ar,
therefore, he wasn't, as we suspected, one of the Cavalrista. I'll tell
you, Pippo; I have it: this lad has made his escape from some of the
seminaries at Rome, and in his wanderings has been struck down by the
fever. The worthy Frati have, ere this, told his parents that he died in
all the hopes of the church, and is an angel already----'

'There, there,' interposed Pippo rebukingly; 'no luck ever came of
mocking a priest. Let's try if we can do anything for the lad. Tina
will be up presently, and look to him'; and with this he spread out some
leaves beside the wall, and covering them with a cloak, laid the sick
boy gently on them.

'There, see; his lips are moving--he has swallowed some of the
water--he'll get about--I'll swear to it!' cried the other. 'A fellow
that begins life in that fashion has always his mission for after years.
At all events, Pippo, don't disturb me for the next twelve hours, for
I mean to sleep so long; and let me tell you, too, I have taken my last
journey to Bon Convento. The letters may lie in the post-office till
doomsday, ere I go in seach of them.'

'Well, well, have your sleep out, and then----'

'And then?' cried Gabriel, turning suddenly round, as he was about to
quit the room. 'I wish to Heaven you could tell me, what then!'

Old Pippo shook his head mournfully, heaved a heavy sigh, and turned
away.

Tina, a peasant girl, pale and sickly, but with that energy of soul
that belongs to the Roman race, soon made her appearance, and at once
addressed herself to nurse the sick boy. 'I ought to know this Maremma
fever well,' said she, with a faint sigh; 'it struck me down when a
child, and has never left my blood since.' Making a polenta with some
strong red wine, she gave him a spoonful from time to time, and by
covering him up warmly induced perspiration, the first crisis of the
disease. 'There,' cried she, after some hours of assiduous care; 'there,
he is safe; and God knows if he 'll bless me for this night's work after
all! It is a sad, dreary life, even to the luckiest!'

While Gerald lay thus--and it was his fate in this fashion to pass
some six long weeks, ere he had strength to sit up or move about the
house--let us say a few words of those to whose kindness he owed his
life. Old Pippo Baldi had kept the little inn of Borghetto all his
life. It was his father's and grandfather's before him. Situated in
this dreary, unwholesome tract, with a mere mountain bridle-path--not