Half carrying, half dragging the girl with him, Corvino kept on through
the mountain passes. 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
succumbed? 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 assist 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.