had already forgotten the Franciscan and
his fellow-traveller, and was deeply musing over his own fortunes, when
suddenly he heard their voices, and, creeping noiselessly to the edge
of the cliff, he saw them seated at a little well, beside which their
breakfast was spread out. The woman had thrown back her hood and showed
now a beautiful head, whose long black hair fell heavily on either
shoulder, while her taper fingers, covered with many a splendid ring,
plainly showed that her conventual dress was only a disguise. Nor was
this the only sign that surprised him, for now he saw that a short brass
blunderbuss, the regular weapon of the brigand, lay close to the friar's
hand.

'It is the Pastore himself,' thought Gerald, as he gazed down at the
brawny limbs and well-knit proportions of the stranger. 'How could
I ever have mistaken him for a friar?' The more he thought over the
friar's manner--his eagerness to get the letter, and the careless
indifference afterward with which he suffered Gerald to leave him--the
more he felt assured that this was no other than the celebrated chief
himself.

'At least, I have succeeded in seeing him, thought he; 'and why should
I not go boldly forward and speak to him? 'The resolve was no sooner
formed than he proceeded to execute it. In a moment after he had
descended the cliff, and, making his way through the brushwood, stood
before them.

'So, then, you _will_ track me, youngster,' said the friar angrily.
'Once--twice--to-day the road was open to you to seek your own way, and
you would not take it. How bent you must be to do yourself an ill turn!'

'You are "II Pastore,"' said Gerald boldly.

'And thou art _Gherardi mio!'_ cried the woman, as she rushed wildly
toward him and clasped him in her arms. It was Marietta herself who
spoke.

How tell the glorious outburst of Gerald's joy, as he overpowered
her with questions--whence she came, whither going, how and why, and
wherefore there? Was she really and truly the Egyptian who had visited
him on his sick-bed, and not a mere vision?

'And was it from thy lips, then,' cried he, 'that I learned that all
this ambition was but a snare--that I was destined to be only the tool
of crafty men, deep in their own designss? At times the revelation
seemed to come from thee, and at times a burst of heart-felt conviction.
Which was it, Marietta _mia_?'

'Who is he?' cried the Fra eagerly. 'This surely cannot be--ay, but
it is the Prince--the