he terrace, revolved the mischief he had done, and its chances of
success.

While thus seated, and thus thinking, a footstep approached cautiously,
and a low voice said, in broken English, "Sare, sare, let me speak vid
you."

Randal turned in surprise, and beheld a swarthy saturnine face, with
grizzled hair and marked features. He recognized the figure that had
joined Riccabocca in the Italian's garden.

"Speak-a you Italian?" resumed Jackeymo. Randal, who had made himself an
excellent linguist, nodded assent; and Jackeymo, rejoiced, begged him to
withdraw into a more private part of the grounds.

Randal obeyed, and the two gained the shade of a stately chestnut
avenue.

"Sir," then said Jackeymo, speaking in his native tongue, and expressing
himself with a certain simple pathos, "I am but a poor man; my name is
Giacomo. You have heard of me;--servant to the Signior whom you saw
to-day--only a servant; but he honors me with his confidence. We have
known danger together; and of all his friends and followers, I alone
came with him to the stranger's land."

"Good, faithful fellow," said Randal, examining the man's face, "say on.
Your master confides in you? He confided that which I told him this
day?"

"He did. Ah, sir! the Padrone was too proud to ask you to explain
more--too proud to show fear of another. But he does fear--he ought to
fear--he shall fear," (continued Jackeymo, working himself up to
passion)--"for the Padrone has a daughter, and his enemy is a villain.
Oh, sir, tell me all that you did not tell to the Padrone. You hinted
that this man might wish to marry the Signora. Marry her!--I could cut
his throat at the altar!"

"Indeed," said Randal; "I believe that such is his object."

"But why? He is rich--she is penniless; no, not quite that, for we have
saved--but penniless, compared to him."

"My good friend, I know not yet his motives; but I can easily learn
them. If, however, this Count be your master's enemy, it is surely well
to guard against him, whatever his designs; and, to do so, you should
move into London or its neighborhood. I fear that while we speak, the
Count may get upon his track."

"He had better not come here!" cried the servant menacingly, and putting
his hand where the knife was _not_.

"Beware of your own anger, Giacomo. One act of violence, and you would
be transported from England, and your master would lose a friend."

Jackeymo seemed struck by this caution.

"And if