y,
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 signore whom you saw
to-day,--only a servant; but he honours 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 has 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 neighbourhood. 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 mast'r would lose a friend."

Jackeymo seemed struck by this caution.

"And if the padrone were to meet him, do you think the padrone would
meekly say, 'Come sta sa Signoria'? The padrone would strike him dead!"

"Hu