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.