‘And whither are you going?’
‘To St. Stephano after I have delivered a letter that I have here.’
‘To whom is your letter addressed, my son?’ said the Fra, in a more gentle voice.
With difficulty did Gerald repress the sharp reply that was on his lips, and say—
‘It is for one that neither you nor I know much of—Il Pastore.’
‘I know him well,’ said the friar boldly; ‘and say it without fear of contradiction, I am the only one he makes a shrift to—ay, that does he, ill as you think of him,’ added he, as if answering the half-contemptuous smile on Gerald’s face. ‘Let’s see your letter.’
With an awkward reluctance Gerald drew forth the letter and showed it.
‘Ah!’ cried the Fra eagerly, ‘he had been looking for that letter this many a day back; but it comes too late now.’
As he said this he pressed eagerly forward and whispered to the nun who was walking at the side of the mule. She looked back hurriedly for an instant, and then as rapidly turned her head again. They continued now to converse eagerly for some time, and seemed totally to have forgotten Gerald, as he walked on after them; when the Fra turned suddenly round and said—
‘I ‘ll take charge of your letter, my son, while you guide our sister down to Cheatstone, a little cluster of houses you ‘ll see at the foot of the mountain; and if there be an answer I ‘ll fetch it to-morrow, ere daybreak.’