And there stood the Rossignol, calm and intrepid, as one not unconscious of danger, but raised above its fear. Horace looked with wondering curiosity at the man who could dare to sing such a lay in such a place, and marveled what mysterious link could bind his fate with that of ruffians with whom it appeared that he could have no feeling in common. Even as regarded Enrico, when Horace now looked upon the two brothers, and contrasted them with each other, he could hardly conceive how he had ever traced a resemblance between them.
The noise of the falling tankard clattering on the rocky floor, was succeeded by that of the fist of Matteo coming heavily down upon the table, as if in anger; when the chief spoke, however, he made no allusion to the song; that it had offended him could only be gathered from the increased savageness of his tone.
"It is time to disperse. Mountain-wolves, away to your dens!"
The command was instantly obeyed. For a few moments, noise and uproar prevailed, and as the wild band scattered in various directions, torches flashed hither and thither in the hot murky air. Horace watched the retreating form of Beppo, as the light which he carried showed a deeper recess of the cave than he had been able to see before, with glistening stalactites hanging from the roof; and when he turned to look for the Rossignol, found that he had disappeared from his view. Remembering that Raphael was to share his own rocky chamber, Horace awaited his coming with interest and impatience. There was a step on the rough stair (if such that might be called, that seemed framed by nature and not by man), which led to the upper recess, and some one entered, but in the darkness Horace knew not whether it were Raphael or Enrico. The comer threw himself down on a heap of leaves not far from Horace, and either imagining the captive to be asleep, or (as was more probable) forgetting his presence altogether, gave a heavy groan as if in pain. That sound assuredly did not come from the Rossignol's lips. Horace lay for some time perfectly still, listening to the drip drip of water, and the deep sighs of his unseen companion, and awaiting the coming of Raphael, till, weary as he was, sleep overcame the young captive.
[CHAPTER VIII.]
A DASH FOR FREEDOM.
The summer morning had dawned, and though no direct ray could ever enter the inner cave, Horace could see the reflection of pure rosy light tinging the rugged stone, hundreds of feet above him, through a cleft in the rocky roof, which appeared as if it had been rent asunder by the shock of an earthquake. Most refreshing to the captive's eye was even that reflected gleam, which showed that the sun was shining upon earth, though not upon him: and he longed for wings to fly upwards through that lofty cleft to the glorious daylight beyond.
Horace half raised himself on his elbow and looked around him. Not two yards from the spot on which he rested, he saw the kneeling form of Raphael, who was evidently engaged in prayer. The sight of him was to Horace like the sight of the sun-lit rocks;—something to witness to the existence of Heaven's light even in this abode of darkness. On the other side lay Enrico asleep, and the quiet which prevailed through the cave showed that the day wag but little advanced.
After a brief space of time Raphael arose from his knees, and turning towards Horace, perceived by the dim light that the captive was awake.
"How have you slept?" he asked in Italian, addressing Horace in the third person singular, which, in that language, is a token of respect.