“Did I say so, Billy?  Then I lied.  It was for a mufro I took you.  Marc’antonio here had as good as promised me one.”

His beaming smile changed on the instant to a look of extreme gravity.

“See you, lad,” he said, “have you ever come across one of these here wild sheep?”

“Not yet.”

“I thought not.  Well, I have; and I advise you not to talk irreligious about ’em.”

“I will talk about nothing,” said I, “until you tell me how my father is, and of all your adventures.”

“He’s well, lad—­hearty, and well, and thriving.  And he sends you his love, and a paper for your friend here.  ’Tis from the Princess; and the upshot is, you’re released from your word and free to come back with me.”

Marc’antonio, proud of an opportunity to display his scholarship, broke the seal and read the letter with a magisterial frown, which changed, however, to a pleasant, friendly smile as he handed it across to me.

“Your captivity is at an end, cavalier.  You said well, after all, that your patience would win the day.”

“My patience, Marc’antonio?  What, then, of yours?”

The tears sprang suddenly to his eyes, good fellow that he was, and now my good friend.  I stretched out a hand, and he grasped and held it for a moment between his twain.  We used no more words.

“So my father is with the Princess?” I asked, turning on Billy, who stared—­and excusably—­at this evidence of our emotion.

“No, he bain’t,” said Billy; “leastways, he was with her when I left him, at a place called Olmeta, or something of the sort.  But by this time he’ve a-gone north again.”

“And why goes he north?”

“Because that’s where the Genoese have shut up the lady.”

“Meaning the Queen Emilia?”

Billy nodded.

“And you have travelled the length of Corsica alone to tell me this and take me back with you?”

“No, I didn’t.  Leastways—­” Billy opened his bag of provender, selected a crust, and began to munch it very deliberately.  “There’s a saying,” he went on between mouthfuls, “about somebody or other axin’ more questions in one breath than a wise man can answer in a week; and likewise, there’s another saying that even a bagpipe won’t speak till his belly be full.  Well, now, as for coming alone, in the first place and in round numbers I didn’t; and as for coming to tell you this, partly it was and partly it wasn’t; and as for your going back with me, that’s for you to choose.”

“Well, then,” said I, humouring him, “we will take you point by point, in order.  To begin with, you did not come alone—­ergo, you had company.  What company?”

“Very poor company, lad, and by name Stephanu.  That hatchet-faced Prince Camillo chose him out for a guide to me—­” Billy paused, with his mouth open for a bite.  “Why, whatever is the matter?” he asked; for I had turned to translate this to Marc’antonio, and Marc’antonio had started up with a growl and an oath.