doubt, had as many in its hold as the bird-catchers had songsters in their nets.
Yet she dared not hope this; he said that it was impossible he could be pardoned, that his sentence, deemed a just one by his native city, was one which all other nations also would deem just. Any day, any soldier who sauntered down the grass-grown moles, any carabineer riding along the solitary shores, might hear some story from a shepherd, or a hunter, or a charcoal-burner, some hint that might awaken suspicion and bring mounted troopers over the moors and the gleam of gun-barrels amongst the thickets of briar rose and myrtle.
He, too, grew more irritable at his fate. What Sanctis had written to him, although he disbelieved it utterly, yet had aroused in him a faint hope, a faint sense of some possible eventual eliverance which made in the present his restlessness greater, his captivity almost more unbearable. One man had believed him innocent of the crime laid to him. Might he not find other men who believed also?
To Este it had always seemed so incredible that they had suspected him; that they had overlooked the wrongs received
