The other turned from where he had laid Tomaso down and took it from him eagerly.
The piece was heavily chased, bearing a raised shield wrought with the German eagle and lettering "C.S."
"German," he said. "Plunder. Possibly from the villa. This may account for its desertion. Yes—no doubt: the owner of the villa has crossed Visconti's path."
And his teeth ground over the name as he set the goblet on the table, where it gleamed with a faint ghostly light.
"Sleep," he said presently to Vittore. "Eat this and then sleep. Thou canst do so with safety."
The boy, glancing up into his face, believed him, and was soon lost to everything in the deep sleep of utter weariness of mind and body. Francisco bent above Tomaso and gave him wine to swallow, and set water by his side. The youth caught the hand that tended him and kissed it.
"I am grateful," he murmured. "To-morrow I shall be well."
"Aye, get better," said Francisco. "Thou mayst be of some service if thou wilt. Nay," he added, checking Tomaso's feeble but eager impulse, "I know not yet what I can do myself. But we have a cause in common," and he smiled faintly. "And now sleep. You sought Della Scala's court. I will not desert thee."
Taking his tattered cloak from his shoulders, he laid it over him, and Tomaso lay back on the ready spread couch of heather, and watched peacefully.
There was no light in the hut, but the moonshine began to show across the open doorway. Francisco pulled a stool to the table, and sitting, drew out his dagger and carefully examined it; laid it ready. Then he felt in his wallet as if to reassure himself of something, and then Tomaso saw him slip something on his hand—it gleamed: a ring!