"My father," whispered Tomaso feebly, "Georgio Ligozzi." Leaning against the stranger, indeed half-carried by him, Tomaso felt him start. "Thou knewest him, messer?" "He was put high in favor at Della Scala's court, and sent for us to share his fortune," put in Vittore eagerly. "Ah," said Francisco. "Della Scala's court has perished. I am from Verona. I saw it burned." Tomaso's head sunk dizzily upon his helper's shoulder. Vittore's young heart swelled, then seemed to break within him. He choked back his sobs. "And Della Scala--and my uncle: did they perish too?" "Who can tell?" replied the stranger sternly. "Who shall say who perished or who not on such a night as that on which Verona fell?" "But Della Scala's wife, the Duchess, is yonder, prisoner in Milan." "And that proves, thou thinkest, Della Scala must be dead! Maybe; who knows? All the same, thou art a brave lad and a gallant for the thought." He paused to rest Tomaso on the boulders that had been his seat. "And for that speech of thine I'll tell thee something, boy. I am the Visconti's foe. For the sake of Della Scala, whom I knew, for the sake of Verona, where I lived, for the sake of something dearer to a man than life, I am sworn to hunt him down--and now, no more. We will see to shelter." Resting Tomaso's head against his knee, Francisco turned a trained and searching gaze about him. To the right, on some thickly wooded, slightly rising ground, could be discerned the unmistakable outline of a great wall, built to a monstrous height, no doubt the boundary of a villa of unusual size and magnificence. Beneath the wall, half-hidden by a grove of chestnuts, was the usual cluster of huts: the dwellings of the hinds and vassals of the villa's noble owner. But no smoke trailed upward, nor did any sign of life strike upon the ear. "We will try those huts yonder," said Francisco. "They are far enough from the road for security, yet not too far to hamper any return hither. They seem deserted, but even if inhabited, they are scarce likely to refuse me shelter for a wounded boy." And Vittore, looking at his size and stern appearance, thankfully agreed with him. Almost carrying Tomaso, Francisco led the way, and quickly reached a footpath which, after many twistings, brought them out into a turf-grown opening around three sides of which the cottages were built. The fourth was the wall enclosing the grounds, and along it, bordering a ditch, ran a pleasant path which, as they subsequently discovered, led to a small stream, artificially extended, where it passed the villa, to a lake of some not inconsiderable size. But, as Francisco had surmised, the whole place stood empty and deserted, though it could not have been long since the fagots had blazed on the open hearths. Signs of occupation were too recent.