Even this trifling mark of courtesy was grateful to the unfortunate youth.
"I slept but ill," replied Horace; "how could I look for pleasant slumbers here?"
"The bed is but a hard one," said the Rossignol, "to one who has been accustomed to a softer pillow, though custom has made its roughness no hardship to us. Yonder, where the water drips, Nature has formed a simple basin, where you may find refreshment in bathing your weary limbs."
Horace attempted to rise, but the clambering of the previous night had made his fetters gall him so severely, that every movement was pain.
Raphael saw his distress. "I know too well what it is to wear such anklets," said he.
"Can you not free me from them?" exclaimed Horace.
The Rossignol shook his head. "I cannot free you from them," he said, "but I can render their effects less painful;" and he drew from a little hole in the side of the rock some lint and ointment, which, kneeling down, he at once began to apply to the captive's swollen ankles. The touch of his hand was gentle as a woman's, and Horace felt grateful for the relief imparted.
"I regret that I spoke of you as I did yesterday," said the youth, remembering his insulting manner and the words at the door of the inn.
"It is not at once that we know either our friends or our foes," replied Raphael.
"But you will be my friend—I know it—I can trust you!" exclaimed Horace, an eager hope arising in his heart; and, speaking in English, in a low, rapid tone, he offered the Italian a large reward—a thousand ducats—two—three—if he would aid him in effecting his escape, and so restore him to freedom and safety.