CHAPTER III.

The student’s return.

The two years had elapsed, when on a bright June afternoon, a weary pilgrim halted within a grove which overlooked the village of Sorento.  He gazed around for a moment, as if in expectation of some one, and then sat down upon a mossy stone.

“It was here,” said he, “that he bade me wait on my return.  And yet—­”

“He is with you,” said Sartello, leaving the scraggy laurel behind which he had concealed himself.  “What cheer brings thou from Rome, my gallant lad’?  Certes, thy look is loftier and manlier now, whatever fortune thou hast had.”

“Kind friend,” replied the youth, “I may say that I have had both good and ill fortune; though mostly good, if thou dost agree with my opinion.  I bring, through intercession of the pope, a pardon from our king.  And thou and thine, if henceforth ye are pleased to remain at peace, will be accepted by the law which now holds your lives forfeit.”

Sartello grasped with a vice-like pressure the hand which the youth held out.

“I am well repaid, Gulielmo, for what little I have done in thy behalf, since thou hast thus brought me my heart’s desire.  No more will we roam the land, outlaws from honest men.  We will till and toil, and freely live, scathless and void of care.  But of thyself, what speed? say quickly.”

The youth frankly smiled.

“My pocket is rather low,” he said, “although my hopes are not.  I have gained some honor, whatever its worth may be.  And now, how fares the gentle maid whom I so long to see?”

“Ah,” replied Sartello, shaking his head sadly, “these women are indeed a puzzle.  I fear much that Rosa’s mind has changed since your departure.  Absence, as the poets say, is love’s worst bane.  But let her go, Gulielmo; fairer charms than hers will soon ease your pain.”

Gulielmo stood for a moment as colorless as marble.

“Is this the reward,” he said, at length, “of all my weary toil?”

“Pray comfort yourself,” replied his friend.  “I may as well tell you the worst at once.  They say that her wedding-dress is prepared.  Jean Maret’s gold, and the importunities of old Gaspar, have been too much, fancy, for her fickle resolution.”

A single tear fell from Gulielmo, notwithstanding the proud compressure of his lips.

“Let it be so,” said he.  “I will make no words about it.  Neither will I shun her sight.  I will face it out, and shame them who think to flout me thus.”

“Bravo, my lad!” exclaimed Sartello.  “I find that you are of the true stuff.  So come along; the hour is already near, when she is to change her name.  I feared at first to tell you the tale, but am glad to learn that my fears were needless.”