The captive became aware of their arrival by the increased clamour outside. On peering through his cell window, he saw the men who had been upon the expedition. They were all in ill-humour, looking sulky, and cursing beyond their usual quant.i.ty. They had been unsuccessful in the raid--having found _soldiers_ in the district into which it had been made. They had, moreover, heard a rumour, that a combined force, both from the Roman and Neapolitan territory, was marching upon their mountain retreat.

The captive could hear them talking of treason. He caught sight of Corvino in front of his window. Something special seemed to have enraged the chief. He was swearing at Popetta, and calling her foul names in presence of his followers.

One of the other women--a sort of rival in the regards of the ruffian-- was standing by, and appearing to act as instigator. She talked as if she was bringing some accusation against the _sposa_ of the _capo_.

The prisoner could see that Popetta was in trouble, though he had no clue to the cause. They talked so fast--several clamouring at the same time--that it was impossible for him, with his slight knowledge of Italian, to make out much of what was said.

Soon the colloquy a.s.sumed a different phase, Corvino separating from the crowd, and, along with two or three others, coming towards the cell. In an instant the door was dashed open, and the brigand chief stepped inside the dismal apartment.

"So, signore," he cried, hissing the words through his teeth, "I understand you've been very comfortable during my absence--plenty to eat and drink--_rocatti, confetti_, cordials--the best of everything! Ah!

and a companion, too, in your solitude! No doubt, a pleasant companion?

I hope you both enjoyed yourselves. Ha, ha, ha!"

The laugh fell upon the ears of the captive with a fearful significance.

It boded evil either to himself, or Popetta, or both.

"May I ask what do you mean, Captain Corvino?" coolly inquired the young Englishman.

"Oh! how innocent you are, my beardless lamb--my smooth-faced Adonis.

What do I mean? Ha, ha, ha!"

And again the cell resounded with his fierce, exultant laughter.

"_Cospetto_!" cried the chief, suddenly changing tone, as his eye fell upon a white object lying in the corner of the cell; "what's this? _Una lettera_! And _carta bianca_! And here, pen and ink! So, so, signore!

you've been carrying on a correspondence? Bring him out to the light!"

he vociferated. "Bring everything!"

And with a fierce oath he rushed into the open air, one of his followers dragging the captive after him. Another carried the sheet of paper-- surplus of the supply left by Popetta--as also the ink-horn and pen.

The whole band had by this time gathered upon the ground.

"Comrades!" cried the _capo_, "there's been treason in our absence. See what we've found. Paper, pen, and ink, in the cell of our prisoner.

And, look--on his fingers the stain! He's been writing letters! What could they have been about but to betray us? Examine him. See if they be still upon his person!"

The search was instantly made--extending to every pocket of the prisoner's dress, every fold where a letter might be concealed. One was brought to light, but evidently not of recent writing. It was the letter of introduction to the father of Luigi Torreani.

"To whom is it addressed?" asked the chief, s.n.a.t.c.hing it from the hands of his satellite.

"_Diavolo_!" he exclaimed, on reading the superscription. "Here's a correspondence unexpected!"

Without further delay he pulled the epistle out of its envelope, and commenced making himself master of the contents. He did not communicate them to the bystanders; but the expression that pa.s.sed over his countenance told them that the letter contained something that strangely interested him. It was like the grim smile of the tiger, who feels that the prey has been already secured, and lies helpless within reach of his claws.

"So, signore!" he exclaimed, once more bending his eyes upon the young Englishman. "You told me you had no friends in Italy. _Una menzogna_ that was. Rich friends you have--powerful friends. The chief magistrate of a town, with," he satirically whispered, placing his lips close to the captive's ear, "with a very pretty daughter! What a pity you did not have an opportunity to present your letter of introduction.

Never mind; you may make her acquaintance yet--soon, perhaps, and here among the mountains. That will be all the more romantic, _signor pittore_."

The whispered insinuation, as also the satirical tone in which it was made, pa.s.sed like a poisoned shaft through the heart of Henry Harding.

Every hour, since the first of his captivity, his interest conceived for the sister of Luigi Torreani had been growing stronger, while that hitherto felt for Belle Mainwaring had pa.s.sed altogether out of his mind.

Stung by the speeches of the brigand, he made no reply. Anything he could have said would have served no purpose, even had there been opportunity to say it. But there was not. The tormentor thought not of listening to any response from his prisoner; and, without waiting for one, he continued:--

"_Compagnos_!" cried he, addressing himself to his band, "you have here before you the proofs of treason. No wonder the soldiers are gathering upon our track. It remains for you to discover who have been the traitors."

"Yes, yes!" cried a score of voices. "The traitors! Who are they? Let us know that, and we'll settle the score with them!"

"Our prisoner here," continued the chief, "has written a letter--as you can all see for yourselves. It has been despatched, too: since it is not upon his person. To whom has it been sent? Who carried it? Who supplied him with pen, ink, and paper? These are the questions to be considered."

"Who was left to keep guard over him?" inquired one of the men.

"Tommaso!" answered several.

"Where is Tommaso?" shouted a score of voices.

"I am here!" responded the brigand who bore that name.

"Answer us then. Did you do this?"

"Do what?"

"Furnish the writing materials to our prisoner?"

"No," firmly replied Tommaso.

"You need not waste your time questioning him," interposed a voice, recognised as that of Popetta. "It was I who furnished them."

"Yes," said the rival brigandess, speaking aside to several members of the band, "not only found them, but carried them to the cell herself."

"_Tutti_!" cried the chief, in a voice of thunder, that stilled the murmurs produced by this communication. "For what purpose did you supply them, Cara Popetta?"

"For the common good," replied the woman, seemingly with the intent to give justification for what she had done.

"How?" shouted a score of voices.

"_Cospetto_!" exclaimed the accused, "the thing is simple enough."

"Explain it! Explain it!"

"_Buono! buono_! Listen, and I will. Well, like yourselves, I want to procure the _riscatta_. I didn't think the _Inglese_ would get it for us. The letter directed by him wasn't strong enough. While you were gone, having nothing else to think of, I prevailed upon the _galantuomo_ to write another. What harm was there in that?"

"It was to his father, then?" asked one of the spokesmen.

"Of course it was," replied Popetta, with a scornful inclination of the head.

"How was it sent?"

"To the _posta_ at Rome. The young man knew how to address it."

"Who carried it to Rome?"