He told me with a coarse nervous laugh. . . As they left Florence, dying men and women still scrabbled through the streets, screams emanating from the rows of houses, beggars running up to the horses, sick children in their arms, their eyes bleeding, their noses running, begging to join them in their journey out. As he passed the Six Bells, he noticed the steeds of the two horsemen at the door; and glancing into the house, perceived the younger of the two in the passage. But he was a thief, a fugitive from justice. " "Yield to nothing," returned Wild, trying to re-assure him; "above all, when your designs prosper.
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