However, he was up early, and with an unwonted color in his cheeks, which his sister ascribed to the country air. After breakfast, he took his way towards Hazeldean, mounted upon a tolerable horse, which he hired of a neighboring farmer who occasionally hunted. Before noon, the garden and terrace of the Casino came in sight. He reined in his horse, and by the little fountain at which Leonard had been wont to eat his radishes and con his book, he saw Riccabocca seated under the shade of the red umbrella. And by the Italian's side stood a form that a Greek of old might have deemed the Naiad of the Fount; for in its youthful beauty there was something so full of poetry--something at once so sweet and so stately--that it spoke to the imagination while it charmed the sense. Randal dismounted, tied his horse to the gate, and, walking down a trelised 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, Signior 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." _Riccabocca._--"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."