"Do you propose to reach Bangor to-night, signore?"
"Yes," said I.
"Walking, signore?"
"Yes," said I; "I always walk in Wales."
"Then you will have rather a long walk, signore; for Bangor is
thirty-four miles from here."
I asked him if he was married.
"No, signore; but my brother in Liverpool is."
"To an Italian?"
"No, signore; to a Welsh girl."
"And I suppose," said I, "you will follow his example by marrying
one; perhaps that good-looking girl the landlady's daughter we were
seated with last night?"
"No, signore; I shall not follow my brother's example. If ever I
take a wife she shall be of my own village, in Como, whither I hope
to return, as soon as I have picked up a few more pounds."
"Whether the Austrians are driven away or not?" said I.
"Whether the Austrians are driven away or not - for to my mind
there is no country like Como, signore."
I ordered breakfast; whilst taking it in the room above I saw
through the open window the Italian trudging forth on his journey,
a huge box on his back, and a weather-glass in his hand - looking
the exact image of one of those men, his country people, whom forty
years before I had known at N-. I thought of the course of time,
sighed and felt a tear gather in my eye.
My breakfast concluded, I paid my bill, and after inquiring the way
to Bangor, and bidding adieu to the kind landlady and her daughter,
set out from Cerrig y Drudion.
