row. A scholar may
marry, and should have something in readiness for the _morgen-cap.
Addio_." [Note 1.]

As Cennini closed the door behind him, Tito turned round with the smile
dying out of his face, and fixed his eyes on the table where the florins
lay. He made no other movement, but stood with his thumbs in his belt,
looking down, in that transfixed state which accompanies the
concentration of consciousness on some inward image.

"A man's ransom!"--who was it that had said five hundred florins was
more than a man's ransom? If now, under this mid-day sun, on some hot
coast far away, a man somewhat stricken in years--a man not without high
thoughts and with the most passionate heart--a man who long years ago
had rescued a little boy from a life of beggary, filth, and cruel wrong,
had reared him tenderly, and been to him as a father--if that man _were_
now under this summer sun toiling as a slave, hewing wood and drawing
water, perhaps being smitten and buffeted because he was not deft and
active? If he were saying to himself, "Tito will find me: he had but to
carry our manuscripts and gems to Venice; he will have raised money, and
will never rest till he finds me out"? If that were certain, could he,
Tito, see the price of the gems lying before him, and say, "I will stay
at Florence, where I am fanned by soft airs of promised love and
prosperity; I will not risk myself for his sake"? No, surely not, _if
it were certain_. But nothing could be farther from certainty. The
galley had been taken by a Turkish vessel on its way to Delos: _that_
was known by the report of the companion galley, which had escaped. But
there had been resistance, and probable bloodshed; a man had been seen
falling overboard: who were the survivors, and what had befallen them
amongst all the multitude of possibilities? Had not he, Tito, suffered
shipwreck, and narrowly escaped drowning? He had good cause for feeling
the omnipresence of casualties that threatened all projects with
futility. The rumour that there were pirates who had a settlement in
Delos was not to be depended on, or might be nothing to the purpose.
What, probably enough, would be the result if he were to quit Florence
and go to Venice; get authoritative letters--yes, he knew that might be
done--and set out for the Archipelago? Why, that he should be himself
seized, and spend all his florins on preliminaries, and be again a
destitute wanderer--with no more gems to sel