"Well, thou hast faced the soldiers and the market now," he said aloud, "and art safe for other journeys, as I promised thee. Go on to the hut, and give thyself food and Tomaso. Keep close and answer none. I will be with thee presently."
The boy went on obediently. These two days with his rescuer had taught him and Tomaso both that what Francisco said he meant, and his word was their law already. But Francisco needed stronger allies.
With some half-formed thought the villa might conceal one, he now returned to his attack upon the ivy, and after many a wrench and cut and struggle, the garden door stood bare enough to use. It was stained, discolored, locked and immovable.
But this was nothing to Francisco; with knife and dagger he cut the woodwork around the lock, removed it, and thrusting his hand and arm well through the breach, with no great difficulty withdrew the upper and lower bolts. With knee and shoulder then he pressed inward, driving against the weeds and growths that choked it, and presently had forced an aperture that would admit him.
After many a cautious glance along the meadow path, fortunately for his purpose little used, he replaced the loose strands of ivy as far as he was able, and slipping through, pushed the door back into its place, filling up the broken lock with green.
He was in a garden of great beauty. The yew-tree overhead shaded a patch of velvety green starred with daisies. Before him a straight path led to a marble seat and a belt of cypress-trees.
The ring-doves cooed blissfully; the flowering trees stirred; there was no other sound save the distant one of faintly plashing water. Treading softly, Francisco set forward in the direction in which he knew the villa lay.