In the twinkling of an eye they were over the fence and running at full speed for the valley. Don Pietro bruised, dazed and half-blinded, struggled after them, crashing through hedges and stumbling into ditches while he shouted for help in his pursuit. But his heavy shoes hampered him, and at best he was no match for them in speed. His face was covered with purple blotches and his eyelids were swelling at a terrible rate. Out of breath and utterly worn out he stood still and steadied himself against a crooked olive-tree. He could no longer hear even the footsteps of the lads before him.
They were beyond his reach now. The last of the Children of the King had left Verbicaro, where their fathers had lived and died since darker ages than Calabrian history has accurately recorded.
CHAPTER II.
"We shall never see him again," said Ruggiero, stopping at last and looking back over the stone wall he had just cleared.
Sebastiano listened intently. He was not tall enough to see over, but his ears were sharp.
"I do not hear him any more," he answered. "I hurt my hands on his nose," he added, thoughtfully, as he glanced at his bruised knuckles.
"So did I," returned his brother. "He will remember us. Come along—it is far to Scalea."
"To Scalea? Are we going to Scalea?"
"Eh! If not, where? And where else can we eat? Don Antonino will give us a piece of bread."
"There are figs here," suggested Sebastiano, looking up into the trees around them.