"Five thousand pounds!" exclaimed the General, again glancing over the letter. "He must think me crazy. He shall not have as many pence--no, not if it were even true what he says about being with brigands."

"Of course that part of the story is all stuff--although it's clear he has written the letter. It's in his own hand, and that's his signature."

"Certainly it is. My G.o.d! to think that this is the first I should hear from him since that other letter. A pretty way of seeking a reconciliation with me! Bah! the trick won't take. I'm too old a soldier to be deceived by it."

"I'm sorry he should have tried it. I fear, papa, he has not yet repented of his rash disobedience. But what do you mean to do with this fellow?"

"Ay, what?" echoed the General, now remembering the man who had been the bearer of the strange missive. "What would you advise to be done? Send over for the police, and give him in charge."

"I don't know about that," answered Nigel reflectively. "It seems hardly worth while, and might lead to some unpleasantness to ourselves.

Better the public should not know about the unfortunate affair of poor Henry. A police case would necessarily expose some things that you, father, I'm sure, don't wish to be made public."

"True--true. But something should be done to punish this impudent impostor. It's too bad to be so bearded--almost bullied in one's own home; and by a wretch like that."

"Threaten him, then, before dismissing him. That may bring out some more information about the scheme. At all events, it can do no harm to give him a bit of your mind. It may do good to Henry, to know how you have received his pet.i.tion so cunningly contrived."

CHAPTER TWENTY SIX.

AN UNCEREMONIOUS DISMISSAL.

The side conversation between General Harding and his son was at length suspended by the old soldier facing abruptly towards the stranger, who all the while had been standing quietly apart.

"You're an impostor, sir!" exclaimed the General. "An impostor, I say!"

"_Molte grazie_, Signor General!" replied the man, without making other movement than a mock bow. "Rather an uncomplimentary epithet to apply to one who has come all the way from Italy to do you a service, or rather your son. Is this all the answer I'm to take back to him?"

"If you take any back to him, that's it," interposed Nigel. "Do you know, sir," he continued in a threatening manner; "do you know that you've placed yourself within the power of our laws; that you can be arrested, and thrown into prison for an attempt to extort money under false pretences?"

"His excellence, the General, will not have me arrested. First, because there are no false pretences; and, second, that to do so would be certainly to seal your son's doom. The moment the news should reach those who have him in their keeping, that I've been arrested or otherwise molested here in England, that moment will he be punished far more than you can punish _me_. You must remember that I am only a messenger, who have taken upon me the delivery of this letter. I know nothing of those who sent it, except in the way of my profession, and in the cause of humanity. I am as much your son's messenger as theirs. I can only a.s.sure you, Signor General, that it is a serious mission; and that your son's life depends on my safety, and the answer you may vouchsafe to send back."

"Bah!" exclaimed the old soldier, "don't tell a c.o.c.k-and-bull tale to an Englishman. I don't believe a word of it. If I did, I'd take a different way of delivering my son from such a danger. Our government would soon interfere on my behalf, and then instead of five thousand pounds, your beautiful brigands would get what they deserve, and what I wonder they haven't had long ago--six feet of rope around each of their necks."

"I fear, Signor General, you are labouring under a false delusion.

Allow me to set you right on this question. Your government can be of no service to you in this affair, nor all the governments of Europe to boot. It is not the first time such threats have been used against the freebooters in question. Neither the Neapolitan Government, in whose land they live, nor that of his Holiness, upon whose territory they occasionally intrude, can coerce them, if ever so inclined. There is but one way to obtain the release of your son--by paying the ransom demanded for him."

"Begone, wretch!" shouted the General, losing all patience at the pleading of the _procuratore_. "Begone! out of my house! Off my premises instantly, or I shall order my servant to drag you to the horse-pond. Begone, I say!"

"And you would rue it if you did," spitefully rejoined the little Italian, as he edged off towards the door. "_Buona notte_, Signor General! Perhaps by the morning you will have recovered your temper, and think better of my errand. If you have any message to send to your son--whom it is not very likely you will ever see again--I shall take it upon myself to transmit it for you, notwithstanding the uncourteous treatment, of which, as a gentleman, I have the right to complain. I stay at the neighbouring inn all night, and will not be gone before twelve o'clock tomorrow. _Buona notte! buona notte_!"

So saying the swarthy little stranger backed out of the room, and, conducted by the butler, was not very courteously shown into the night.

The General stood still, his beard bristling with pa.s.sion. For a time he seemed irresolute, as to whether he should have the stranger detained, and punished in some summary way. But he thought of the family scandal, and restrained himself.

"You won't write to Henry?" asked Nigel, in a tone that said, "don't."

"Not a line. If he has got into a sc.r.a.pe for want of money, let him get out of it again, the best way he can. As to this story about brigands--"

"Oh, that's too absurd," insinuated Nigel; "the brigands into whose hands he has fallen are the gamblers and swindlers of Rome. They have no doubt employed this lawyer, if he be one, to carry out their scheme-- certainly a cunningly-contrived one, whoever originated it."

"Oh, my son! my wretched son!" exclaimed the General; "to think he has fallen into the hands of such a.s.sociates! To think he could lend himself to a conspiracy like this, and against his own father! Oh, G.o.d!"

And the old soldier uttered a groan of agony, as he sank down upon the sofa.

"Had I not better write to him, father?" asked Nigel. "Just a line to say how much his conduct is grieving you? Perhaps a word of counsel may yet reclaim him."

"If you like--if you like--though after such an experience as this I feel there is little hope of him. Ah, Lucy! Lucy! it is well you are not here, and that G.o.d has taken you to himself. My poor wife! my poor wife! this would have killed you!"

The apostrophe was spoken in a low, muttered tone, and after Nigel had left the room--the latter having gone out apparently with the intention of writing the letter intended to reclaim his erring brother.

It was written that night, and that night reached the hands of the strange procurator, to whom it was entrusted for delivery; and who, next day, true to his word, remained at the roadside inn till the hour of twelve, to receive any further communication. After midday he was seen driving off in the inn "fly" toward the Slough Station; thence to be transported by rail and steam to his home in the Seven-hilled City.

CHAPTER TWENTY SEVEN.

BRIGAND DOMESTIC LIFE.

For several days Henry Harding was kept confined in his cell, without seeing a face, except that of the brigand who brought him his food-- always the same individual.

This man was a morose wretch, and as uncommunicative as if he had been an automaton. Twice a day he would bring in the bowl of _pasta_--a sort of macaroni porridge boiled in bacon fat, and seasoned with salt and pepper. He would place the vessel upon the floor, take away the empty one that had contained the previous meal, and then leave the captive to himself, without saying a word to him.

The repeated attempts of the young Englishman to bring him to a parley were met either by complete inattention or rude repulse. Seeing this, they were abandoned; and the captive ate his _pasta_, and drank his cold water in silence.

Only at night was there quiet in his cell. All day long, through the slender-slit window, came noise enough. Just in front of it seemed to be the favourite loitering place of the brigands, where they pa.s.sed most of their time. This was spent almost exclusively in gambling, except during intervals when quarrelling took the place of playing. Those intervals were not rare. Scarce an hour elapsed without some dispute, ending either in a fight between two individuals, or a general row, in which more than half the band appeared to take part. Then would be heard the voice of the _capo_, thundering in authoritative tones, as he delivered curses and cudgel blows right and left among the quarrellers.

Once there was a report of a pistol, followed by groans. The young Englishman believed that a summary punishment had been inflicted on some offender: for after the groans there was an interval of solemn stillness, such as might be observed in the presence of death. If such were the dread impression upon the scoundrels it did not last long: for soon after they were heard resuming play, and the cries, "_Cinque y cinque o capo_," and "_Vinti y vinti croce_!" the game being that common among the Italian peasantry called, "_Croce o capo_" and which differs but little from the English "Heads or tails."

By standing on tiptoe, the prisoner could see them playing at it. The gaming-table was simply a level spot of turf in front of his cell, and nearly opposite the window. The brigands knelt or squatted in a ring: one held an old hat from which the lining had been torn out. In this were placed a number of coins, odd--usually three. These were first rattled about the hat, and then thrown down upon the turf; the hat, as a dice-box, still covering them. The bets were then made upon _capo_ or _croce_ (head or cross), and the raising of the hat determined who were winners or losers.

It is in this game that the bandits find their chief source of distraction, from a life that would otherwise be unendurable, even to such ruffians as they. _Capo o croce_, with an occasional quarrel over it; plenty of _pasta, confetti_, fat mutton, cheeses, _roccate_, and _rosolio_; a _festa_ when wine and provisions are plenty; songs usually of the most vulgar kind; now and then a dance, accompanied by some coa.r.s.e flirting with the half-dozen women who usually keep company with a _banda_--these, and long hours of listless basking in the sun, compose the joys of the Italian brigand's domestic life.

When on a foray to the peopled plains, he finds excitement of an altogether different character. The surprise, the capture, the escape from pursuing soldiers, perhaps an occasional skirmish while retreating to his hill fortress--these are the incidents that occur to him on a plundering expedition: and they are sufficiently stirring to keep his spirit from suffering _ennui_.

This last only steals upon him when the divided plunder, which is generally in the shape of _denaro di riscatta_ (ransom money), has by the inexorable chances of the _capo o croce_ become consolidated in a few hands--the universal result of the game.

Then does the bandit become dissatisfied with listless idleness, and commences to plan new surprises; the sack of some rich villa, or what is much more to his mind, the capture of some _galantuomo_, or gentleman, by whose ransom his purse may be again replenished, again to be staked upon "Heads or tails."

Unseen himself, the young Englishman had an excellent opportunity of studying the life of these lawless men.

Between them and their chief there appeared to be but slight distinction. As a general rule the spoils were shared alike, as also the chances of the game; for Corvino could at any time be seen in the ring, along with the rest, staking his _piastres_ on the _capo_ or _croce_.

His authority was only absolute in the administration of punishment.

His kick and cudgel were never disputed; for, if they had been, it was well understood these modes of castigation would be instantly changed for a stab of his stiletto, or a shot from his pistol.

His chieftainship may have been derived from his being the originator of the band, but it was kept up and sustained by his being its bully. A chief of low courage, or less cruelty, would soon have been dispossessed, as not unfrequently happens among the _banditi_.

One thing caused Henry Harding much wonder, as, standing on tiptoe, he looked out of the little window--the women, the _bandite_.