatore_ cut, with
a plumed Calabrian hat upon his head--bearing resemblance in almost
everything, except physiognomy, to a brigand!
The costume became him. Lucetta smiled at seeing him in his new dress.
She was pleased with his appearance. He reminded her of brother Luigi.
And then he was called upon for the story of his adventures among the
bandits--from the date of his capture to that of his second arrival in
the town. Of course only such details were given as were fitted for the
ear of a young lady. The mode of his escape from the cell was
particularly inquired into, and related. Some expressions in the
destroyed letter of Tommaso, and which Henry Harding intended soon to
communicate to the _sindico_ himself, were kept back--along with that
other intelligence which had been his chief motive for making escape.
His auditors--there were both father and daughter present at this
interview--were strangely interested when he spoke of the mysterious
interference on his behalf. Who could have helped him to the knife?
Who could have written the letter of instructions? He did not say
anything to assist them in their conjectures, nor even mention the name
of Tommaso. All that was for the ears of the _sindico_ himself, and at
another time.
He merely described the cutting his passage through the floor above his
cell--his dropping from the dormer window--the alarm caused to the
sentinels, and its instant subsidence. He told them, too, how he had
succeeded in passing the first vidette, stationed at the top of the
gorge, by crawling on his hands and knees; how he had got so close to
the other as to perceive that passing him in the same way would be
impossible; how, knife in hand, he had stood for a time half determined
to take the man's life; how he had recoiled from the shedding of blood;
how, concealing himself in some bushes, he had remained wakeful till
daylight; had seen the second sentry pass up the hill; and then, unseen
himself, had continued his retreat. As good luck would have it, a filmy
haze was hanging over the valley, under the curtain of which he had
escaped. Otherwise he would have been seen, either by the vidette
above, or the night-sentinel on his return to the rendezvous. He could
not tell whether he had been pursued--of course he had been, though not
immediately. It was not likely he was missed till an advanced hour in
the morning, and then he was far on his way. Fortunately, he remembered
the road by which the brigands had taken him, and kept along with eager
celerity, inspired not only by the peril of his own situation, but that
of those to whom he was now describing his escape. He had finally
reached the skirts of the town a little after nightfall, once more to be
made a prisoner. And, once more released, he was in a fair way of again
getting into chains, somewhat less irksome to endure. This, however,
did not form part of his confession.
The conversation now turned upon Luigi; but this was in a dialogue
between the young Englishman and Lucetta--the _sindico_ having gone out
on business of the town.
Need we say that Lucetta Torreani was very fond of her only brother?
How was Luigi in health? How did he like _Inglaterra_? Was he making
much progress in his profession? These, with a score of like questions,
were rapidly asked and answered; and then a detailed description had to
be given of that episode which had introduced the two young men to one
another, with something of their after association. And then there was
a sly inquiry as to what Luigi thought of the English ladies, with their
blonde complexions and bright golden hair, so different from the
daughters of _Italia_. And there was a hint about a young lady in Rome,
a sort of semi-cousin of the Torreanis to whom Luigi _ought_ to be true.
Would it be right for a young man to marry away out of his own country?
And did the signore believe that there was any sin in marriages between
people of his own faith--he had confessed himself a Protestant--and
those of Holy Church?
These and other topics--perhaps few so pleasant--were talked of; the
young Italian girl asking questions, and giving answers, with that
_naivete_ so charming to the listener.
It so charmed Henry Harding, that, before he had passed a single day in
her company, he could look back on Buckinghamshire and Belle Mainwaring
without a shadow of regret. He was in a fair way of forgetting both.
------------------------------------------------------------------------
That same night the escaped prisoner completed the revelation he had to
make to the _sindico_ alone; first telling him what he had learnt about
the designs of Corvino upon his daughter, as also how he had learnt it;
then of the letter he had himself written to Luigi, urging the latter to
hasten home.
The _sindico_, though pained, was not much surprised by the first part
of this strange communication. As is known, he had already received
warning. It was the letter to his son, written under such
circumstances, that filled him alike with surprise and gratitude. With
warm words, he thanked the young Englishman for his generous and
thoughtful interference.
During the explanation, a point that had hitherto puzzled the escaped
captive found a presumptive solution. He had all along wondered who
could have been his mysterious protector. Who had furnished the knife,
with the chapter of instructions that accompanied it? At the mention of
the name of Tommaso, the _sindico_ started, as if having guessed the
hidden hand that had interfered in their favour. On a further
description of the man, he felt sure of it. An old retainer of the
Torreanis, who had held service in the Pontifical army; had fallen into
evil ways; had been thrown into a Roman dungeon from which he had
escaped; and no doubt had afterwards found an asylum among the mountain
bands. This was the probable explanation of Tommaso's conduct--a
long-remembered gratitude for services the _sindico_ had rendered him.
The latter now acknowledged the danger in which his daughter was placed,
and the necessity of steps being taken to avert it. He had already
determined on removing from the place, and taking his _penates_ along
with him. In truth, he had that very day concluded the sale of his
estate; and was now free to go in quest of a new home--to whatever part
of the world where it might be found.
Meanwhile, there was no immediate danger; the Papal soldiers intended
staying some time in the town. The _sindico_ could retain his situation
of chief magistrate, and await the arrival of his son, who, if the post
kept true to time, might be expected in a day or two.
To hear that Luigi was coming home was news to his sister. How had her
father heard it? There had been no letter from London--no message from
Rome. It was a mystery to Lucetta; and for reasons was permitted to
remain so. But why need she care to unravel it, so long as he was
coming home? And so soon too! And the time would not seem long, since
his friend was there, and she could talk to him about Luigi. It had
become pleasant to converse about her dear brother, with her dear
brother's friend; and once again were the same questions asked, as to
how Luigi looked, and lived, and prospered at his painting; and whether
he was given to admiring the English girls; and would it be wrong for
him, a Catholic, to marry one, or would it be wrong the other way? and
so were the artless interrogatories repeated.
These were pleasant conversations, but it was not pleasant to have them
interrupted, as they usually were, by Captain Guardiola. Why should the
officer force himself into their company--as he daily, hourly did? Why
did he not take his soldiers--as he ought to have done--and go after the
brigands? He could easily have found their hiding-place among the
hills. Their late captive, still burning with indignation at the
treatment he had endured--frantic when he looked at his left hand--would
have gladly guided him to the spot. He proposed doing this. His
proposal was not only received with coldness, but repelled with an
insolence that kept the blood warm and bad between Guardiola and
himself. From that time there was no communication between them--even
when brought together in attendance upon Lucetta.
Both were with her, upon the ridge that rose directly over the town.
There was a cave upon the summit of the hill, that had once been the
abode of an anchorite. It was one of the curiosities of the
neighbourhood; and the young lady, at her father's suggestion, had
invited her father's English guest to go up with her and see it. The
invitation was not extended to the other guest--the Captain Count. For
all that he invited himself, under pretence of lending his protection to
the signorina. His escort, though not asked for, could not well be
refused; and the three proceeded to climb the hill.
Guardiola was beside himself with jealousy. In his heart he was cursing
the young Englishman; and could he have found an excuse for pushing him
over a cliff, or running him through with the sword that hung by his
side, he would have done either on the instant.