"But what I can find for myself," he added, "thou art welcome to share. Where is thy cousin?" Vittore pointed to the recumbent figure half-hidden in the bank; the man glanced across, then around him. The sun was almost set, a whole flock of delicate little pink clouds lay trembling over Milan, its noble outline already half in shadow. "It will be dark soon," he said, "and perchance--" he broke off abruptly. "Thy cousin, didst thou say?--what has happened to him? Wounded in some roadside fray?" He rose as he spoke and crossed over to the fallen boy. "And what are you two doing traveling alone?" he demanded sternly. "Alas, messer, we were going to Verona." "To Verona, by way of Milan?" "We had no choice. The company we traveled with were bound hither, but three days ago we missed them, and came on here alone, lest perhaps they had preceded us. But for this accident we thought to pass the night in Milan--but now, what shall we do? and we hear that Verona has been taken!" The stranger was bending over Tomaso, and Vittore did not see his face. "How did this happen?" he asked presently, touching the mark upon Tomaso's face. And Vittore told him. The stranger was quiet a long breath. "So this is _Visconti's_ doing," he said at last. "Thy cousin is a brave lad." And he fell again into a silence which Vittore dared not break, while under the stranger's care Tomaso opened his eyes, and feebly muttered and tried to rise. But the other bade him wait a while, and turned to Vittore again. "And which way did Visconti ride?" he asked. The boy pointed. "The peasants said it was toward Brescia." "And he has not yet re-entered Milan?" "No, messer." By now Vittore felt and showed respect. "Then we will not enter Milan either," said the stranger, "since Visconti has not." The boy gazed on him, struck by his tone, and Tomaso's eyes, half-closing, reopened and fixed themselves upon the stranger's face. "Messer, you hate Visconti?" whispered Vittore. The man laughed shortly. "There are many in Lombardy who hate Visconti," he said. "Perhaps I not less than others. Boy," he added, with sudden intensity, "I have only two things to live for: one is to tell Visconti to his face what one man's hatred is." And leaving them half-terrified, he strode into the road, and shading his eyes looked long and searchingly away from Milan; but the dusk was settling fast, not a soul in sight, not a sound. Presently, with an air of relief, born of new-sprung resolution, the stranger returned to the expectant boys. Revived by his tendance and by the cool evening air, Tomaso was helped upon his feet, Vittore clasped his hands in joy to see him move again. "Messer, how shall we thank thee!" he exclaimed. "Call me Francisco," said the traveler. "Thou wert journeying to Verona, didst thou say? What kinsman hast thou there?"