_The captive Boy and his grisly Visitant.--The Hand on his
Head.--Denouement.--The Brigand Family.--The old Crone.--The Robber
Wife.--The Brigand Children.--A Revolution of Feeling.--The main
Road.--The Carriage.--In Search of Bob._
Paralyzed with terror, dumb with horror, Bob lay motionless and
almost breathless; and the grisly old hag reached out her long,
lean, thin, bony, withered, shrivelled hand, and took his hair,
while with the other hand she raised her sharp weapon.
She took his hair very lightly and tenderly; so lightly, indeed,
that Bob was just conscious of her touch; and though he expected
that he would be torn from his bed and struck dead the next instant,
yet this fate was delayed.
She took his hair then in her hand very gently and tenderly, and
in her other hand she raised the sharp weapon.
Now, the sharp weapon was a pair of sheep-shears.
These shears she held forward, and with them she snipped off, as
noiselessly as possible, a lock of Bob's hair.
She pressed the lock of hair to her thin lips, looked at it
steadfastly for some time, pressed it once more to her lips, and
then put it in the folds of her dress.
Then kneeling by Bob's side, she looked at him long and earnestly.
She bent over him, and looked down upon him. She laid the shears
upon the floor, clasped her withered hands together, and gazed upon
the boy. He lay still. His eyes were closed; but the delay of his
fate and the snip of the shears in his hair bad roused him somewhat
from his abyss of terror. He opened his eyes wide enough to see
what was going on. He could not see the old woman's face, but he
saw her kneeling, and he saw her thin hands clasped before her,
like one in prayer, and tremulous.
The old woman bent over him; and if Bob could have seen her face
he would have known that this old creature was an object of any
other feeling rather than fear. Pale it was, that face that was
over him, and wrinkled, and emaciated; but there was upon it a
softened expression--an expression of yearning and of longing.
That which at a distance had seemed to his frightened fancy a
hungry, ghoulish look, was now nothing more than the earnest,
fixed gaze of a love that longed to be satisfied--a gaze like
that of a bereaved mother who sees some one who reminds her of
her lost boy, and looks at him with a look of unutterable yearning.
So, now, it was with this poor old decrepit creature. Perhaps in
her past life some son had been torn from her, of whom Bob reminded
her, and she had come now to feast herself with his face, which
reminded her of her lost boy, to take a lock of his hair, to bow
down over him in speechless emotion. Here, then, she knelt, her
poor hands clasping each other tremulously, her aged breast
heaving with repressed sighs, while from her weak eyes there fell
tears which dropped upon the face of the boy.
Those tears had a wonderful effect.
As Bob's half-opened eyes saw the old woman's attitude, his grisly
terror left him; his heart regained its ordinary pulsation; the
tremendous pressure that had been upon his soul was removed; warm,
and fresh, and free, his young blood sped through his veins, and
all his frame was quickened to a bounding life and vigor. By the
force of this reaction he was roused from his stony lethargy, his
paralysis of horror, and his presence of mind was restored. Then
there came those tears which fell upon his face. This completed
the recovery of his self-command. It did more. It assured him that
he was an object, not of murderous fury, but of tender love, and
that the one whom he had feared had come, not with purposes of
cruelty, but with yearnings of affection. Why this should be he
knew not; he was content to know that it was so; and in this
knowledge all fear died out. Bat even now he felt somewhat
embarrassed, for the old woman was evidently only giving way to
her emotion because she believed him to be asleep; and thus he was
an unwilling witness of feelings which she supposed to be seen by
none. In this there seemed to be something dishonorable, and he wished
the scene to end. He chose to do so therefore by making a few movements
without opening his eyes; that is, he changed his position several
times, turned himself over and back again, and thus gave signs of
waking. Upon this the old woman silently took her lamp and shears,
and left the apartment by the way she had come.
So ended the adventure.
The effect produced upon Bob was a varied one. He still felt the
consequences of that horror into which he had fallen, that spasm
and convulsion of terror which had seemed to turn him to stone,
yet the relief that had been found was inexpressibly sweet. In
spite of the pain which still lingered about his heart, there came
a calmer and happier frame of mind; the pain itself also gradually
died out, and its only result was a general languor. So commonplace
a termination to what seemed a terrible event made his whole
situation and his other prospects seem commonplace, and he even
began to think that his captors might turn out to be as commonplace
as the old woman.
He fell again into a deep sleep, and did not wake till it was broad
day. On descending, the people all respectfully bade him good
morning. Breakfast was ready, consisting of black bread, stew,
and some coffee. Outside, the view was superb; the rising sun had
not yet ascended high enough to shine down into the valley, but
the glowing heavens, and the shadows of the mountains, and the
light green of the little space nearest, with the darker green of
the forests that clothed the mountain-sides, all made the spectacle
a memorable one.
Bob's whole state of mind was more healthy, and cheerful, and
hopeful than it had been. Everything appeared bright and favorable.
The old woman, as he looked at her this morning, did not seem to
be at all repulsive. Her face was shrivelled, it is true, and her
eyes were weak; but she looked gentle and mild, and treated him
with very great favor and attention. The slatternly woman did not
seem worse than any other Italian peasant woman. The children were
dirty, no doubt; in fact, very dirty; but then they were brown,
and healthy, and merry, not inclined to mischief, and quite respectful
to him. In short, Bob found himself surveying his situation and
its surroundings with much complacency, and he began to feel that
he had misjudged these people altogether the night before.
But other things were yet in store which were to redeem still more
the character of these people. He was standing outside the house
after breakfast, when, to his surprise, he saw the second "brigand"
approach. He knew that he had not had time to go to Salerno and
return; so he saw that he could not have been to Salerno at all.
He seemed to Bob to be going there now, for he was mounted on a
donkey, and led another by the bridle. The one which he led was no
other than the ass which had carried Bob to this place.
Bob's only thought at seeing this was, that the "brigand" was now
setting forth for Salerno, and was about to take the donkey with
him, either to sell it, or to return it to the owner, and get a
reward. But this idea was not left long in his mind.
The first "brigand" came out, and the two men talked to one another,
after which they turned to Bob, and the first brigand explained to
him that he was to mount the donkey. He pointed to the animal,
smiled, waved his hand towards the road by which Bob had come, and
uttered the word "Salerno."
Bob's heart gave a wild leap; he could scarcely believe what he
heard; but the faces of the two men were smiling, and they continued
to nod, and gesticulate, and repeat the word "Salerno." They looked
like two benevolent farmers, and Bob wondered how he could ever
have seen anything malignant in their very good natured faces.
Of course there was nothing to do now but to hurry away to his
friends. Yet Bob was not willing to take too abrupt a leave. He
remembered the old woman, and thought with a softened heart about
her emotion. He went back into the house, and shook hands with her
for good by. He even knew enough Italian to say "_Addio_." The old
creature was much softened and burst into tears. Bob gave her one
of his cuff-buttons as a souvenir, for he had nothing else to give,
and the cuff-button was an uncommonly elaborate affair; and he had
the satisfaction of seeing that the old woman took it as though it
was of inestimable value. He then went around among them all, shook
hands with all of them, from the slatternly woman down to the
smallest of the dirty children, and gave each one of them
something--to the woman, a pencil case; to one child, his pocket
knife; to another, a watch key; to a third, a shirt stud; to a
fourth, a memorandum book; and to the fifth, a handkerchief.
"Brigand" number two was going to accompany him, and it was now
evident to Bob that the delay which had taken place in his
restoration to his friends was probably owing to the fact that
they had to wait to procure bridles, or another donkey. It only
remained for him now to bid good by to "brigand" number one,
which he did with great earnestness, and cordiality, and fervor;
presenting him at the same time with his neck-tie, a very brilliant
piece of satin, which the Italian received with a great flourish,
and profuse expressions of thankfulness. Bob had several times
regretted his ignorance of the Italian language since his arrival
in the country, but never had his regrets been more sincere than
on this occasion. Had he been able to speak Italian he would have
made a speech then and there, and have invited them all, from
the old woman down to the smallest child, to come and visit him
and his friends either at Salerno, or at Naples, or in far-off
America. But alas! Bob's tongue was tied, and so the invitation
remained unuttered. He did what he could, however, and utterly
exhausted the whole language of signs in the attempt to express
to them his thanks, and his good wishes for their happiness.
The simple people seemed to comprehend him, for they were by no
means dull, and gesticulated in return many things which seemed
to convey the same meaning; and when at last Bob rode away, the
humble inhabitants watched him until he passed out of sight.