Randal dismounted, tied his horse to the gate, and, walking down a
trellised alley, came suddenly to the spot. His dark shadow fell over
the clear mirror of the fountain just as Riccabocca had said, "All here
is so secure from evil!--the waves of the fountain are never troubled
like those of the river!" and Violante had answered in her soft native
tongue, and lifting her dark, spiritual eyes, "But the fountain would
be but a lifeless pool, oh my father, if the spray did not mount towards
the skies!"

CHAPTER VII.

RANDAL advanced--"I fear, Signor Riccabocca, that I am guilty of some
want of ceremony."

"To dispense with ceremony is the most delicate mode of conferring a
compliment," replied the urbane Italian, as he recovered from his first
surprise at Randal's sudden address, and extended his hand.

Violante bowed her graceful head to the young man's respectful
salutation. "I am on my way to Hazeldean," resumed Randal, "and, seeing
you in the garden, could not resist this intrusion."

RICCOBOCCA.--"YOU come from London? Stirring times for you English, but
I do not ask you the news. No news can affect us."

RANDAL (softly).--"Perhaps yes."

RICCABOCCA (startled).--"How?"

VIOLANTE.--"Surely he speaks of Italy, and news from that country
affects you still, my father."

RICCABOCCA.--"Nay, nay, nothing affects me like this country; its east
winds might affect a pyramid! Draw your mantle round you, child, and go
in; the air has suddenly grown chill."

Violante smiled on her father, glanced uneasily towards Randal's grave
brow, and went slowly towards the house. Riccabocca, after waiting some
moments in silence, as if expecting Randal to speak, said, with affected
carelessness,

"So you think that you have news that might affect me? Corpo di Bacco! I
am curious to learn what?"

"I may be mistaken--that depends on your answer to one question. Do you
know the Count of Peschiera?"

Riccabocca winced, and turned pale. He could not baffle the watchful eye
of the questioner.

"Enough," said Randal; "I see that I am right. Believe in my sincerity.
I speak but to warn and to serve you. The count seeks to discover the
retreat of a countryman and kinsman of his own."

"And for what end?" cried Riccabocca, thrown off his guard, and his
breast dilated, his crest rose, and his eye flashed; valour and defiance
broke from habitual caution and self-control. "But--pooh!" he added,
striving to regain his ordinary