The boy was still silent for a few moments. Then quickly—
“I must tell him some day, Serge, that it was all my doing—that I wouldn’t let you rest until you had taught me what I know.”
“That’s true, boy,” said Serge, in a sombre tone, “and it all comes of letting you see me take so much care of his old armour and his sword and spear. Yes, like my own old arms and weapons, I have kept them all bright and ready for use, for it’s always seemed to me as if the time might come and bring the order for us to march to tackle some of Rome’s old enemies, or to make new conquests—perhaps to Gaul—and that we must be ready for that day. I oughtn’t to have done it, boy, but I was an old soldier, one who loved to see his weapons ready for the fight, and somehow I did. There, off you go! It’s no use to think now of what is done.”
Chapter Four.
Caught.
It was the next day, under a brilliant blue Italian sky, that Marcus, after spending the morning with his father in the room he devoted to his studies, hurried out with a sense of relief to seek out the old soldier, whom he expected to find repairing damages amongst the vines. But the damages were repaired, and very few traces remained of the mischief that had been done; but several of the upright fir-poles looked new, and there were marks of knife and bill-hook upon some of the fresh cross-pieces that had been newly bound in their places. But a freshly tied-in cane and the careful distribution of the broad leaves pretty well hid the injured places, and Marcus walked away smiling as he thought of the encounter he had had, while passing his fingers daintily over bruise and cut, and feeling gently a place or two that were tender still. He walked down one path and up another of the garden, his eyes wandering about to see if Serge were busy there; but he was absent, and there was no sign of him in the farmyard, and none of the labourers whom he found at work could give any news of his whereabouts.
For quite half an hour the boy wandered about the well-kept little estate of his father before beginning to return towards the villa embowered in flowers that had been carefully trained over the stone walls, when, going round to the back, he heard a burring sound as if someone with a very unmusical voice were trying to sing; and, hurrying along a path, after muttering impatiently, the boy made for an open window, grasping the fact that he had had all his walk and search for nothing, and that, if he had gone round to the two rooms set apart for the old soldier’s use before going out, he would have found him there.
Marcus dashed up to the window, and looked in.