those were his last words, and the last words of Scarsellini also, who
suffered with him. _Veda eccellenza_! As for me, I know them from
a boy."

And while the Duchess read, the old man repeated tags and fragments
under his breath, as he once more resumed the oars and drove the boat
gently towards Menaggio.

"_The multitude of victims has not robbed us of courage in the past, nor
will it so rob us in the future--till victory dawns. The cause of the
people is like the cause of religion--it triumphs only through its
martyrs.... You--who survive--will conquer, and in your victory we, the
dead, shall live_....

"_Take no thought for us; the blood of the forerunners is like the seed
which the wise husbandman scatters on the fertile ground_.... _Teach our
young men how to adore and how to suffer for a great idea. Work
incessantly at that; so shall our country come to birth; and grieve not
for us!... Yes, Italy shall be one! To that all things point._ WORK!
_There is no obstacle that cannot be overcome, no opposition that cannot
be destroyed. The_ HOW _and the_ WHEN _only remain to be solved. You,
more fortunate than we, will find the clew to the riddle, when all
things are accomplished, and the times are ripe.... Hope!--my parents,
and my brothers--hope always!--waste no time in weeping_."

The Duchess read aloud the Italian, and Julie stooped over her shoulder
to follow the words.

"Marvellous!" said Julie, in a low voice, as she sank back into her
place. "A youth of twenty-seven, with the rope round his neck, and he
comforts himself with 'Italy.' What's 'Italy' to him, or he to 'Italy'?"
Not even an immediate paradise. "Is there anybody capable of it now?"

Her face and attitude had lost their languor. As the Duchess returned
his treasure to the old man she looked at Julie with joy. Not since her
illness had there been any such sign of warmth and energy.

And, indeed, as they floated on, past the glow of Bellaggio, towards the
broad gold and azure of the farther lake, the world-defying passion that
breathed from these words of dead and murdered Italians played as a
bracing and renewing power on Julie's still feeble being. It was akin to
the high snows on those far Alps that closed in the lake--to the pure
wind that blew from them--to the "gleam, the shadow, and the peace
supreme," amid which their little boat pressed on towards the shore.

"What matter," cried the intelligence, but as though through sobs--"what
mat