And treason it was--treason and surprise--almost instantaneously
followed by the capture of the whole band of brigands!
First the _pagliatta_ huts were surrounded, and then the house of the
chief himself. There was a crowd of men, upon whose persons, despite
the darkness, could be seen the bright glitter of arms. There was light
enough from the stars and the chamber he had lately quitted to show
Corvino that his quarters were completely enfiladed by dark shadowy
forms, each holding in his hand a gun, pistol, or sword.
At the same instant was the strife going on among the _pagliatta_--stray
shots and groans, mingled with, profane exclamations that came from the
mouths of men dragged suddenly out of their beds, and scarce conscious
of the cause of their quick awakening. It was a strife soon brought to
its close--even before their chief could take part in it.
During a long career of crime, it was the first time Corvino had ever
suffered surprise--the first for him to feel something like despair.
And at the very moment, too, when he was indulging in a delightful dream
of triumph!
Who could have brought this calamity upon him? Who was the traitor?
There must have been treason, else how could his sentinels have been
cheated? Who could have had acquaintance with the secret wolf-signal?
There was no time for him to reflect. Thoughts of vengeance must be
postponed. It was a question of self-preservation; for the brigand
chief found himself reduced to this.
His first impulse was to rush out, and take part in the fight raging
between his band and those who had so mysteriously assailed it. But the
conflict was scarce entered upon before it was over. It was less a
strife than a capture; a seizing of men in their shirts, who surrendered
without striking a blow. Even the thundering voice of their chief could
not arouse his yawning partisans to the spirit required for a struggle.
It was but an ordinary instinct that impelled him to shut the door, and
rush back to the room he had quitted, determined to defend himself to
the death.
His first thought was putting out the light. His second, how could the
darkness avail him? Sooner or later other lights would be procured--
candles or torches; or, if not, his assailants need only wait till
morning--now near at hand. It could only be a suspension of his fate--
at best, a respite of two or three hours. All at once came an idea,
offering a chance, not for triumph, but safety. There was a way by
which he might still save his life. Let the light burn! Let his
assailants see inside the house! Let them look upon the tableau that
had just suggested itself to his imagination!
Quick as thought that tableau was formed, in the centre of the room
already illuminated. It consisted of two figures--himself and Lucetta
Torreani.
The young girl was in front; the brigand, as a background, behind her.
His left arm encircled her waist, with his hand clutching a stiletto,
whose point was turned towards her heart! His right arm, still resting
in the sling, was powerless to hold her. But he had contrived a strange
way of keeping her in her place. His teeth were seen closed upon a coil
of her hair!
Outside were the spectators of this singular picture, excited, angry,
two of them almost mad. One was the brother of her who formed the
female figure in it--the other Henry Harding. Either would have rushed
through the window, but the bars forbade them; and although both carried
guns and pistols, they dared not discharge them. They stood with a
score of others, almost within touching distance of the outlaw; and yet
dared not stretch forth a hand, either for his capture or destruction.
They were compelled to listen to the parley, which at that moment he had
commenced making.
"Signori," he said, taking his teeth out of the young girl's hair, but
still keeping the plait close to his lips, "I'm not going to make a long
speech. I see you're impatient, and might not care to listen to it.
You want my blood; you are thirsting for it. I am in your power, and
you can take it. But if I am to die, so shall Lucetta Torreani. Yes;
she dies along with me. Stir but a finger, any one of you; either draw
a trigger, or make a movement to come inside, and that moment my poniard
pierces her breast!"
The spectators stood silent, their breathing suppressed, and their eyes
angrily gleaming upon the speaker.
"Don't mistake what I've said for an idle threat," he continued. "'Tis
no time for talking nonsense. I know that my life is forfeit to the
laws, and that you would show me about as much mercy as you would a
trapped wolf. Be it so; but in killing your wolf, you won't save your
lamb. No! _Sangue di Madonna_! She shall suffer along with me. If I
can't have her in life, I shall in death!"
The expression upon the brute's face, as he gave utterance to the
threat, was revolting in its very earnestness. No one, who saw it,
doubted his intention to do as he said. In fact, a movement at that
instant made by him caused a vivid apprehension that he was about to
carry out his threat; and the spectators stood transfixed, as if the
blood had become frozen in their veins. But no; he was only preparing
for further parley.
"What do you want us to do?" inquired Rossi, the leader of the
victorious Revolutionists. "I suppose you know who we are. You see we
are not the soldiers of the Pope?"
"_Cospetto_!" exclaimed the bandit, with a scornful toss of the head, "a
child could have told that. I had no fear of seeing the brave
_bersaglieri_ of his Holiness here. They don't relish the air of these
remote mountains! That's how you've been able to surprise us. Enough,
_signori_. I know who you are; and now for my proposal."
"Well, what is it?" demanded several of the spectators, chafing with
impatience at the continued talk, and indignant at seeing the young lady
still trembling in the bandit's embrace. "Let us hear what you have to
propose."
"Absolute freedom for myself, and such of my men as you have captured.
Those you have killed may remain with you; and I hope you will give them
Christian burial. And if any have escaped, they can take their chances;
I don't stipulate for them. For myself and comrades, who are your
prisoners, I demand release, and a promise that we shall not be pursued.
Do you agree to it?"
The leaders outside turned to one another, and commenced discussing the
proposal. It was painful to think of accepting such terms, letting the
red-handed criminals escape. They had long been the terror of the
district, committing outrages of every conceivable kind. Now that they
were captured, and could be rooted out, it would be a shame, a disgrace
to the Revolutionists--whose natural enemies the bandits had always
been--to let them go free again, afterwards to recommence their
depredations. Thus spoke several of the party.
On the other side, there was the danger in which stood the young lady--
the absolute certainty that she would be sacrificed.
It is needless to say that Luigi Torreani, Henry Harding, and several
others, urged the acceptance of the proposal, as also the chief Rossi.
"And if we comply with your demands, what then?" asked the latter.
"What then! Why, the signorina shall be given up. That is all you
want, I suppose?"
"Are you ready to give her up now?"
"Oh no!" returned the brigand with a scornful laugh; "that would be
delivering up the goods before they are paid for. We bandits don't make
such loose bargains."
"Then what do you require us to do?"
"You must withdraw your men to the top of the ridge, where the pass
leads out northward. Mine, set free, shall go up to that on the south.
We can then see one another. You, signor, can yourself remain here with
me, and receive the captive. You have nothing to fear, seeing that I
have but one hand, and that a lame one. On your part I must have a
promise that there shall be no treason."
"I am willing to give it," responded Rossi, the _signor_ addressed, and
who felt he was speaking the sentiment of his followers. "It must be in
the form of an oath."
"Agreed. I am ready to take it, now."
"No; not till we have daylight. We must postpone it till the morning.
It is near, and you won't have long to wait."
This was true enough. The scheme could not be carried out in the
darkness, without risking treason on one side or the other. Both
parties could perceive this.
"Meanwhile," continued the bandit, "I must put out the light inside
here, else you may contemplate stealing a march on me by trying to get
in from behind. I don't intend to let you surround me; and in the
darkness I shall be safe. So, _buono notte, signori_!"
A fresh thrill of apprehension ran through the veins of the spectators.
More especially was this felt by Luigi Torreani and his English friend.
The thought of the young girl being left alone in the darkness--alone
with the brutal ruffian, even though they were themselves close by--
filled them with horrible fears. Once more they were racking their
brains for some plan to prevent such a perilous compromise. But they
could not think of any that did not also compromise the safety of
Lucetta. They had their guns cocked, ready to shoot Corvino down, had a
chance presented itself. But there came none; his body was screened by
that of the girl--a shot ill-aimed, and she only might receive it.
Half frantic, they saw the bandit stoop towards the lamp, with the
intention of extinguishing it. Before he could succeed, a third
personage appeared upon the scene--a form that darted quickly through
the door behind.
It was a woman of wild aspect, in whose hand could be seen a stiletto
glittering under the dim light. With a spring like that of an enraged
tigress, she placed herself close behind the bandit; and, uttering a
quick angry cry, plunged the poniard into his side.
Relaxing his grasp upon the girl, he turned round to defend himself; but
almost on the instant staggered back against the wall.
His captive, finding herself released, glided instinctively towards the
window. But it was not the intention of the murderess she should
escape; and with the bloody poignard still grasped in her hand, she
sprang quickly after.
Fortunately her intended victim had got close up to the bars, and was
protected by a score of gun-barrels and sword-blades thrust through--
among them the sword that had been snatched from Guardiola.
A volley was succeeded by an interval of deep silence inside the room.
When the smoke cleared away, two dead bodies were seen lying upon the
floor; which, under the light of the lamp, could be distinguished as
those of Corvino and his murderess.
Lucetta Torreani was saved!