Linton again fixed his eyes upon him; it was evident that he was hesitating between belief and an habitual sense of distrust, that extended to everything and everybody. At last he said,—
“And what led you hither, my friend?”
“Chance,” said the man, shrugging his shoulders. “I could have no preferences for one road over another—all were strange—all unknown to me. I hoped with the aid of my guitar, to get some clothes once more together, and then to find some vessel bound for the Adriatic.”
“What can you do besides that?” said Linton, “for it strikes me a fellow with thews and sinews like yours was scarcely intended to thrum catgut.”
“I can do most things where a steady eye, and a strong; hand, and a quick foot are needed. I 've been a hunter in the forests of Dalmatia—herded the half-wild cattle on the Campagna at Rome—sailed a felucca in the worst Levanters of the gulf—and to swim in a high sea, or to ride an unbroken horse, I'll yield to but one man living.”
“And who may he be?” said Linton, aroused at the southern enthusiasm so suddenly excited.
“A countryman of mine,” said the sailor, sententiously; “his name is not known to you.”
“How sad such gifts as these should have so little recompense in our days,” said Linton, with an affected sincerity. “There was a time, in your own country, too, when a fellow like yourself would not have had long to seek for a patron.”
The Italian's cheek grew deeper in its flush, and his dark eyes seemed almost to kindle beneath the shaggy brows; then correcting, as it seemed, the passionate impulse, he said: “Ay, true enough, sir; there were many who had the gold to squander, who had not the hand to strike, and, as you say, fellows like me were high in the market.”
“And no great hardship in it, either,” said Linton. “There is a justice surer and quicker than the law, which I, for one, think right well of.”