"My master, ugh! My lord, if it please or please not your worship," growled Farkas, preceding the landlord out of the apartment. When the Jew returned, his visitor confronted him with angry looks. "See to what you expose me, fellow, by your villanous meanness!" exclaimed the cavaliere. "And, not content with harbouring vagabonds in your house, that, for aught I know, may be spies upon us, you furnish them with pass-keys, to surprise us when they will--to ear-wig at the doors, hear our discourse, betray our secrets. How now, fellow, what have you to answer?" "I tell you that they are most innocent and unsuspecting rustics, both," stammered the Jew--"both master and man. There can be no danger." "No danger!" continued the angry cavaliere. "No danger, fellow! _Cospetto!_ this very circumstance may be my ruin! That voice, too, was not unknown to me. I have heard it somewhere, although I know not where. It sounded to me as the reminiscence of some past evil--a raven's croak, announcing still more ill to come. _Santa Vergine!_ If we are lost, I will have your life, with my own hand;" and he half drew his sword from the scabbard. Bandini drew back sulkily, with further protestations, deprecations, and endeavours to mollify his visitor: but it was long before the cavaliere could be appeased. Once he left the room and listened in the passage, and at the young Hungarian's door. Then he descended to the street entrance, and examined the lock: and only when convinced that the other inhabitants of the house were still, and had probably retired to rest, did he come back. When he returned to the Jew's room, his brow was still knitted angrily; but, after drawing a bolt across the door, he sat down with less of agitation. More unfriendly words again passed between the confederates; but, after a time, the Italian spy and the Jew money-lender were again conversing, in lowered tones, upon the schemes of the former. CHAPTER II "Underneath the grove of sycamore, That westward rooteth from the city's side-- So early walking did I see your son: Towards him I made; but he was ware of me And stole into a covert of the wood."-- * * * * * "Be rul'd by me, forget to think of her-- O teach me how I should forget to think."--SHAKSPEARE. "Ruffian, let go that rude uncivil touch!"--IDEM. On the following afternoon, the sun shone brightly; and the whole atmosphere, in spite of the slight haze which faintly silvered the distant hills, was imbued with that exhilarating freshness and lightness, which sheds a poetic charm of animation, vividness, and--did it not appear a paradox--it might be added, youth also, over an Hungarian autumn, unknown in other European countries.