Was this Visconti come again to mock him? The thought spurred the man, though dying, almost to strive to rise and meet his fate standing. But sky, grass, trees, and stone reeled about him in a chaos of green and blue. He strove to speak, but his tongue refused. The dark figure came nearer, stopped beside him, stooped and spoke, but Count Conrad did not see nor heed. He lay, a woeful spectacle, as if dead indeed.

He awoke, as he thought never to wake again, with moistened lips, and water on his forehead, and a face that was not Visconti's bending over him; a dark face with strange brown eyes that looked at him with sombre interest.

'Thou comest from the Duke?' gasped Conrad. Francisco shook his head.

'I am no emissary of Visconti.'

'Then thou comest to save me?' whispered Conrad eagerly, hope dawning in his eyes.

'I will save thee if I can,' replied Francisco. 'Thou art alone?'

Conrad moved his head. He was too weak for more. Then a sudden thought shot horror into his face, and he struggled to a sitting posture.

The water!' he gasped out. The water—from that fountain—thou gayest me to drink of that?'

Francisco followed in surprise the direction of his glance. 'No,' he said. 'I had it with me; 'twas water and wine too.'

'Oh!' Conrad sank back. 'The water is poisoned—all—'

'Poisoned—Visconti's doing!' said Francisco.

'How didst thou get in?' whispered Conrad feebly. 'Visconti barred all entrances.'

'I found one unknown to any; canst thou, with my help, walk there?'

'I think—I can walk—to safety,' was the answer, and the love of life lending him strength, he staggered to his feet, and helped by Francisco and invigorated by the wine, made slowly forward.

But they had not taken many steps before Francisco well perceived he had rescued a man past helping himself, well-nigh past any help from others.

With a sigh Conrad sank speechless into his arms.

Francisco looked around him. He had come far from the entrance he had forced, and Conrad, plainly starved and emaciated as he was, was still a man full grown. To leave him and to return to Tomaso would be too dangerous. The place must be under observation. But to seek safety himself and abandon the helpless man was not a thought to occur to Francisco, though, hampered by his dead weight, he would be at any pursuer's mercy, or fall a prey to any ambush; so with stout words of encouragement, and forcing more wine through his lips, he lifted the Count to his shoulder and made as rapidly as he was able to the door beside the lichen. It was a breathless journey, but at last, and unmolested, Francisco gained the wall and laid his burden down. Reconnoitring without, he saw no sign of danger, and, glad of the oncoming dusk, dragged up the man and laid him, at least free, outside the door. The cool air blowing from the water, a few drops more wine, in which Francisco soaked some crumbs of bread he found within his wallet, enabled the rescued man again to move.

It was an easy matter now to bring Vittore and Tomaso, who would not be left, and between them Conrad, too spent to put questions, was carried to their shelter and laid on the rough heather couch in the hut, from which one of his own vassals had not long been driven; a poor asylum enough, but one for which he only too gladly exchanged the deadly splendour of his own magnificent abode.

'Who is he?' asked Tomaso, in timid surprise. For the first time since their knowledge of him Francisco laughed, and without bitterness.

'One of Visconti's victims! It is some poor satisfaction to have rescued two,' he said. 'I know nothing of him except that it is plainly to be seen he is some person of distinction. We will nurse him to the best of our skill. Tomaso, he may be of use—'

Then suddenly Francisco's humour changed. He glanced around him at the boy, the youth, scarcely recovered from his fever, the ghastly figure on the ground over which he bent, and fury shook him. Of what use anything against Visconti? 'Oh, terrible to be so helpless!' he cried passionately. 'We will leave this place. I break my heart in vain against the walls of Milan. I will to Ferrara, to della Scala's kinsfolk there.'

'And they will aid thee?' asked Tomaso trembling.

Francisco smiled, but this time grimly.