"They are gone!" breathed Mastino. "They are gone!"
His eyes fell to his shield; from rim to rim it was defaced and dented, and the ladder of the Scaligeri was beaten from its boss. The ground around was piled with arms, and Mastino put his hand up to his eyes, staggering. The ladder of the Scaligeri was beaten from his shield!
"Some men remain, my lord," said Tomaso timidly, at last, with a boyish effort at some consolation.
But Mastino winced; that they remained was a sorer shame even than the desertion of the others: for they were men, scum of camps, who fought solely for pay and plunder, and laughed at dishonor and admired treachery—they were the men who had stayed.
"Isotta!" cried Mastino, with a sudden wild movement. "Why does she not come?—have I not waited long—have I not paid enough?"
"I think I see her escort coming across the fields," said Tomaso timorously.
Mastino turned and grasped his arm with a sudden change of manner.
"Tomaso," he faltered, "methinks I am changed since last I saw her; perhaps she will—not know me—or will startle at me if she does. Tomaso, she is very fair and I have nothing to offer now—Tomaso, am I very changed?"
He was changed, so changed the boy would scarce have known him; his soft brown hair was streaked with gray, his fine face drawn and white, his eyes, once soft and kind, unnaturally bright, and, like his mouth, strained and hard.
Mastino laughed pitifully as he read the answer in Tomaso's frightened eyes.