“To-morrow will be too late,” whispered D'Esmonde. “Go now; you shall know my reasons at your return.” Norwood took little heed of the canonico's attempts at conversation as they went along. His mind was occupied with other thoughts. The moment of open revolt was drawing nigh, and now came doubts of D'Esmonde's sincerity and good faith. It was true that many of the priests were disposed to the wildest theories of democracy,--they were men of more than ordinary capacity, with far less than the ordinary share of worldly advantages. D'Esmonde, however, was not one of these; there was no limit to which his ambition might not reasonably aspire,--no dignity in his Church above his legitimate hopes. What benefit could accrue to him from a great political convulsion? “He'll not be nearer to the Popedom when the cannon are shaking the Vatican!” Such were the puzzling considerations that worked within him as he drew near the boat-house. A figure was seated on the door-sill, with the head buried beneath his hands, but on hearing the approach of the others be quickly arose and drew himself up. “You are too late, sir,” said he, addressing the priest sternly; “my poor comrade is no more!” “Ah me! and they would drag me out in the chill night air,” groaned the canonico. The cruelty of that must have weighed heavily on his heart. Frank turned away, and re-entered the house without speaking, while Norwood followed him in silence. On a low truckle-bed lay the dead soldier, his manly face calm and tranquil as the cold heart within his breast. A weather-beaten, bronzed soldier sat at the foot of the bed, the tears slowly flowing along his cheeks, as his bloodshot eyes were fixed upon his comrade. It was the first blood that had been shed in the cause of Italian independence, and Norwood stood thoughtfully staring at the victim. “Poor fellow!” said he; “they who gave his death-wound little knew what sympathy for liberty that jacket covered, nor how truly the Hun is the brother of the Italian.” “They were assassins and murderers,” cried Frank, passionately; “fellows who attacked us from behind walls and barricades.” “Your reproach only means that they were not soldiers.” “That they were cowards, rather,----rank cowards. The liberty that such fellows strive for will be well worthy of them! But no more of this,” cried be, impatiently; “is there a church near, where I can lay his body,--he was a Catholic?” “There is a chapel attached to the villa; I will ask permission for what you require.” “You will confer a favor on me,” said Frank, “for I am desirous of hastening on to Milan at once.” “You will scarcely find your comrades there,” said Norwood. Frank started with surprise, and the other went on,---- “There are rumors of a serious revolt in the city, and some say that the Imperial troops have retired on the Mantua road.”