Two mounted men, Andrea with a rope round his neck, himself very splendidly booted and cuirassed, made up a sufficient cavalcade to fetch home one snivelling goatherd. It was four by the time they were off, seven before they were at Abano, eight when they reached the foot of Monte Ortone and faced the deep chestnut woods in which that precipice dips his flanks. But though it was getting dusk there were eyes sharp enough on the top of the mountain to watch for what sharp ears had heard—a most unaccustomed sound in those leafy solitudes—trotting horses and jingling steel. Castracane from the summit saw it all; and what is more, guessed at once what Andrea in a halter meant.
IX
PYLADES FINDS HIS ORESTES
"Silvestro," he called softly, without moving from his ambush or turning his eyes from those he watched, "Silvestro, come here!"
The obedient stripling came eagerly, and knelt as close to his master as he dared—just so as to touch him.
"Eccomi, Pilade," says he.
"Get back over the brow as fast as you can," said his friend, "and hide in the cave. Wait there till I come. Go now; do as I bid you."
Silvestro went at once.