“And what are we to do?” asked she, anxiously.
“Let them occupy the boat-house; there are beds in the lofts. Jekyl will see that they have whatever is necessary; and perhaps by to-morrow we shall get rid of them.” Turning towards the youth, he spoke to him for a few minutes rapidly, and the other replied, “You are right I 'll look to it.” He arose as he spoke, and bowing politely to Frank, pronounced himself ready to accompany him.
With a few words of apology for his intrusion, as awkwardly uttered as they were ungraciously received, Frank retired from the chamber, to retrace his steps to the harbor.
Little as he was disposed to be communicative, Albert Jekyl—for it was our old acquaintance—contrived to learn, as they went along, every circumstance of the late encounter.
The pliant Jekyl fully concurred in the indignant epithets of cowards and assassins bestowed by Frank upon his late assailants, deplored with him the miserable and mistaken policy of revolt among the people, and regretted that, as foreigners themselves, they could not offer the hospitality of the villa to the wounded man without exposing their lives and fortunes to an Infuriated peasantry.
“What nation do you then belong to?” asked Frank, shrewdly concealing his knowledge of English.
“We are, so to say, of different countries,” said Jekyl, smiling, and evading the question. “The padre is a Florentine—”
“And the lady?”
“She is a very charming person, and if it were not that she is a little over-devout, a shade too good, would be the most delightful creature in existence.”
“The tall man is her husband, I conclude.”