s are proud, as the signore
knows. We are Romans out there; we despise the cities; and we do not
hold out our palms for the traveler's pennies. I am a peasant, but
always remember the blood of the Caesars. Who can say? Besides, I have
held a sword for the church. I owe no allegiance to the puny House of
Savoy!" There was no twinkle in the black eyes now; there was a
ferocious gleam. It died away quickly, however; the squared shoulders
drooped, and there was a deprecating shrug. "Pardon, signore; this is
far away from the matter of boots. I grow boastful; I am an old man and
should know better. But does the signore return to Italy in the spring?"

"I don't know, Giovanni, I don't know. But what's on your mind?"

"Nothing new, signore," with eyes cast down to hide the returning
lights.

"You are a bloodthirsty ruffian!" said Hillard shortly. "Will time never
soften the murder in your heart?"

"I am as the good God made me. I have seen through blood, and time can
not change that. Besides, the Holy Father will do something for one who
fought for the cause."

"He will certainly not countenance bloodshed, Giovanni."

"He can absolve it. And as you say, I am rich, as riches go in the
Sabine Hills."

"I was in hopes you had forgotten."

"Forgotten? The signore will never understand; it is his father's blood.
She was so pretty and youthful, eye of my eye, heart of my heart! And
innocent! She sang like the nightingale. She was always happy. Up with
the dawn, to sleep with the stars. We were alone, she and I. The sheep
supported me and she sold her roses and dried lavender. It was all so
beautiful ... till he came. Ah, had he loved her! But a plaything, a
pastime! The signore never had a daughter. What is she now? A nameless
thing in the streets!" Giovanni raised his arms tragically; the hoots
clattered to the floor. "Seven years! It is a long time for one of my
blood to wait."

"Enough!" cried Hillard; but there was a hardness in his throat at the
sight of the old man's tears. Where was the proud and stately man, the
black-bearded shepherd in faded blue linen, in picturesque garters, with
his reed-like pipe, that he, Hillard, had known in his boyhood days?
Surely not here. Giovanni had known the great wrong, but Hillard could
not in conscience's name foster the spirit which demanded an eye for an
eye. So he said: "I can give you only my sympathy for your loss, but I
abhor the spirit of revenge which can not find satisf