The Wheat Princess

  CHAPTER XXIV

  COLLECTING herself sufficiently to know that she must not cry out oralarm her aunt, Marcia hurried to the front staircase and stood amoment on the landing, hesitating what to do. Sybert was lounging inthe doorway leading on to the loggia. She leaned over the balustradeand called to him softly so as not to attract the attention of theothers. He turned with a start at the sound of his name, and inresponse to her summons crossed the hall in his usual leisurely stroll.But at the foot of the stairs, as he caught sight of her face in thedim candle-light, he came springing up three steps at a time.

  'What's the matter? What's happened?' he cried.

  'Gerald!' Marcia breathed in a sobbing whisper.

  'Gerald!' he repeated, anxious lines showing in his face. 'Goodheavens, Marcia! What's happened?'

  'I don't know; he's gone,' she said wildly. 'Come up here, where AuntKatherine won't hear us.' She led the way up into the hall again andexplained in broken sentences.

  Sybert turned without a word and strode back to Gerald's room. He stoodupon the threshold, looking at the empty little crib and tossed pillows.

  'It will simply kill Uncle Howard and Aunt Katherina if anything hashappened to him,' Marcia faltered.

  'Nothing has happened to him,' Sybert returned shortly. 'The scoundrelswouldn't dare steal a child. Every police spy in Italy would be afterthem. He must be with Bianca somewhere.'

  He turned away from the room and went on down the stone passage towardthe rear of the house. He paused at the head of the middle staircase,thinking the matter over with frowning brows, while Marcia anxiouslystudied his face. As they stood there in the dim moonlight thatstreamed in through the small square window over the stairs theysuddenly heard the patter of bare feet in the passage below, and inanother moment Gerald himself came scurrying up the winding stonestairway, looking like a little white rat in the dimness.

  Marcia uttered a cry of joy, and Sybert squared his shoulders as if aweight had dropped from them. Their second glance at the child's face,however, told them that something had happened. His little whitenightgown was draggled with dew, his face was twitching nervously, andhis eyes were wild with terror. He reached the top step and plungedinto Marcia's arms with a burst of sobbing.

  'Gerald, Gerald, what's the matter? Don't make such a noise. Hush,dear; you will frighten mamma. Marcia won't let anything hurt you. Tellme what's the matter.'

  Gerald clung to her, crying and trembling and pouring out a torrent ofunintelligible Italian. Sybert bent down, and taking him in his arms,carried him back to his own room. 'No one's going to hurt you. Stopcrying and tell us what's the matter,' he said peremptorily.

  Gerald caught his breath and told his story in a mixture of English andItalian and sobs. It had been so hot, and the nightingales had madesuch a noise, that he couldn't go to sleep; and he had got up verysoftly so as not to disturb mamma, and had crept out the back way justto get some cherries. (A group of scrub trees, cherry, almond, andpomegranate, grew close to the villa walls in the rear.) While he wassitting under the tree eating cherries, some men came up and stopped inthe bushes close by, and he could hear what they said, and one of themwas Pietro. Here he began to cry again, and the soothing had to be doneover.

  'Well, what did they say? Tell us what they said, Gerald,' Sybert brokein, in his low, insistent tones.

  'Vey said my papa was a bad man, an' vey was going to kill him 'causehe had veir money in his pocket--an' I don't want my papa killed!' hewailed.

  Marcia's eyes met Sybert's in silence, and he emitted a low breath thatwas half a whistle.

  'What else did they say, Gerald? You needn't be afraid. We won't letthem hurt your papa, but you must remember everything they said, sothat we can catch them.'

  'Pietro said he was going to kill you, too, 'cause you was here an' wasbad like papa,' Gerald sobbed.

  'Go on,' Sybert urged. 'What else did they say?'

  'Vey didn't say nuffin more, but went away in ve grove. An' I wasscared an' kept still, an' it was all _nero_ under ve trees; an' ven Icwept in _pianissimo_ an' I found you--an' I don't want you killed, an'I don't want papa killed.'

  'Don't be afraid. We won't let them hurt us. And now try to rememberhow many men there were.'

  'Pietro an'--some uvers, an' vey went away in ve trees.'

  They questioned him some more, but got merely a variation of the samestory; it was evidently all he knew. Marcia called Granton to sit withhim and tremulously explained the situation. Granton received theinformation calmly; it was all she had ever expected in Italy, she said.

  Out in the hall again, Marcia looked at Sybert questioningly; she wasquite composed. Gerald was safe at least, and they knew what wascoming. She felt that her uncle and Sybert would bring things right.

  'What shall we do?' she asked.

  Sybert, with folded arms, was considering the question.

  'It's evidently a mixture of robbery and revenge and mistakenpatriotism all rolled into one. It would be convenient if we knew howmany there were; Pietro and Gervasio's stepfather and your man with thecrucifix we may safely count upon, but just how many more we have nomeans of knowing. However, there's no danger of their beginningoperations till they think we're asleep.' He looked at his watch. 'Itis a quarter to ten. We have a good two hours still, and we'll prepareto surprise them. We won't tell the people downstairs just yet, for itwon't do any good, and their talk and laughter are the best protectionwe could have. You don't know where your uncle keeps his revolver, doyou?'

  'Yes; in the top drawer of his writing-table.' She stepped into Mr.Copley's room and pulled open the drawer. 'Why, it's gone!'

  'I say, the plot thickens!' and Sybert, too, uttered a short, lowlaugh, as Copley had done on the terrace.

  'And the rifle's gone,' Marcia added, her glance wandering to thecorner where the gun-case usually stood.

  'It's evident that our friend Pietro has been helping himself; but ifhe thinks he's going to shoot us with our own arms he's mistaken. Wemust get word to the soldiers at Palestrina--did you tell me theservants were gone?'

  'I couldn't find any one but Granton. The whole house is empty.'

  'It's the Camorra!' he exclaimed softly.

  'The Camorra?' Marcia paled a trifle at the name.

  'Ah--it's plain enough. We should have suspected it before. Pietro is amember and has been acting as a spy from the inside. It appears to be avery prettily worked out plot. They have waited until they thinkthere's money in the house; your uncle has just sold a big consignmentof wheat. They have probably dismissed the servants with their usualformula: "Be silent, and you live; speak, and you die." The servantswould be more afraid of the Camorra than of the police.--How about thestablemen?'

  'Oh, I can't believe they'd join a plot against us,' Marcia cried.'Angelo and Giovanni I would trust anywhere.'

  'In that case they've been silenced; they are where they won't givetestimony until it is too late. I dare say the fellows are evenplanning to ride off on the horses themselves. By morning they would bewell into the mountains of the Abruzzi, where the Camorrists are athome. We'll have to get help from Palestrina. If we could reach thoseguards at the cross-roads, they would ride in with the message. It'sonly two miles away, but----' He frowned a trifle. 'I suppose the houseis closely watched, and it will be difficult to get out unseen. We'llhave to try it, though.'

  'Whom can we send?'

  He was silent a moment. 'I don't like to leave you,' he said slowly,'but I'm afraid I'll have to go.'

  'Oh!' said Marcia, with a little gasp. She stood looking down at thefloor with troubled eyes, and Sybert watched her, careless that thetime was passing.

  Marcia suddenly raised her eyes, with an exclamation of relief.'Gervasio!' she cried. 'We can send Gervasio.'

  'Could we trust him?' he doubted.

  'Anywhere! And he can get away without being seen easier than youcould. I am sure he can do it; he is very intelligent.'

  'I'd forgotten him. Yes, I b
elieve that is the best way. You go andwake him, and I'll write a note to the soldiers.' Sybert turned to thewriting-table as he spoke, and Marcia hurried back to Gervasio's room.

  The boy was asleep, with the moonlight streaming across his pillow. Shebent over him hesitatingly, while her heart reproached her at having towake him and send him out on such an errand. But the next moment shehad reflected that it might be the only chance for him as well as forthe rest of them, and she laid her hand gently on his forehead.

  'Gervasio,' she whispered. 'Wake up, Gervasio. Sh--_silenzio!_ Dressjust as fast as you can. No, you haven't done anything; don't befrightened. Signor Siberti is going to tell you a secret--_unsegreto_,' she repeated impressively. 'Put on these clothes,' sheadded, hunting out a dark suit from his wardrobe. 'And never mind yourshoes and stockings. Dress _subito, subito_, and then come ontiptoe--_pianissimo_--to Signor Copley's room.'

  Gervasio was into his clothes and after her almost before she had gotback. When undirected by Bianca, his dressing was a simple matter.

  Sybert drew him across the threshold and closed the door. 'What shallwe tell him?' he questioned Marcia.

  'Tell him the truth. He can understand, and we can trust him.' Anddropping on her knees beside the boy, she laid her hands on hisshoulders. 'Gervasio,' she said in her slow Italian, 'some bad, naughtymen are coming here to-night to try to kill us and steal our things.Pietro is one of them' (Pietro had that very afternoon boxed Gervasio'sears for stealing sugar from the tea-table), 'and your stepfather isone, and he will take you back to Castel Vivalanti, and you will neversee us again.'

  Gervasio listened, with his eyes on her face and his lips parted inhorror. Sybert here broke in and explained about the soldiers, and howhe was to reach the guard at the corners, and he ended by hiding thenote in the front of his blouse. 'Do you understand?' he asked, 'do youthink you can do it?'

  Gervasio nodded, his eyes now shining with excitement. 'I'll bring thesoldiers,' he whispered, '_sicure_, signore, _sicurissimo_! And if theycatch me,' he added, 'I'll say the _padrone_ has whipped me and I'mrunning away.'

  'You'll do,' Sybert said with a half-laugh, and taking the boy by thehand, he led the way back to the middle staircase, and the three creptdown with as little noise as possible.

  They traversed on tiptoe the long brick passageway that led to thekitchen, and paused upon the threshold. The great stone-walled room wasempty and quiet and echoing as on the first day they had come to thevilla. The doors and windows were swinging wide and the moonlight wasstreaming in.

  Sybert shook his head in a puzzled frown. 'What I can't make out,' hesaid in a low tone, 'is why they should leave everything so open. Theymust have known that we would find out before we went to bed that theservants were missing. Who usually locks up?'

  'Pietro.'

  'You and I will lock up to-night.' He considered a moment. 'We mustn'tlet him out within sight of the grove. A window on the eastern side ofthe house would be best, where the shrubbery grows close to the walls.'

  Marcia led the way into a little store-room opening from the kitchen,and Sybert gave Gervasio his last directions.

  'Keep well in the shadow of the trees across the driveway and downaround the lower terrace. Creep on your hands and knees through thewheat field, and then strike straight for the cross-roads and run everystep of the way. _Capisci?_'

  Gervasio nodded, and Marcia bent and kissed him and whispered in hisear, 'If you bring the soldiers, Gervasio, you may live with us alwaysand be our little boy, just like Gerald.'

  He nodded again, fairly trembling with anxiety to get started. Sybertcarefully swung the window open, and the little fellow dropped to theground and crept like a cat into the shadows. They stood by the openwindow for several minutes, straining their ears to listen, but nosound came back except the peaceful music of a summer night--the murmurof insects and the songs of nightingales. Gervasio had got off safely.

  'Now we'll lock the house,' Sybert added in an undertone, 'so that whenour friends come to call they will have to come the front way.'

  He closed the window softly and examined with approval the insideshutters. They were made of solid wood with heavy iron bolts andhinges. The villa had been planned in the old days before the policeforce was as efficient as now, and it was quite prepared to stand asiege.

  'It will take considerable strength to open these, and some noise,' heremarked as he swung the shutters to and shot the bolts.

  They groped their way out and went from room to room, closing andbolting the windows and doors with as little noise as possible. Sybertappeared, to Marcia's astonished senses, to be in an unusuallylight-hearted frame of mind. Once or twice he laughed softly, and once,when her hand touched his in the dark, she felt that same warm thrillrun through her as on that other moonlight night.

  They came last to the big vaulted dining-room which had served aschapel in the devotional days of the Vivalanti. The three glass doorsat the end were open to the moonlight, which flooded the apartment,softening the crude outlines of the frescoes on the ceiling to thebeauty of old masters. Sybert paused with his back to the doors to lookup and down approvingly.

  'Do you know, it isn't half bad in this light,' he remarked casually toMarcia. 'That old fellow up there,' he nodded toward Bacchus recliningamong the vines in the central panelling, 'might be a Michelangelo inthe moonlight, and in the sunlight he isn't even a Carlo Dolci.'

  Marcia stared. What could he be thinking of to choose this time of allothers to be making art criticisms? Never had she heard him express theslightest interest in the subject before. She had been under so great astrain for so long, such a succession of shocks, that she was nearly atthe end of her self-control. And then to have Sybert acting in thisunprecedented way! She looked past him out of the door toward the blackshadow of the ilexes, and shuddered as she thought of what they mightconceal. The next moment Sybert had stepped out on to the balcony.

  'Mr. Sybert!' she cried aghast. 'They may be watching us. Come back.'

  He laughed and seated himself sidewise on the iron railing. 'If they'rewatching us, they're doubtless wondering why we're closing the house socarefully. We'll stop here a few minutes and let them see we'reunsuspicious; that we're just shutting the doors for fear of draughtsand not of burglars.'

  'They'll shoot you,' she gasped, her eyes upon his white suit, whichmade a shining target in the moonlight.

  'Nonsense, Miss Marcia! They couldn't hit me if they tried.' He markedthe distance to the grove with a calculating eye. 'There's no danger oftheir trying, however. They won't risk giving their plot away just forthe sake of nabbing me; I'm not King Humbert. They don't hate me asmuch as that.' He leaned forward with another laugh. 'Come out and talkto me, Miss Marcia. Let me see how brave you are.'

  Marcia flattened herself against the wall. 'I'm not brave. Please comeback, Mr. Sybert. We must tell Uncle Howard.'

  If Marcia did not know Sybert to-night, he did not know himself. He wasunder a greater strain than she. He had sworn that he would not see heragain, and he had weakly come to-night; he had promised himself that hewould not talk to her, that he would not by the slightest sign betrayhis feelings, and he found himself thrown with her under the mostintimate conditions. They shared a secret; they were in dangertogether. It was within the realms of possibility that he would bekilled to-night. The Camorrists had attempted it before; they mightsucceed this time. He actually did not care; he almost welcomed thenotion. Ambition was dead within him; he had nothing to live for and hewas reckless. He thought that Marcia was in love with another man, buthe dimly divined his own influence over her. Once at least, he toldhimself--once, before she went back to the boy she had chosen, sheshould acknowledge his power; she should bend her will to his. He knewthat she was frightened, but she should conquer her fear. She shouldcome out into the moonlight and stand beside him, hand in hand, facingthe shadows of the ilex grove.

  He bent forward, watching her as she stood in her white evening gownoutlined against the dark tapestry of
the wall, her face surrounded byglowing hair, her grey eyes big with amazement and fear.

  He stretched out his hand toward her. 'Marcia,' he called in a low,insistent tone. 'Come here, Marcia. Come out here and stand beside me,or I shall think you are a coward.'

  She turned aside with a little shuddering gasp and hid her head againstthe wall. What if they should shoot him in the back as he sat there?

  Sybert suddenly came to himself and sprang forward with an apology.'Oh, I beg your pardon, Miss Marcia; I didn't mean to frighten you. Idon't know what I'm saying.'

  He began closing the doors and shutters farthest away. As he reachedher side he paused and looked at her. Her eyes were shut and she didnot move. He closed and barred the last shutter, and they stood silentin the dark. Marcia was struggling to control herself. 'I shall thinkyou a coward,' was ringing in her ears. She had borne a great dealto-day, from the moment when she had first seen the man asleep in thegrass; and now, as she opened her eyes in the darkness, a sudden rushof fear swept over her such as she had experienced in the oldwine-cellar. It was not fear of any definite thing; she could be asbrave as any one in the face of visible danger. It was merely a wild,unreasoning sensation of physical terror, bred of the dark andoverwrought nerves. She stretched out her hand and touched Sybert to besure he was there. The next moment she was beyond herself. 'I'mafraid,' she sobbed out, and she clung to him convulsively.

  She felt him put his arm around her. 'Marcia! My dear little girl.There's nothing to be afraid of. When they find we are on our guardthey won't dare molest us. Nothing can hurt you.' It was so exactly histone to Gerald, she would have laughed had she not been crying too hardto stop. Then suddenly his arms tightened about her. 'Marcia,' hewhispered hoarsely, 'Marcia,' and he bent his head until his lipstouched hers. They stood for an instant without moving; then she felthim become quickly rigid as he dropped his arms and gently loosened herhands. They groped their way into the hall without a word, and neitherlooked at the other. They were both ashamed. The tears still stood inMarcia's eyes, but her cheeks were scarlet. And Sybert was pale beneaththe olive of his skin.

  He stepped to the threshold of the salon. 'Ah, Copley,' he said in alow tone. 'Are you nearly through? I want to tell you something.'

  Copley waved him off without looking up. 'Sh--it's a crucial moment.Don't interrupt. The scores are even and only one hand more to play.I'll be out in a few minutes.'

  Marcia sat down in a chair on the loggia. It was on the opposite sideof the house from the ilex grove, and besides, her spasm of fear hadpassed. Everything was blotted out of her mind except what had justhappened. Her thoughts, her feelings, were in wild commotion; but onething stood out clearly. She had thrown herself into his arms and hehad kissed her; and then--he had unloosed her hands. She shut her eyesand winced at the thought; she felt that she could never face him again.

  And on the other end of the loggia Sybert was pacing up and down,lighting cigarettes and throwing them away. He, too, was fiercelycalling himself names. He had frightened her when he knew that she wasbeside herself with nervousness; he had taken advantage of the factthat she did not know what she was doing; he knew that she was engagedto Paul Dessart, and he had forgotten that he was a gentleman. With aquick glance toward the salon, he threw away his cigarette, andcrossing the loggia, he sat down in a chair at Marcia's side. Sheshrank back quickly, and he leaned forward with his elbows on his kneesand his eyes on the brick floor.

  'Marcia,' he said in a tone so low that it was barely audible, 'I loveyou. I know you don't care for me; I know you are engaged to anotherman. I didn't mean to see you again; most of all I didn't mean to tellyou. I had no right to take advantage of you when you were off yourguard, but--I couldn't help it; I'm not so strong as I thought I was.Please forgive me and forget about it.'

  Marcia drew a deep breath and shut her eyes. Her throat suddenly felthot and dry. The rush of joy that swept over her made her feel that shecould face anything. She had but to say, 'I am not engaged to anotherman,' and all would come right. She raised her head and looked backinto Sybert's deep eyes. It was he this time who dropped his gaze.

  'Mr. Sybert----' she whispered.

  A shadow suddenly fell between them, and they both sprang to their feetwith a little exclamation. A man was standing before them asunexpectedly as though he had risen from the earth or dropped from thesky. He was short and thick-set, with coarsely accentuated features; hewore a loose white shirt and a red cotton sash, and though the shirtwas fastened at the throat, Marcia could see the mark of the crucifixon his brown skin as plainly as if it were visible.

  'It's the tattooed man!' she gasped out, but as she felt Sybert'srestraining touch on her arm she calmed herself.

  The man took off his hat with a polite bow and an impertinent smile.

  '_Buona sera_, signorina,' he murmured. '_Buona sera_, Friend of thePoor. I'm sorry to interrupt you, but I come on business _moltourgente_.'

  'What is your business?' Sybert asked sharply.

  'My business is with Signor Copley.'

  'What is this? Some one to see me?' Copley asked, appearing in thedoorway. 'Well, my man,' he added in Italian, 'what can I do for you?'

  'Uncle Howard, don't speak to him! It's the tattooed man,' Marciacried. 'There's a plot. He wants to kill you.'

  An expression approaching amusement flitted over Mr. Copley's face ashe looked his visitor over.

  'I wish to speak to the signore alone, in private, on urgent business,'the man reiterated, looking scowlingly from one face to the other. Hedid not understand the foreign language they spoke among themselves,and he felt that it gave them an advantage.

  'Don't speak to him alone,' Sybert warned. 'He's dangerous.'

  'Well, what do you want?' Copley demanded peremptorily. 'Say whateveryou have to say here.'

  The man glanced at Marcia and Sybert, and then, shrugging his shouldersin true Italian fashion, turned to Copley.

  'I wish the money of the poor,' he said.

  'The money of the poor? I haven't any money of the poor.'

  '_Si, si_, signore. The money you stole from the mouths of thepoor--the wheat money.'

  Marcia shuddered at the word 'wheat.' It seemed to her that it wouldfollow her to her dying day.

  'Ah! So it's the wheat money, is it? Well, my good man, that happens tobe my money. I didn't steal it from the mouths of the poor. I boughtthe wheat myself to give to the poor, and I sold it for half as much asI paid for it; and with the money I intend to buy more wheat. In themeantime, however, I shall keep it in my own hands.'

  'You don't remember me, signore, but I remember you. We met in Naples.'

  Copley bowed. 'On which occasion I put you in jail--a pleasure I shallavail myself of a second time if you trouble me any further.'

  'I have come for the money.'

  'You fool! Do you think I carry thirty thousand lire around in mypockets? The money is in the _Banca d'Italia_ in Rome. You may callthere if you wish it.'

  The man put his hands to his mouth and whistled.

  'Ah! It's a plot, is it!' Copley exclaimed.

  '_Si_, signore. It is a plot, and there are those who will carry itout.'

  He turned with an angry snarl, and before Sybert could spring forwardto stop him he had snatched a stiletto from his girdle. Copley threw uphis arm to protect himself, and received the blow in the shoulder.Before the man could strike again, Sybert was upon him and had thrownhim backward across the balustrade. At the same moment half a dozen menburst from the ilex grove and ran across the terrace; and one ofthem--it was Pietro--levelled the stolen rifle as he ran.

  'Back into the house!' Sybert shouted, 'and bar the salon windows.' Hehimself sprang back to the threshold and snatched out his revolver.'You fools!' he cried to the Italians in front. 'We're all armed men.We'll shoot you like dogs.'

  For answer Pietro fired the rifle, and the glass of an upper windowcrashed.

  Sybert closed the door and dropped the bar across it. He faced theexcited group i
n the hall with a little laugh. 'If that's a specimen ofhis marksmanship, we haven't much to fear from Pietro.'

  He glanced quickly from one to the other. Marcia, in the salon, wasslamming the shutters down. Mrs. Melville and Mrs. Copley were standingin the doorway with white faces, too amazed to move. Copley, in themiddle of the hall, with his right arm hanging limp, was dripping bloodon the marble pavement while he loudly called for a pistol; andMelville was standing on a chair hastily tearing from the wall acollection of fourteenth-century Florentine arms.

  'Pietro's got your pistol,' Sybert said. 'But I've got five shots inmine, and we'll do for the sixth man with one of those bludgeons. Iought to have shot that tattooed fellow when I had the chance--he's theleader--but I'll make up for it yet.'

  A storm of blows on the door behind him brought out another laugh.'That door is as solid as the side of the house. They can hammer on itall night without getting in.'

  The assailants had evidently arrived at the same conclusion, for theblows ceased while they consulted. A crash of glass in the salonfollowed, and Sybert sprang in there, calling to Melville to guard thehall window. The shutters held against the first impact of the men'sbodies, and they drew off for a minute and then redoubled the blows.They were evidently using the butt of the rifle as a battering-ram, andthe stoutest of hinges could not long withstand such usage. With agroan one side of the shutter gave way and swung inward on a singlehinge.

  'Put out the lights,' Sybert called over his shoulder to Marcia, and hefired a shot through the aperture. The assailants fell back with groansand curses, but the next moment, raising the cry, '_Avanti! Avanti!_'they came on with a rush, the Camorrist leading with the stolenrevolver in his hand. Sybert took deliberate aim and fired. The manslowly sank to his knees and fell forward on his face. His comradesdragged him back.

  Marcia, in the darkness behind, shut her eyes and clenched her hands.It was the first time she had ever seen a person die, and the sight wassickening. The men withdrew from the window and those waiting insideheard them consulting in low, angry guttural tones. The next momentthere was a crash of glass at the hall window which opened into theloggia, and again the rifle as a battering-ram.

  'Ah!' said Sybert under his breath, and he thrust the revolver intoMarcia's hand. 'Quick, take that to Melville and bring me one of thosespiked truncheons. We'll make 'em think we've got a regular arsenal inhere.'

  Marcia obeyed without a word, and the next moment shots and cries rangout in the hall. She had scarcely placed the unwieldy weapon inSybert's hands when another man thrust himself into the salon opening.They had evidently determined to divide their forces and attack the twobreaches at once. Both Marcia and Sybert recognized the man instantly.It was Tarquinio, the son of Domenico, the baker of Castel Vivalanti.

  'Tarquinio! You fool! Go back,' Sybert cried.

  'Ah-h--Signor Siberti!' the young fellow cried as he lunged forwardwith a stiletto. 'You have betrayed us!'

  Sybert shut his lips, and reversing the truncheon, struck him with thehandle a ringing blow on the head. Tarquinio fell forward into thedarkness of the room, and the moonlight streamed in on his bloody face.

  Sybert bent over him a moment with white lips. 'You poor fool!' hemuttered. 'I had to do it.'

  The next moment Marcia uttered a joyous cry that rang through the rooms.

  'Listen!'

  A silence of ten seconds followed, while both besieged and besiegersheld their breath. The sound was unmistakable--a shout far down theavenue and the beat of galloping hoofs.

  'The soldiers!' she cried, and the men outside, as if they hadunderstood the word, echoed the cry.

  '_I soldati! I soldati!_'

  The next moment a dozen carabinieri swept into sight, the moonlightgleaming brightly on their white cross-belts and polished mountings.The men on the loggia dropped their weapons and dashed for cover, whilethe soldiers leaped from their horses and with spiked muskets chasedthem into the trees.

  Sybert hastily bent over Tarquinio and dragged him back into the shadow.

  'Is he alive?' Marcia whispered.

  'He's only stunned. And, poor fellow, he doesn't know any better; hewas nothing but their dupe. It's a pity to send him to the galleys forlife.'

  They dropped a rug over the man and turned into the hall, which was hotwith the smell of powder and smoking candles. Sybert threw the doorwide and let the moonlight stream in. It was a queer sight it lookedupon. Copley, weak from his wound, had collapsed into a tall carvedchair, while the two ladies, in blood-stained evening dresses, wereanxiously bending over him. Melville, with the still smoking revolverin his hand and a jewelled dagger sticking from his pocket, wasfrenziedly inquiring, 'For the Lord's sake, has any one got anywhisky?' Gerald, in his white nightgown and little bare legs, washowling dismally on the stairway; while Granton, from the landing,looked grimly down upon the scene with the air of an avenging Nemesis.The next moment the soldiers had come trooping in, and everything was ababel of cries and ejaculations and excited questions. In the midst ofthe confusion Mrs. Copley suddenly drew herself up and pronounced herultimatum.

  'On the very first steamer that sails, we are going back to America to_live_!'

  Marcia uttered a little hysterical laugh, and Melville joined in.

  'And I think you'd better go with them, my boy,' he said, laying agrimy hand on Sybert's arm. 'I suspect that your goose is prettythoroughly cooked in Italy.'

  Sybert shook the elder man's hand off, with a short laugh that was notvery mirthful.

  'I've suspected that for some time.' And he turned on his heel andstrode out to the loggia, where he began talking with the soldiers.

  'Poor fellow!' Melville glanced at Marcia and shook his head. 'It's abad dose!' he murmured. 'I have a curiosity to see with what grace heswallows it.'

  Marcia looked after Sybert with eyes that were filled with sympathy.She realized that it was a bitter time for him, though she did not knowjust why; but she had seen the spasm that crossed his face atTarquinio's cry, 'You have betrayed us!' She half started to followhim, and then she drew back quickly. Through the open door she hadcaught a glimpse of Sybert and a soldier bending over the Camorrist'sbody. They had opened his shirt in front, and she had seen the purplecrucifix covered with blood. She leaned back against the wall, faint atthe sight. It seemed as if the impressions of this dreadful day couldnever leave her!