the chamber, and a young man sat reading by the light of the lamp.
Vision danced fantastically on Wilfrid's brain. He saw that he rocked as
in a ship, yet there was no noise of the sea; nothing save the remote
thunder haunting empty ears at strain for sound. He looked again; the
young man was gone, the lamp was flickering. Then he became conscious of
a strong ray on his eyelids; he beheld his enemy gazing down on him and
swooned. It was with joy, that when his wits returned, he found himself
looking on the young man by the lamp. "That other face was a dream," he
thought, and studied the aspect of the young man with the unwearied
attentiveness of partial stupor, that can note accurately, but cannot
deduce from its noting, and is inveterate in patience because it is
unideaed. Memory wakened first.

"Guidascarpi!" he said to himself.

The name was uttered half aloud. The young man started and closed his
book.

"You know me?" he asked.

"You are Guidascarpi?"

"I am."

"Guidascarpi, I think I helped to save your life in Meran."

The young man stooped over him. "You speak of my brother Angelo. I am
Rinaldo. My debt to you is the same, if you have served him."

"Is he safe?"