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His pistol was knocked aside by Mario, and the next moment he lay senseless on the ground. Mario came to Borelloni and raised him from the ground. "Are you hurt?" he inquired. "Good God! Is it possible!" "I am Mario. I thank Heaven I am here to prevent these ruffians from executing their design. Can I assist you to mount?" He assisted the count to get on his horse again.
There was a threatening aspect about the horizon, but it was unnoticed by those who were intent on pleasure. Borelloni remained at home, being employed at some business. Mario sat at his usual place on the summit of the rock, and watching the preparations, knew their object. An awning was placed above the boat-a high and broad awning, which could effectually keep off the hot rays of the sun.
The old count appeared upon the terrace, pale and terrified, and waved his arms in the air, and screamed to those in the boat. The shout went across the water, followed immediately by the tolling of the great bell at the villa, which was now all in confusion. Borelloni rushed about like one distracted, sending his servants after boats to go out and save his daughter.
Mario clung at the reins with the grasp of a drowning man-there was a whirl of dust, a rush of the multitude who followed after, and then with a sound like the sudden peal of thunder, burst forth the acclamation of a thousand deep-toned voices: "Saved, saved!" They raised Mario up-they placed him in the carriage, and bore his insensible and much bruised form slowly to the palace of Borelloni.
Summer with its heat had passed away, and mild September had now come, when Florence again becomes delightful. The villa at Thrasymene was now forsaken, and the palace of Borelloni at Florence again was all joyous and thronged with people as of yore. Again the carriage of the count rolled along the Lung' Arno, and he received the salutations of his friends.
The lake rippled on the shore of the other side, and stretched away-a sheet of molten silver, till it watered the bases of distant hills. In this charming spot which every traveller loves to view, had the Count Borelloni reared a summer palace.
"Good day, Borelloni," exclaimed a gentleman on horseback; "a most beautiful day!" "Your servant, signor," answered the count. "It is a lovely day." "Your horses seem vicious, they are very unruly, are they not!" said the gentleman. "O no-they are a little excited-they will presently become calm. A very great number of people are out to-day."
It was-it must be-yes, that long, dark hair and those lovely features belonged only to Stella! The old man bowed down his head and wept. Nearer, nearer, and now all fear was gone, for the bold swimmer still showed an unfailing strength and energy. But his face was unknown. None had seen it before. Yet Borelloni knew it-well he knew it.
By this time a troop of soldiers, alarmed by the pistol reports, had come to the place. "Take those men with you," said Mario. "They have attempted the life of Count Borelloni. And accompany the count to the city. But what-you are wounded." "No, the bullet only grazed my head. Mario you have saved my life. I am speechless. I feel more than I can utter now." "Do not thank me.
But the count, who refused him once before, will not now retract his word, even to the preserver of his life." Mario was cared for and soon recovered. He spake not a word about his love to Borelloni. He would not ask him now, for then he would seem to demand payment for his action, and such a thing he scorned-even though it should bestow upon him the hand of his beloved. "I will wait," said he.
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