The conversation now turned upon Luigi; but this was in a dialogue between the young Englishman and Lucetta—the sindico having gone out on business of the town.
Need we say that Lucetta Torreani was very fond of her only brother? How was Luigi in health? How did he like Inglaterra? Was he making much progress in his profession? These, with a score of like questions, were rapidly asked and answered; and then a detailed description had to be given of that episode which had introduced the two young men to one another, with something of their after association. And then there was a sly inquiry as to what Luigi thought of the English ladies, with their blonde complexions and bright golden hair, so different from the daughters of Italia. And there was a hint about a young lady in Rome, a sort of semi-cousin of the Torreanis to whom Luigi ought to be true. Would it be right for a young man to marry away out of his own country? And did the signore believe that there was any sin in marriages between people of his own faith—he had confessed himself a Protestant—and those of Holy Church?
These and other topics—perhaps few so pleasant—were talked of; the young Italian girl asking questions, and giving answers, with that naïveté so charming to the listener.
It so charmed Henry Harding, that, before he had passed a single day in her company, he could look back on Buckinghamshire and Belle Mainwaring without a shadow of regret. He was in a fair way of forgetting both.
That same night the escaped prisoner completed the revelation he had to make to the sindico alone; first telling him what he had learnt about the designs of Corvino upon his daughter, as also how he had learnt it; then of the letter he had himself written to Luigi, urging the latter to hasten home.
The sindico, though pained, was not much surprised by the first part of this strange communication. As is known, he had already received warning. It was the letter to his son, written under such circumstances, that filled him alike with surprise and gratitude. With warm words, he thanked the young Englishman for his generous and thoughtful interference.
During the explanation, a point that had hitherto puzzled the escaped captive found a presumptive solution. He had all along wondered who could have been his mysterious protector. Who had furnished the knife, with the chapter of instructions that accompanied it? At the mention of the name of Tommaso, the sindico started, as if having guessed the hidden hand that had interfered in their favour. On a further description of the man, he felt sure of it. An old retainer of the Torreanis, who had held service in the Pontifical army; had fallen into evil ways; had been thrown into a Roman dungeon from which he had escaped; and no doubt had afterwards found an asylum among the mountain bands. This was the probable explanation of Tommaso’s conduct—a long-remembered gratitude for services the sindico had rendered him.
The latter now acknowledged the danger in which his daughter was placed, and the necessity of steps being taken to avert it. He had already determined on removing from the place, and taking his penates along with him. In truth, he had that very day concluded the sale of his estate; and was now free to go in quest of a new home—to whatever part of the world where it might be found.
Meanwhile, there was no immediate danger; the Papal soldiers intended staying some time in the town. The sindico could retain his situation of chief magistrate, and await the arrival of his son, who, if the post kept true to time, might be expected in a day or two.