The carabineers unslung their firelocks, and faced in different directions, ready to make havoc among the jeering citizens, as they supposed them to be. They only waited for the word to fire into the windows and doors.

"We don't want to spill your blood," said the same stentorian voice, speaking from the albergo; "but if you insist upon it, we shall.

Soldiers of the Pope! you are surrounded by soldiers of a higher power-- the Republic. Your master is no longer in Rome. He has fled to Gaeta.

Mazzini rules in the city, and we intend to rule here. You are completely in our power. The first of you that draws a trigger will be answerable for the sacrifice of your whole troop; for we shall not leave a man of you standing. Be wise, then, and surrender, as we tell you.

Put down your arms, and we shall treat you as prisoners of war. Use them, and you shall have the treatment you more deserve--that accorded to hirelings and brigands!"

Guardiola and his troop were astounded. What could it mean--this summons so impudently and yet so confidently spoken? They stood irresolute.

"_Compagnos_!" cried the voice from the albergo, speaking as if from the interior of some Delphian shrine, and loud enough to reach the four sides of the square; "these worthy gentlemen seem to hesitate, as if they doubted the truth of my words. Convince them of it by showing the muzzles of your guns. When they have counted those, perhaps they will be less incredulous."

Quick following upon this speech came the clanking noise of gun-barrels brought in collision; and, to the consternation of Guardiola and his carabineers, a score of windows around the piazza glistened with dark iron tubes that could not be mistaken for aught else than what they were. There appeared to be at least two hundred. One-fourth of the number would have been sufficient.

The soldiers saw that they were in an ambuscade--that the Revolution, long threatened, had at length come; and, without waiting for the sanction of Captain Guardiola or his subalterns, they flung their carbines to the ground, and declared themselves agreeable to a surrender.

In ten minutes after they were standing under the tricolour flag, and crying "_Evviva ella Republica_!" while their captain, swordless and looking very uncomfortable, was pacing a chamber floor in the albergo, to which but three days before he had consigned Henry Harding as a prisoner.

He was now himself a prisoner to the soldiers of the Republic.

CHAPTER FIFTY.

THE ABDUCTION.

Half carrying, half dragging the girl with him, Corvino kept on through the mountain pa.s.ses. When he thought himself safe from immediate pursuit, he stopped to await the coming up of his comrades. He had heard shots on the other side of the hill, and knew the soldiers were on the alert. But he had little fear of being overtaken by them. He calculated the time it would take them to ascend the slope. Before they could reach the summit his own men would have secured their captive and retreated down the ravine. Four to one--for he had witnessed the cowardly abandonment by the officer--there could be no fear of their failing. He had hurried ahead to gain a sufficient start, knowing that he would be impeded in the transporting of his new-made captive in the event of pursuit. Before leaving the ground he had shouted "_Dagli!

dagli_!" but coupling it with a caution to take the prisoner alive, if possible. It was this that prevented the men from first making use of their pistols. By Henry Harding's death they would sacrifice the _riscatta_ they had been long counting upon.

After giving the order, Corvino had hurried off, taking his captive with him. The young girl made no resistance; she had swooned, and in an unconscious state was carried away.

On recovering her senses, she saw that she was no longer on Hermit's Hill, but in a wild spot surrounded by trees and rocks, the brigand captain standing close beside her. She neither screamed nor attempted to escape. She saw it would be idle, as she was helplessly in the power of her captor. Her thoughts were still scattering and confused; she felt as if just waking from some disagreeable dream, with its scenes still vivid before her fancy. She remembered the approach of the shepherds, their rude address, the throwing aside their disguises, the cry "Corvino!" as it came from the lips of his late captive; the face of the brigand chief suddenly showing from under the _capuce_, and which she herself recognised; the seizure of all three; the struggle; a sword gleaming in the hand of Henry Harding; his rushing upon her captor; a shot fired by Corvino; the angry exclamations of the pseudo-shepherds; the glancing of their stilettos; the scampering of the scared sheep; the quick, confused tinkling of their bells; and finally Captain Guardiola fleeing from the spot. All these she remembered like the incidents of a disturbed dream. She remembered Corvino once more coming up to her; once more laying hold, and hurrying her from the spot. After that she became unconscious--her senses only returning to tell her she was alone with the brigand.

On opening her eyes, she saw blood on the bandit's dress, and that the skirt of her own robe was sprinkled with it. It appeared to proceed from a wound in his right arm, and she now recalled the sword in the grasp of the young Englishman, and the gallant use he was making of it.

What had been the result of the unequal combat? Had Henry Harding succ.u.mbed? Had he been killed? Or was he, like herself, a captive?

She had heard the command for him to be taken _alive_ if possible, shouted back by Corvino. She hoped they had obeyed it; but trembled to think he might be dead. It was her first anxiety.

Fully recovering her senses, she looked around, but there was no one near--only the chief standing by, busied in binding up his wound. He had cut open the sleeve of his velvet coat, and was stanching the blood with strips from his shirt. She made no offer to a.s.sist him; she could only regard him with horror. His savage aspect, heightened to hideousness by the crimson streaks of blood on his hands, arms, and face, was sufficient to inspire both fear and aversion. She trembled as she lay watching him: for she was still lying upon the ground, where she had been placed like a parcel of goods.

"Be still, signorina," said her captor, on perceiving she had come to herself. "Have patience till I get my arm slung, and then I shall take you to a softer couch. _Sangue de Cristo_! The Inglese shall pay for this with the loss of his ears and double the ransom. Now!" he said, having finished slinging his arm; "_Alza! Alza_! we mustn't tarry, or that valiant captain may be after us with his soldiers. Come along, signorina. You can walk the rest of the way. _Corpo di Bacco_! I've carried you far enough."

As he said this, he stretched out his left hand; seized the young girl by the wrist; raised her to her feet; and was about to proceed along the path, when he heard his four comrades coming up behind. He stayed to await their approach.

Presently they appeared filing through the rocks. There was no prisoner along with them!

He waited till the last was in sight; then, letting go his hold upon the captive, he rushed back towards the men, fiercely vociferating as he went.

"_Dio Santo_!" he exclaimed. "Where is the Inglese? Not with you?

_Maladitto_! What have you done? Killed him?"

With a palpitating heart Lucetta listened for the reply. The men were slow to make answer--as if unwilling to tell the truth. She did not draw hope from this. They might be afraid to confess they had killed him. She remembered the command to take him alive. She trembled as she stood listening.

Another string of mingled oaths and interrogations was terminated by the same demand--

"Have you killed the Inglese? I heard the reports of your pistols; after that a volley from the soldiers. You were firing at him then, I suppose?"

"We were, _capo_," answered one of the men.

"Well?"

"He succeeded in taking shelter under the cave, and we could not get at him. His long blade defended the entrance. Of course we could not surround him. If it had been a question of killing, we could have done that long before, but your orders were against it."

"And you've left him alive, unscathed, free?"

"No, _capo_, we think he must have fallen at our fire. We could not stay to see, for the bullets were raining round us thick as sleet. No doubt he is dead by this."

By the look and tone, the young girl could tell they were prevaricating.

There was still a hope he might yet be alive. The chief equally perceived their evasion, and broke out in a paroxysm of fury. Forgetful of his injured arm, and almost wrenching it from its sling, he rushed upon his defeated followers.

"_Cowards! imbeciles_!" he cried, striking with his left hand now one, now the other, and tearing the hats from their heads. "_Sangue di bacco_! four of you conquered by one man--a boy--with the loss of thirty thousand scudi! _Vada en Malora_!" he exclaimed in agony, as he felt the pain of his disabled arm. "Take hold of the _giovinetta_, and bring her along. See that she does not escape you as well. _Su via_!"

Saying this, he strode off, leaving his companions to conduct the _giovinetta_ after him. One of these, roughly seizing her by the wrist, and repeating the words "_Su via_!" hurried her off after the chief, the other three following sullenly.

The young girl offered no resistance. Any attempt to escape would have been hopeless. Her savage captors had freely flashed their daggers before her eyes, threatening to use them if she resisted; and she accompanied them with a sort of mechanical acquiescence springing from despair. Her thoughts were not with herself; they were directed to the Hermit's Hill, though she had little hope of rescue from that quarter.

Having witnessed the cowardly desertion of her by Captain Guardiola, she knew he would be equally backward in any pursuit; and indeed her captors showed not the slightest apprehensions of it.

As they wound their way slowly and deliberately through the defiles of the mountain, it might have quickened their steps had they known of the change that had taken place in the garrison of Val di Orno.

CHAPTER FIFTY ONE.

ON THE TRAIL.

It is scarce necessary to say that the appeal made by the brother and father of the abducted girl found a ready response in the hearts of the Republican _volontieri_. It came upon them with the force of a double call; for in addition to dictates of humanity, the men looked upon brigandage as a part of the despotic government they had just overthrown. The _sindico_ too had claims upon them; for it was known to their leaders that he had long secretly sympathised with their cause, his oath of office keeping him from any open demonstrations in their favour. Besides, his son, encountered by mere accident as they were issuing from the gates of Rome, had declared along with them, and was now one of themselves. Under such circ.u.mstances there could be no desire to withhold a.s.sistance from their newly-enrolled comrades. Nor was there any such, but, on the contrary, an enthusiasm coupled with a unanimous determination to take steps for the rescue of his sister.

As soon, therefore, as Guardiola and his troop were disposed of, by being disarmed and placed in charge of a detailed guard, preparations were entered upon for the pursuit of Corvino and his bandits. Luigi Torreani, a prey to the agony of a terrible apprehension, would have started off after them at once, and so too the young Englishman. But the leader of the Republican battalion--Rossi by name--was a man of more prudent impulses, and saw that such a step would only defeat the purpose they had in view. He had been himself an officer in the Neapolitan army, and had plenty of experience in the chasing of banditti. He well knew that any open pursuit of these watchful outlaws could end only in a ridiculous failure. The brigands themselves often witnessing such a result from the crest of some inaccessible cliff, will hail it with taunts and scornful laughter. It is true that in the present case there was an advantage. The rendezvous of the robbers was known. Their late captive could guide the pursuing party to the spot--a chance not often obtained. So far all seemed well; but not to the experienced pursuer of banditti.

"The advantage will be lost," argued Signor Rossi, "if any attempt be made to approach by daylight. Their vedettes would see us from afar, and give them time to decamp. We must make our march in the night; and now that we know their den, there is some chance of our being able to entrap them."

Some chance! The phrase fell harshly on the ears of Luigi Torreani, his father, and his friend. It was torture to think of any delay--to contemplate starting only after nightfall, with twenty miles of mountain road between them and the dearest object of their affections, perhaps at that moment struggling in the embrace of a bandit! To the three individuals most interested the suspense was simply agonising; and, to speak the truth, there were many of the others who only affected it, both townsmen and _volontieri_. Could nothing be done in the way of an immediate pursuit?

All knew well that to follow the five who had carried off the _sindico's_ daughter would be an idle chase; for much time had elapsed, and with the knowledge the bandits possessed of the mountain pa.s.ses, they must long since have placed themselves in security. The only hope was in finding them at the rendezvous described by their escaped captive.

Was there no way by which this might be clandestinely approached during the daylight? No. It would be night before the brigands themselves would reach it. It was now midday, and the distance was at least twenty miles. Night would be the time for attack, and it also needed this to cover their approach throughout the intervening twenty miles. Otherwise surprise would be impossible; there would be vedettes along the line--if not brigands themselves, their _manutengoli_--peasants or shepherds. So said the leader, Rossi, and with reason. Was there any way out of the dilemma--any plan by which the brigands' nest might be captured that night, and before another crime could be committed? The thought of another crime was in the minds of all--not more the relatives of the abducted girl than those who had volunteered to a.s.sist in her rescue?

Who could suggest a feasible plan?

"I," said a man, stepping forward into the midst of the council, which was held in the open piazza. "If you'll follow my advice, and accept my guidance, I think I can put you in the way you want. Besides rescuing the daughter of the worthy _sindico_ here, you may capture the whole of Corvino's band--with whom for many months I have been unwillingly compelled to a.s.sociate."

"Tommaso!" exclaimed the _sindico_, recognising his old retainer.