Part 11 (1/2)

'Come along home with me, friar,' said O'Sullivan, as Kelly wished them good-night; 'I'll give you a gla.s.s of Vermouth, and we 'll have a talk about the old country.'

CHAPTER X. GABRIEL DE------

'I wish I knew how I could ever repay you, Pippo, for all your kindness to me,' said Gerald, as he sat one fine evening with the old man at the door; 'but when I tell you that I am as poor and as friendless in the world as on that same night when Signor Gabriel found me beside the lake----'

'Not a whit poorer or more alone in the world than the rest of us,' said Pippo good-naturedly. 'We have all a rough journey before us in life, and the least we can do is to help one another.'

The youth grasped the old man's hand and pressed it to his heart.

'Besides,' continued Pippo, 'all your grat.i.tude is owing to Signor Gabriel himself. Any little comforts you have had here have been of his procuring. He it was fetched that doctor from Bolseno, and his own hands carried the little jar of honey from St. Stephano.'

'What a kind heart he has!' cried Gerald eagerly.

'Well,' said Pippo, with a dry, odd smile, 'that's not exactly what people say of him; not but he can do a kind thing too, just as he can do anything.'

'Is he so clever, then?' asked Gerald curiously.

'Is he not!' exclaimed Pippo; 'where has he not travelled, what has he not seen! And then the books he has written--scores of them, they tell me: he's always writing still--whole nights through; after which, instead of going to his bed like any one else, he is off for a plunge in the lake there, though I've told him over and over, that the water that kills fish can never be healthy for a human being!'

'What a strange nature his must be! And what brings him here?'

'That's _his_ secret, and it would be _mine_ too, if I knew it; for, I promise you, he 's not one it's over safe to talk about.'

'Where does he come from?'

'He 's French, and that's all I can tell you.'

'It can't be for the _cha.s.se_ he comes here,' said Gerald musingly.

'There's no game in these mountains. It can scarcely be for seclusion, for he's always rambling away to some village or town near. It's now more than a week since we have seen him. I wish I could make out who or what he is!'

'Would you indeed?' cried a deep voice, as a large, heavy hand fell upon his shoulder; 'and what would the knowledge benefit you, boy?' Gerald looked up, and there stood Gabriel. He was dressed in a loose peasant's frock, and seemed by his mien as if he had come off a long day's march.

'Go in, Pippo, and make me a good salad. Grill me that old hen yonder, and I'll give you a share of a flask of Orvieto that was in the bishop's cellar last night.'

He threw off his knapsack as he spoke, and removing his hat, wiped his heated forehead, and then turning to the youth at his side, he said: 'So, boy, I am a sort of mystery to you, it seems--mayhap others share in that same sentiment--at least I have heard as much. But whence this curiosity on your part? You were a stranger to me, and you are so still.

What can it signify to either of us what has happened before we met and knew each other? Life is not a river running in one bed, but a series of streams that follow fifty channels--some pure and limpid, some, perchance, turbid and foul enough. What you have been gives no guarantee to what you may be, remember that!'

He spoke with a tone of sternness that made his words sound like reproof, and the youth held down his head abashed.

'Don't suppose I am angry with you,' continued the other, but in the self-same tone as before; 'nor that I regard this curious desire of yours as ingrat.i.tude. You owe me nothing, or next to nothing, and you 're a rare instance of such in life, if within the next ten years the wish will not occur to you at least twenty times, that I had left you to die beside the dark sh.o.r.es of Bolseno!'

'I can well believe it may be so,' said Gerald with a sigh.

'Not that this is my own philosophy,' said the other, in a voice of powerful meaning. 'I soon made the discovery that life was not a garden, but a hunting-ground, and that the wolves had the best of it! Ay, boy,'

cried he, with a kind of savage exultation, 'there's the experience of one whose boast it is to know something of his fellows!'

Gerald was silent, and for some time Gabriel also did not speak. At last, looking steadfastly at the youth, he said: 'I have been up to Rome these last three days. My errand there was to learn something about _you_.'