‘Hero by day! house-guard by night! That tells a tale,’ said a cheerful voice.
The moon was shining down the Cathedral square and street, and Farina saw the stranger standing solid and ruddy before him. He was at first prompted to resent such familiar handling, but the stranger’s face was of that bland honest nature which, like the sun, wins everywhere back a reflection of its own kindliness.
‘You are right,’ replied Farina; ‘so it is!’
‘Pretty wines inside there, and a rare young maiden. She has a throat like a nightingale, and more ballads at command than a piper’s wallet. Now, if I hadn’t a wife at home.’
‘You’re married?’ cried Farina, seizing the stranger’s hand.
‘Surely; and my lass can say something for herself on the score of brave looks, as well as the best of your German maids here, trust me.’
Farina repressed an inclination to perform a few of those antics which violent joy excites, and after rushing away and back, determined to give his secret to the stranger.
‘Look,’ said he in a whisper, that opens the private doors of a confidence.
But the stranger repeated the same word still more earnestly, and brought Farina’s eyes on a couple of dark figures moving under the Cathedral.
‘Some lamb’s at stake when the wolves are prowling,’ he added: ‘‘Tis now two hours to the midnight. I doubt if our day’s work be over till we hear the chime, friend.’