Page:Maurice Hewlett--Little novels of Italy.djvu/143

Rh horses were tethered to one tree, Castracane to another. Seeing their chief, the men sprang to attention; their astonishment at what followed was no greater than Castracane's. Silvestro (that timid slave), now as bold as brass, walked straight to him, the Sub-Prefect tiptoeing behind.

"Loose him, Signore," says Silvestro.

The Sub-Prefect with a knife cut his bonds. "Your will is done."

"Thank you, Signor Alessandro: God be with you. Come, Pilade."

Silvestro took Castracane by the hand, but not before the gentleman had kissed his own with profound respect. Then Silvestro led his friend away through the trees, and the Sub-Prefect was understood to say—

"We have been on the wrong scent, men. Mount. To the city—Avanti!"

"What's all this? Whither now?" stammered Castracane.

Silvestro squeezed his hand. "Oh, dearest, let us go to the cave—let us go to the cave on the hill!"

Castracane felt his friend trembling. Trembling is infectious; he began to tremble too.

"Yes, yes, we will go to our cave," he agreed in a quick whisper.