■?%^ 

 
 THE ROBBERS' CAVE
 
 Raphael stooped down and whispered something in 
 Enrico's car. 
 
 Page 113.
 
 T 
 
 HE ROBBERS' CAVE 
 
 BY A. L. O. E. 
 
 THOMAS NELSON 
 AND SONS 
 LONDON, EDINBURGH, 
 AND NEW YORK
 
 tfooO 
 
 CONTENTS 
 
 I. 
 
 The Calabrian Inn 
 
 7 
 
 II. 
 
 A Suspicious Character 
 
 . i8 
 
 Ill 
 
 Bitter Words .... 
 
 . 27 
 
 IV. 
 
 Separation ..... 
 
 . . 38 
 
 K 
 
 Rough Company 
 
 . 49 
 
 VI 
 
 The Robbers' Cave 
 
 . 60 
 
 VII. 
 
 Music and Madness 
 
 . 68 
 
 VIII 
 
 A Dash for Freedom , 
 
 . . 78 
 
 IX. 
 
 Anxious Hours .... 
 
 . 90 
 
 X 
 
 The lone Sentitiel 
 
 . . 98 
 
 XI 
 
 The Orphan's Tale 
 
 c III 
 
 XII 
 
 How the light was lit 
 
 122 
 
 XIII 
 
 Failure ..... 
 
 • 139 
 
 XIV. 
 
 Tidings 
 
 . 150 
 
 XV. 
 
 Omvards . . . . > 
 
 . 161 
 
 XVI 
 
 A Perilous Pass .... 
 
 . 172 
 
 XVII 
 
 One Effort more . . , , 
 
 . 188 
 
 XVIII 
 
 Victory ..... 
 
 . 194 
 
 >^ 
 
 ?65379
 
 LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS 
 
 Raphael stooped down and whispered something in 
 
 Enrico's ear Frontispiece 
 
 '' Do not go I" whispered Raphael . . . • 3^ 
 
 Enrico and his prisoner are challenged by the robber 
 
 sentinel .....••• 55 
 
 ^^ Hold on I hold on for your life f " . . . .179
 
 THE EOBBEES' CAVE. 
 
 -**- 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 THE CALABRTAN INN. 
 
 ' Light human nature is too lightly tost, 
 
 And ruffled without cause ; complaining on — 
 Restless with rest, until — being overthrown 
 It learneth to lie quiet. Let a frost 
 Or a small wasp have crept to the innermost 
 Of our ripe peach ; — or let the wilful sun 
 Shine westward of our windows ; — straight we run 
 A furlong's sigh, as if the world were lost ! " 
 
 Elizabbtb Bbowtjinq. 
 
 fAZY dog ! can't he drive faster — keeping us 
 grilling here in the heat ! I should like to 
 ^ have the use of his whip for a few minutes 
 ^ J and try its effect upon his shoulders ! " 
 Such was the impatient exclamation of 
 Horace Cleveland, as for the third time he thrust his 
 head out of the carriage window. 
 
 " I wish that we had never come to Calabria at
 
 8 THE OALABRIAN INN. 
 
 all ! " sighed his mother. Horace was resuming his 
 lounging position in the carriage, after hurling a few 
 Italian words of abuse at the driver, as she added, 
 "It was a nonsensical whim of yours, Horace, to 
 bring us into this wild land, when we might have 
 remained in comfort at Naples, with every conveni- 
 ence around us, such as my weak health so much 
 requires." 
 
 " Convenience !" repeated Horace contemptuously, 
 "would you compare the luxuries of Naples, its 
 drives, its bouquets, its ices, its idle amusements, 
 with the glorious scenery of a land like this ? Look 
 what a splendid mountata rises there, all clothed to 
 the very summit with myrtle, aloes, and cactus, where 
 here and there stands a tall palm, like the king of 
 the forest, overlooking the rest. And see what an 
 expanse — what an ocean of olives stretches yonder!" 
 
 " I do not admire the olive, with its rugged stem 
 and dull dingy leaves," observed Mrs. Cleveland. 
 
 "Not when the breeze ruffles those leaves, and 
 shows their silver linings ? look there now, — how 
 beautiful they appear under the brightness of an 
 Italian sky ! " 
 
 " I am too weary to admire anything," said Mrs. 
 Cleveland with a yawn, " and it seems as if we were 
 never to reach the inn at Staiti The heat is al- 
 most sxiffocating."
 
 THE CALABRIAN INN. 
 
 "1 say," halloed Horace to the driver, "how long 
 shall we be in airiving at Staiti ? " 
 
 The Italian shrugged his shoulders, and with- 
 out taking the trouble to turn round made reply, 
 "We shall not be there till twenty-four o'clock, 
 
 signore. 
 
 "Twenty-four o'clock!" exclaimed Horace; not 
 surprised, however, by the expression, as the reader 
 may possibly be, as he was familiar with the Italian 
 mode of reckoning the twenty-four hours from sun- 
 set to sunset. " Is there no inn, — no locanda, where 
 we could rest on the way ? " 
 
 "Si, signore," answered the Calabrese, pointing 
 onwards with his whip to a small irregularly built 
 house, which seemed wedged between two masses of 
 rock overgrown with cactus, and which was so much 
 of the colour of the cliffs, that one might fancy that 
 it had grown out of them. 
 
 "It looks muchmore picturesque than comfortable," 
 observed Horace, drawing back his head, and show- 
 ing the inn to his mother. 
 
 " Let's stop there- — or anywhere," gasped Mrs. 
 Cleveland, fanning herself with the air of one whose 
 patience as well as strength is almost exhausted 
 " I can go no further to-day." 
 
 "We can stop and bait," said Horace; and again 
 he leaned out of the window to give his orders to the
 
 W THB CALABRIA N INN. 
 
 driver in the haughty tone of command which he 
 seemed to think befitting an English " milordo." 
 
 It was clear at a glance that Horace Cleveland 
 regarded himself as one of the lords of creation, and, 
 from national or family or personal pride, considered 
 himself superior to all such of his fellow-creatures 
 as he might meet in Calabria. His manner, even 
 to his mother, was petulant and imperious. Horace 
 Cleveland had had, indeed, much to foster his vanity 
 and strengthen his pride. Did he not stand as high 
 in his class at Eton as youth of sixteen ever had 
 done ? Had he not won enough of well- bound prize 
 volumes to form a little library of his own ? Was 
 he not the pride of his school-fellows, their leader in 
 all manly sports ? Could any feather an oar, or 
 strike a cricket-ball, or manage a spirited horse with 
 greater dexterity than he ? Horace occupied a proud 
 position in his school, and he plumed himself not a 
 little upon it. "The boy is father of the man," 
 sang the poet; and on the strength of that aphorism 
 Horace built up a high tower of airy hopes. He 
 had been accustomed to be admired, imitated, 
 followed, in the little world of a public school, and 
 he expected to hold the same place in the great 
 world, which he soon must enter. Horace felt him- 
 self bom to command. 
 
 The youth's triumplis at school had hardly tended
 
 THB CALABRIAM LNN. 11 
 
 to make him more agreeable at home. He was an 
 only child, and his widowed mother regarded him as 
 her all in all. Very proud was Mrs. Cleveland of 
 his talents, very proud of his success : with fond 
 admiration she gazed on his open handsome counte- 
 nance, — the high forehead, the clear gray eye, and 
 thought that amongst all his companions none could 
 compare with her son. And yet Mrs. Cleveland 
 was by no means altogether contented with Horace. 
 She would have been better pleased had he exhibited 
 less spirit and more submission. Horace was eager 
 to claim a man's independence; Mrs. Cleveland 
 clung to a parent's authority. It is probable that 
 the lady would have retained more influence over 
 her boy, had she exercised it more judiciously. She 
 had been as an unskilful rider, who, instead of keep- 
 ing a light but firm hand on the bridle, alternately 
 throws down the rein and catches it up to jerk the 
 mouth of his restive steed, and irritate its temper. 
 Delicate health and weak nerves had combined to 
 make the widowed lady sometimes peevish, and even 
 unreasonable ; and her will often clashed with that 
 of her son to a degree that caused a painful jar upon 
 the feelings of both. Thus those who were dearer 
 to each other than all the world besides, were each 
 not un£-equently a source of annoyance and irrita- 
 bility even to the being best beloved
 
 IS THE CALABEIAN INN. 
 
 " I am sure that it was great folly to come to 
 Calabria at all ! " exclaimed Mrs. Cleveland, as the 
 chaise drew up at the door of the inn. 
 
 Now this was what Horace coTild not endure to 
 hear, since it had been to gratify his wishes, and 
 quite against her own judgment, that his mother 
 had quitted Naples for the mountainous south of 
 Italy. Moreover Horace had heard that same ex- 
 clamation nearly ten times already on that day, and 
 the effect of heat and weariness had drawn largely 
 on his stock of patience. Ready to vent his ill- 
 humour on the first thing that he touched, Horace 
 flung open the door of the chaise as he might have 
 hit at a foe, and rudely pushed aside a young Italian 
 who had come forward to help the lady to alight. 
 The hot blood rose to the stranger's sun-burnt cheek, 
 and a look of anger, instantly repressed, passed like 
 lightning over his face. Mrs. Cleveland caught the 
 look, transient as it was, and as she walked into the 
 inn, laid her hand on the arm of her son, and 
 whispered to him in English, "For mercy's sake, 
 do not treat these people with rudeness. You know 
 that all these Italians carry stilettos in their vests ; 
 we are alone — amongst strangers ! " 
 
 Horace's only reply was a look to express con- 
 tempt for aU Italians in general, and this one in 
 particular, and a disregard for aU considerations
 
 THE CALABRIAN INX. 13 
 
 founded upon personal fear. He snatched up a 
 carpet-bag, and one or two shawls from the chaise, 
 and carried them into the locanda, being too much out 
 of humour to oifer his mother the support of his arm. 
 
 Mrs. Cleveland was shown into the little inn by 
 its master who came forth to meet her. He was a 
 stout, red-faced man with one eye, and a countenance 
 by no means prepossessing. 
 
 " Giuseppina ! Giuseppina ! " he shouted. 
 
 A Calabrese girl, barefooted, though attired in a 
 bright blue dress with an orange border, and wearing 
 large gold ear-rings and chain, came to answer the 
 call. Guided by her the weary lady entered a small 
 close room which might be termed the parlour, but 
 which was evidently put to many more uses than 
 those that belong to such a room in England. The 
 entrance of the English disturbed a hen and a whole 
 brood of sickly-looking chickens, which cackling and 
 fluttering made a hasty retreat across the threshold. 
 On one part of the dirty earthern floor was piled a 
 set of empty wine-skins, the odour from which blended 
 with the more disagreeable scent from some thousands 
 of silk- worm cocoons, heaped together in a comer. 
 
 " Have you no better quarters to give us than 
 this hole ! " cried Horace to Giuseppina in the ItaKan 
 language, which he spoke with ease. 
 
 " No signore," replied the girl, as she swept from
 
 14 THE CALABRIAN INN. 
 
 the table a confused litter of old sacking, chaff and 
 oakum, in order to make preparation for the coming 
 meal, which Horace, with a look of disgust, forth- 
 with proceeded to order. Mrs. Cleveland, being less 
 familiar with the language, usually left sucli an-ange- 
 ments to her son. 
 
 " Wliat can you give us ? " asked Horace. 
 
 " Ebbene, signore, maccaroni," replied the bare- 
 footed maiden. 
 
 " Maccaroni of course, and what besides ? " 
 
 Giuseppina glanced to the right at the wine-skins, 
 then to the left at the heap of cocoons, as if to 
 gather from them some culinary idea, shinigged her 
 shoulders and suggested " omelet," but in a tone 
 expressive of doubt. 
 
 " Omelet then, and anything else that you may 
 have, and be quick, for the lady is weary and wants 
 refreshment ! " cried Horace. 
 
 Giuseppina showed her white teeth in a smile, 
 and quitted the parlour. 
 
 " One is stifled in this hoirible den ! " exclaimed 
 Horace, stalking up to the window, and throwing it 
 open. Very little air was admitted on that sultry 
 afternoon, but there came the sound of voices from 
 without. 
 
 " What are the people doing outside, Horace ? " 
 faintly inquired Mrs. Cleveland.
 
 THE CALABRIAN INN. 16 
 
 "Like Italians — doing nothing," was the reply. 
 " They are merely gathering round that young man 
 whom we saw at the door, apparently to listen to 
 his singing, for he has a guitar in his hand." 
 
 " That Italian whom you struck ? " inquired Mra 
 Cleveland. 
 
 " I did not strike him — I only pushed him back. 
 These fellows must be taught to know their own 
 place," Horace haughtily replied, 
 
 " My dear boy," said Mrs. Cleveland, leaning for- 
 ward on the chair on which she had wearily sunk, 
 "you must acquire, indeed you must, a more gentle 
 and conciliatory manner. In a wild strange place 
 like this, altoffcther out of the bounds of civilization, 
 a thoughtless act might bring serious trouble — a 
 wanton insult might cost a life I " 
 
 Horace did not answer, and as he remained look- 
 ing out of the window, his mother could not see on 
 his face the effect of her gentle reproof; she saw, 
 however, that he was impatiently moving his foot 
 up and down, which was his trick when he had to 
 listen to anything which it did not please him to 
 hear. 
 
 A few chords on a guitar, touched by a skilful 
 hand, were now heard, and immediately the hum of 
 voices without was silenced. 
 
 " I hate to see a man play a guitar ! " exclaimed
 
 16 THK OAT.ABRTAW tSiS. 
 
 Horace, As he spoke, the tones of a voice singularly 
 melodious and rich mingled with those of the instru- 
 ment, and Mrs. Cleveland, weary as she felt, was 
 lured to the window to listen. 
 
 Surrounded by a group of Calabrese stood the 
 musician. He was simply but picturesquely attired 
 after the fashion of his country ; the red jacket, not 
 worn, but carried across the shoulder ready to be 
 put on in season of rain, left exposed to view the 
 white shirt. A felt hat, of a somewhat oval shape, 
 shaded a countenance which, with its classical out- 
 lines and thoughtful expression, could have formed 
 a study for an artist. The song of the young Italian, 
 translated into English, might run thus : — 
 
 If to pine in a dungeon were e'er my fate 
 When light struggled in through the iron grate, 
 What view would most soothe my unwearied eye, — 
 The boundless ocean — the earth — or sky ? 
 
 Oh ! not the ocean ! — its ceaaeless swell 
 With my restless grief would accord too well ; 
 The voice of its wild waves would break my sleep, 
 And the captive bend o'er his chain and weep. 
 
 'Twere sweet to gaze on the laughing earth, 
 And view, though distant, its scenes of mirth. 
 Ah, no ! £Ji, no ! they would but recall 
 Life's flowers to one who had lost them all. 
 
 The sky, the sky, unbounded, bright. 
 With its silvery moon, and its stars of light, 
 
 1432)
 
 THE CALABBIAN INN. 17 
 
 The blush of morning, the evening glow, 
 Its passing clouds, and its radiant bow, — 
 
 There — there would I fix my unwearied eye. 
 Till fancy could paint a bright world on high, 
 And earth and its sorrows would fade in night, 
 With freedom before me — and heaven in sight I 
 
 '.28SJ
 
 CHAPTER II. 
 
 A SUSPICIOUS CHARACTEH. 
 
 Judge not, the workings of his brain 
 
 And of his heart thou canst not see ; 
 What looks to thy dim eyes a stain 
 
 In Gk)d's pure light may only be 
 A scar, brought from Bouie well-won field 
 Where thou wouldst only faint and yield. 
 
 " The look — the air that frets thy sight, 
 
 May be a token tljat below 
 The soul has closed in deadly fight 
 
 With some infernal fiery foe. 
 Whose glance would scorch thy smiling grace 
 And cast thee shuddering on thy face. 
 
 " The fall thou darest to despise, 
 
 May be the angel's slackened hand 
 Has suffered it, that he may rise 
 And take a firmer, surer stand, 
 Or trusting less to earthly things. 
 May henceforth learn to use his wings ! " 
 
 M188 Pbootor. 
 
 *H0 is that singer ? " inquired Mrs. Cleve- 
 land in broken Italian of the girl Giusep- 
 pina, who had just re-entered the room 
 with a large dish of maccaroni which 
 looked like a pile of tobacco-pipes. 
 
 " Improvisatore," answered the girl 
 
 " What is that ? " inquired Horace.
 
 A SUSPICIOUS CHARACTER. 19 
 
 "An improvisatore," replied Mrs. Cleveland, "is 
 one who makes poetry on the spur of the moment ; 
 this class of minstrels is, I believe, peculiar to Italy, 
 the beautiful language of the country giving facility 
 to rapid composition. Do you suppose," she con- 
 tinued, addressing herself to Giuseppina, " that the 
 young man really made that song about prisons him- 
 self?" 
 
 "Prisons," repeated the Calabrese, with a slight 
 but expressive shrug of the shoulders ; " I should 
 say that Raphael might very well sing about 
 prisons." 
 
 " You don't mean us to understand," said Horace, 
 " that, young as he seems, he has been acquainted 
 with the inside of them ? " 
 
 " Chi sa ? (who knows ?) " replied the girl, with 
 another expressive shrug, as she placed her dish 
 upon the table. 
 
 " He was never imprisoned, I trust, for any crime?" 
 inquired Mrs. Cleveland, more uneasy than ever at 
 the recollection of Horace's rudeness to the stranger. 
 
 " Chi sa ? " repeated the girl. 
 
 " I cannot beheve," said the lady, "that there can 
 lurk much harm in one with such a countenance, 
 and such an exquisite voice." 
 
 " Oh, he's an Italian ! " cried Horace, who rather 
 prided himself on his prejudices.
 
 20 A SUSPICIOUS CHAEACTKK. 
 
 Giuseppina lingered, fidgeting about the table, 
 moving the dish now to the right, now to the left, 
 as if she could never satisfy herself that she had 
 placed it perfectly straight. 
 
 " Does this Raphael, as you call him," said Horace, 
 " earn his Kving by his music ? " 
 
 " Chi sa ? " repeated Giuseppina, not looking up, 
 but showing her teeth in a meaning smile. 
 
 " Does the idle fellow do nothing but sing and 
 play ? " 
 
 " He cures the sick also," replied Giuseppina ; " he 
 gathers herbs, and has wonderful power to take 
 away fever, and to heal wounds from sword or from 
 shot. But," she added, crossing herself, and shak- 
 ing her head, " the abbate (abbot) says that none 
 can tell how he came by his knowledge." 
 
 "This Raphael is looked upon, then, as rather a 
 suspicious character? " 
 
 Giuseppina dropped her voice, and looked as if 
 the desire to impart information were struggling 
 with a fear of danger from so doing as she made 
 answer, " He is certainly no stranger to Matteo." 
 The last word was pronounced in a whisper so low, 
 that both Mrs. Cleveland and her son had to bend 
 forward to catch the name. 
 
 " Who is Matteo ? " asked Horace. 
 
 Giuseppina raised her hands and eyebrows with a
 
 ▲ SUSPICIOUS CHAKAOTBR. 2] 
 
 gesture of surprise. " Not know Matteo ! all the 
 world knows Matteo ! " she said with low but rapid 
 utterance, glancing around her as she did so, as if to 
 make sure that no third listener was present ; "we 
 don't speak of him — no one speaks of him — but — " 
 
 " But?" said Horace with some curiosity, as the 
 speaker came to a pause. 
 
 " Oh ! " continued Giuseppina, with the same 
 stealthy look and quick utterance, " did not the 
 signori hear how the government courier was stopped 
 and robbed of three hundred dollars on the high road, 
 and the Cavaliero Donato waylaid and shot dead ! 
 It is said that they owed him a grudge. And the 
 Contessa Albani was attacked in her vetturino and 
 all her jewels taken, and her servants knocked on 
 the head ! " 
 
 " By whom — by this Matteo ? " asked Horace, 
 while his mother, who only understood half of the 
 girl's information, clasped her hands with a gesture 
 of alarm. 
 
 " Zitto ! (hush !) " whispered the talkative Cala- 
 brese, who appeared, however, greatly to relish the 
 diversion of frightening an English lady. Horace 
 looked as if he could not be frightened. 
 
 "And does your government do nothing to keep 
 down such banditti ? " said young Cleveland ; " what 
 aire the soldiers about ? "
 
 S2 A. 8U8PIOIOUB CHAEACTER. 
 
 " I soldati ! ah ! " replied Giuseppina with an ex- 
 pressive nod; "there was a party of them here to- 
 day, horsemen, on their way to Reggio ; they had a 
 prisoner with them, arms bound behind his back;" — 
 the girl put back her own elbows and scowled darkly, 
 as if acting the part o£ a captured bandit. 
 
 " I hope that it was this Matteo ! " cried Horace. 
 
 "Zitto! (hush !)" again whispered the girl; "it 
 was not Matteo — they said it was his son." 
 
 " I suppose that the soldiers were taking him to 
 Reggio for trial ? " 
 
 Giuseppina again nodded her head. 
 
 " And what is likely to become of him ? " 
 
 The girl twisted her finger in the chain which she 
 wore, tightening it round her neck, but only answered 
 with a shnig, " Chi sa ? " and quitted the room to 
 bring in the rest of the dinner. 
 
 " Horace ! what a dreadful place we have come 
 to ! " gasped Mrs. Cleveland. 
 
 The youth laughed as he seated himself at the 
 table. "It is clear that one has some chance of an 
 adventure in Calabria," said he. 
 
 " Keep me from adventures ! " exclaimed the lady. 
 " Did not the girl tell us — I could hardly understand 
 her, for she spoke so fast — of people being robbed 
 and murdered on the high road by banditti ? " 
 
 " Ah ! but the soldiers are wide awake; " suggested
 
 A SUSPICIOUS CHARACTER. 23 
 
 Horace, helping the maccaroni. " I hope that they " 
 (he was not now speaking of the military) "will 
 bring us something better worth eating than this ! " 
 
 Giuseppina pushed the door open with her knee, 
 and re-entered, a dish of omelet in one hand, a 
 second full of snow in the other, and a bottle of 
 wine under her arm. 
 
 " Where will the soldiers be to-night ? " asked 
 Mrs. Cleveland with some anxiety; "I wish that we 
 had asked for an escort." 
 
 " They'll be at Staiti, no doubt," answered Giusep- 
 pina, setting down the viands which she had brought. 
 
 "We'll be at Staiti to-night, also," said Horace; 
 adding in English, " so, mother, you need fear no- 
 thing." 
 
 " Staiti to-night ! no, it would be dark ere the 
 signori could arrive there," observed Giuseppina; 
 " the signori can have good beds here." 
 
 " Here ! " exclaimed Horace, looking around him 
 in disgust, " the place is not fit for a hound ! " 
 
 "But, my dear child," said Mrs. Cleveland, "safety 
 is to be thought of even before comfort." 
 
 Horace replied to his mother, like herself speak- 
 ing in English, which Giuseppina, unnecessarily 
 loitering by the table, tried to understand with her 
 eyes, as it conveyed no meaning to her ears ; " you 
 talk of safety as if this place were safe. Have you
 
 24 A SUSPICIOUS CHAnAOTER. 
 
 not just heard that one of the gang of banditti is 
 below — a fellow let loose from a prison ? " 
 
 "Theimprovisatore?" said Mrs. Cleveland; "I did 
 not understand that he was actually one of the band." 
 
 " But I did," pursued Horace, in his overbearing 
 manner; "and I saw the master of this very house, 
 who, by the way, looks a ruffian if ever there was 
 one, in close conference with this very Raphael, who 
 has doubtless come here for no good," 
 
 Mrs. Cleveland pushed away the plate of untasted 
 food before her, nervous anxiety having taken from 
 the weary lady all inclination to eat. Horace, to 
 whom a little danger was rather a pleasant excite- 
 ment, had already half demolished the omelet. 
 
 "The signora is not well, the signora must not 
 travel further to-day," suggested Giuseppina. 
 
 Horace glanced up hastily at his mother; but 
 seeing on her anxious countenance nothing to ex- 
 cite his fears for her health, he impatiently motioned 
 to the girl to quit the room, as he felt more at his 
 ease when her black eyes were not watching his 
 lips, Giuseppina with lingering step withdrew. 
 
 " I wish that you would eat, mother ; you know 
 that you will be quite knocked up if you don't," 
 cried Horace in a tone of vexation. 
 
 "I can't travel in the dark — I can't go to be 
 waylaid — robbed — perhaps — "
 
 A suspiciotrs CHAKAcnrat. 2fi 
 
 " Don't you see," cried Horace, striking the handle 
 of his spoon on the table to give more force to his 
 argument, "that if we stay here we are just as likely 
 to come to grief? Have you never heard or read 
 of horrid little wayside inns kept by robbers in dis- 
 guise ; of beds contrived to fall down upon travellers 
 and crush them; of stealthy footsteps at night — and 
 aU that sort of thing ? Now this seems to be exactly 
 the place for such an unpleasant adventure." 
 
 "Oh, why did we ever come to Calabria!" ex- 
 claimed Mrs. Cleveland, sinking back in her chair. 
 Horace felt some self-reproacL for thus adding to 
 the terrors of his mother. He hastily finished his 
 omelet, and said in a more reassuring voice — 
 
 " You see, mother dear, if we once get to Staiti, 
 we'll be under the wing of the law : you can travel 
 with a military escort like our Queen — if one could 
 compare those Italian soldiers to our own fine Eng- 
 lish troops." 
 
 " But it is the journey to Staiti — " 
 
 " Never fear that, it will soon be over ; anything 
 is better than stopping here." Horace filled his 
 mother's glass with wine, not forgetting the usual 
 accompaniment of snow to cool it, and pushed it to- 
 wards her as he added, "There, drink to our pros- 
 perous journey and safe arrival; and may Matteo 
 and Raphael, and all the gang, be duly caught and
 
 A SUSPICIOUS CHARACTER. 
 
 strung up for the benefit of society." Horace 
 emptied his own glass to the toast, pushed back his 
 chair, and, rising from the table, said to Mrs. Cleve- 
 land, "I'm going to order Jacomo to put to the 
 horses; the sooner we're off the better;" and without 
 waiting to hear his mother's objections, the youth 
 hastily left the apartment. 
 
 " Wilful, immanageable boy ! " murmured the 
 lady to herself; "he thinks that he knows better 
 than every one else, and I feel too much exhausted 
 and worn out to oppose him. The charge of such 
 an ungovernable child is too much for a poor 
 widow like me. I should never have yielded to 
 his entreaties, and come to this horrible, desolate 
 place. If I once find myself again in a civilized 
 land, once again know the comforts of a home, no- 
 thing on earth shaU persuade me to go a second time 
 upon a wild expedition such as this."
 
 CHAPTER III. 
 
 BITTER WORDS. 
 
 ' Alas I how light a cause may move 
 Dissension between those that love ! 
 Hearts that tlie world in vain had tried, 
 And sorrow but more closely tied, 
 That stood the storm when waves were rough, 
 Yet in a sunny hour fall off. 
 Like ships that have gone down at sea, 
 WTien heaven was all tranquillity I 
 A something light as air, — a look, 
 A word unkind or wrongly taken, — 
 Oh, love that tempests never shook, 
 A breath, — a touch IDce this hath shaken ! " 
 
 MOOKK. 
 
 *ORACE found Jacomo the driver seated 
 outside the door of the inn, enjoying 
 at fresco (in the open air) a large plate- 
 ful of maccaroni. As Horace came to- 
 wards him, the man looked a thoroughly- 
 characteristic specimen of his nation — half-support- 
 ing himself on his elbow, while his head was thrown 
 back to enable him with more convenience to drop 
 into his mouth some six inches length of the white 
 moist tube, to which he was helping himself with 
 his fingers !
 
 28 BITTKR WORDS. 
 
 " Jacomo, put in the horses at once : we must make 
 good speed to reach Staiti to-night," said Horace, 
 
 The Italian stared at the speaker with a look of 
 surprise and dissatisfaction. "The signor forgets 
 that the day is advanced, the way mountainous, the 
 horses tired, the signora faint, and the roads not 
 safe after dark," said the man; "it would be no 
 wise act to start before morning." 
 
 "That is for me to decide, and not for you," said 
 the young Englishman with hauteur. 
 
 " You can have excellent accommodation here — 
 good beds, good fare — what more can the signori 
 require ? " said the one-eyed host, pointing towards 
 the inn with a peculiar and stealthy expression in 
 his disagreeable face, which confirmed Horace in his 
 resolution to depart. 
 
 " Jacomo, harness the horses, and dii'ectly ! " he 
 exclaimed. " If there be any delay, not an extra 
 carlino (a small coin) shall you have at the end of 
 the journey." 
 
 The driver, with an exclamation directed to his 
 patron saint, and some mutterings which Horace 
 did not understand, began making preparations to 
 obey, moving his lazy limbs more leisurely than 
 suited the impatience of his employer. The host, 
 shrugging his shoulders, went into the inn. As 
 Horace was about to follow him thither, the impro-
 
 BITTKR WOEDfe 29 
 
 visatore, who had been standing under the shadow of 
 a neighbouring tree unperceived by the youth, came 
 forward and crossed over between him and the door, not 
 looking at Horace, nor appearing to observe him, but 
 as he passed close in front of him, dropping the words 
 " Do not go," in a low but earnest tone. 
 
 Horace glanced in surprise after the speaker, 
 startled by so strange a warning from the last per- 
 son whom he should have expected to give one. He 
 would have liked to have questioned Raphael, but 
 the improvisatore had already disappeared. 
 
 " I wonder if it be wise to start," thought Horace, 
 whose resolution for the first time began to waver ; 
 "yet I have no reason to trust this stranger, who 
 seems to bear an evil character, even amongst the 
 people of this place." 
 
 " The signor has changed his mind ? " inquired 
 Jacomo with a gi'in — the man having probably de- 
 tected a look of indecision upon the face of young 
 Cleveland. 
 
 This way of putting the question fixed the deter- 
 mination of Horace, who secretly prided himself 
 upon what he thought strength and decision of 
 character. "I never change my mind," he said 
 haughtily ; "I shall be ready to start in ten min- 
 utes, let me then find the carriage at the door, or 
 you shall have reason to repent of the delay."
 
 30 BITTER WORDS. 
 
 In about a quarter of an hour the vehicle stood 
 ready in front of the inn. The one-eyed man, who 
 seemed to combine in himself the offices of landlord 
 and ostler, was there to see his guests depart. 
 Giuseppina was at the door, and about half-a-dozen 
 bare-footed brown urchins crowded together like 
 bees to view the Inglese (EngHsh) enter the carriage, 
 as they had stared a few hours before at the soldiers 
 bearing the bandit away. Raphael stood with folded 
 arms near the heads of the horses. He exchanged 
 words with no one, nor seemed to take notice of the 
 whispered remarks of the children who glanced at 
 him ever and anon. 
 
 " The soldiers had him once," said one boy point- 
 ing to the improvisatore ; " did they tie his arms 
 behind him ? I wonder whether he has the marks 
 on his wrists." 
 
 " How did he get away ? did Matteo break his 
 prison, and set him free ? " 
 
 " Perhaps the soldiers let him off because he sings 
 so fine ! " suggested one black-eyed little damsel, 
 with uncombed hair falling in dark masses on each 
 side of her merry brown face. 
 
 "I like Raphael; he cured my bad leg, and he 
 speaks so kind," said another. 
 
 " But he's a bad man, I know he's a bad man," 
 whispered a thin, sallow child with a solemn look,
 
 BITTER W0KD8. 31 
 
 — he does not bow to the Madonna, nor touch the 
 holy water." 
 
 " He does ! " exclaimed the former speaker, in- 
 dignant at so dark an imputation being thrown on 
 his benefactor. 
 
 " But he does not," persisted the sallow child ; 
 " I've watched him again and again ; he never bowa 
 to the holy image, nor crosses himself; and I don't 
 believe that he tells his beads, or ever goes to confess. 
 Mother says that he's a wicked man, and prays to 
 none of the saints." 
 
 The faintest approach to a smile on the lips of the 
 young Italian alone betrayed that he heard any part 
 of the conversation of which he was the subject. 
 
 The attention of the children was now diverted 
 to the English travellers who were leaving the inn. 
 " How pale the signora is ! does she not look anx- 
 ious and frightened ? " were the whispers exchanged 
 amongst the group. 
 
 Uneasy and irresolute Mrs. Cleveland certainly 
 was. Horace, who, however faulty in other respects, 
 never concealed anything from his mother, had told 
 her of the warning of Raphael; and as he led her to 
 the carriage, lingering and reluctant, he was warmly 
 combating the idea that the Italian's words should 
 have the slightest effect in influencing their move- 
 ments.
 
 32 BITTER WORDS. 
 
 "Doubtless he is playing into the hands of thia 
 Matteo, of whose atrocities we have been hearing, 
 and who will be as savage as a bear at the capture 
 of his son. Common sense tells us that we should 
 put no faith in this stranger ; a low musician, a jail- 
 bird, a companion of thieves ! " 
 
 These words were uttered aloud, of course in the 
 English language, but as Mrs. Cleveland glanced at 
 the improvisatore to judge by his face whether he 
 merited the epithets given him, she again saw a 
 sudden flush tinge the paleness of his cheek. Raphael 
 stepped forward, as if to help her into the carriage, 
 for her foot was already on the step, and again in 
 low tones breathed the words "Do not go," but this 
 time in English, though with an accent quite Italian. 
 
 Mrs. Cleveland started, and would have drawn 
 back ; but Horace at that moment almost lifted her 
 into the carriage, and sprang in after her with a 
 quickness which gave his nervous mother hardly 
 time to think or to breathe. 
 
 "Horace — I can't go — I won't go — stop the 
 driver — we will get out ! " gasped the lady. 
 
 " Mother, it is nonsense ; you will make us the 
 laughing-stock of the place ! " exclaimed Horace, who 
 had caught sight of a leer upon the face of the one- 
 eyed man, which had strengthened his suspicions as 
 to the character of the low little inn in the mountains.
 
 Do not gel" whispered Raphael* 
 
 Page 32.
 
 BITTEK WORDS. 33 
 
 Tlie driver cracked his whip, and the jingle of the 
 horses' bells was heard as they moved forward on 
 the white dusty road. 
 
 The conscience of Horace smote him a little for 
 the rudeness of his manner and words, " You know, 
 mother," he said, in a softer tone, "that I must care 
 for your comfort and safety." 
 
 " Comfort ! " exclaimed Mrs. Cleveland with in- 
 dignation ; " wilful, ungrateful boy that you are, 
 you never care for anything but your own selfish 
 fancies ! " and exhausted in strength, and wounded 
 in feeling, the irritated mother burst into a flood of 
 tears. 
 
 " Mother, I can't stand this ! " exclaimed Horace, 
 in extreme vexation at seeing her weep. 
 
 " You have planted many a thorn in my pillow," 
 sobbed the lady ; " you may find them one day on 
 your own ! " 
 
 Horace could not answer ; his heart seemed to be 
 rising into his throat ; he pulled his cap low over 
 his eyes, and leaned back in the corner of the carriage, 
 wishing, with all his soul, that he had never oome 
 on the journey. He had been accustomed to chid- 
 ings and reproaches, but not to teai's, and each drop 
 seemed to fall upon his heart Kke a drop of molten 
 lead. Horace had never but once before seen his 
 parent weep upon his account, and the occasion
 
 34 BITTER WORDS. 
 
 which diew foi-th those tears was one of the most 
 tender recollections of his childhood, Horace re- 
 membered the time when he had lain in his little 
 cot, parched by fever, and when awakening again 
 and again in the long wretched nights he had ever 
 seen, by the dim light of the shaded candle, the form 
 of his mother, ready to offer the cooling drink to 
 relieve his burning thirst. He remembered how, as 
 long as his danger continued, her calm courage had 
 never failed her, faith and love supporting her 
 through sleepless nights and miserable days ; but 
 that when the doctor had said at last, " The crisis 
 is over, he will do well," her overstrained feelings 
 had at length given way, and she had wept tears of 
 thankful delight over the child who lay on her 
 bosom ! How different from those glad tears were 
 the drops which the wounded, disappointed parent 
 was shedding now ! A painful sensation came over 
 Horace as the doubt suggested itself to his mind 
 whether his mother would have felt such transport 
 at his recovery had she known all that his petulance 
 would cost her ; nay, Horace was not certain 
 whether, on the whole, her only and much-loved son 
 had not given her more pain than pleasure. It was 
 too true that he had thought more of his own selfish 
 fancies than of the wishes of his tender parent ; that 
 he had often treated lier with disrespect, and even
 
 BITTER WORDS. 36 
 
 with actual disobedience. Horace's conscience told 
 him that he had not honoured his mother, nor made 
 her happy ; and he was so painfully stung by its 
 reproaches that he was half inclined to call out to 
 the driver to go back to the inn, as a kind of prac- 
 tical way of showing his parent that he regretted 
 having preferred his own opinion to hers. But the 
 carriage was now plunging down a road so steep and 
 nan-ow, that it would have been almost impossible 
 to stop it, and quite impossible to turn. The ut- 
 most attention of the driver was required to keep 
 his horses on their legs, and every now and then a 
 tremendous jolt made Mrs. Cleveland grasp the side 
 of the vehicle, to prevent herself from being jerked 
 out of her seat. She had ceased crying, but she was 
 thoroughly displeased with her son, and was not 
 disposed to address him again, even if the rough- 
 ness of the road had not rendered it difficult to 
 speak. 
 
 Horace knew that he ought to ask his mother's 
 forgiveness at once, as he had often done when a 
 child ; but pride shrank from that simple course ; for 
 there was nothing to which the Etonian was more 
 averse than to being considered like a child. As a 
 compromise between conscience and pride, he said, 
 with a little hesitation, " I am sorry that I spoke so 
 unguardedly about that mysterious Italian ; though
 
 38 BITTBR WORDS. 
 
 who could have dreamed of any one here compre- 
 hending the English tongue ? " 
 
 Mrs. Cleveland made no reply, but continued 
 gazing out of the carriage window in an opposite 
 direction. 
 
 "And I am sorry," continued Horace with an 
 effort, " that I said or did anything to vex you." 
 
 Still silence — still the averted face. This had 
 not been the first, no, nor the fiftieth time that 
 Horace had ofi'ended his mother, and such offences, 
 though apparently trivial, 
 
 " Make up in number what they lack in weight." 
 
 Constant friction produces on the mind the same 
 effect that it does on the body — a rankling sore, 
 more painful than the result of one sharp blow. A 
 few aff"ectionate words, a filial embrace, had often 
 seemed sufiicient reparation for an ebullition of hasty 
 temper ; love readily forgets and forgives ; but when 
 the conduct repented of to-day is repeated to-morrow, 
 when hastiness becomes habitual, when pride and 
 self-will gain increasing strength, what wonder if a 
 feeling of resentment mingle even with maternal 
 affection ? Mrs. Cleveland was in a state of nervous 
 irritation, and not disposed to meet the constrained 
 advances of her son. Deeply mortified by her silence, 
 vexed with his mother, but far more vexed with
 
 SITTITE WORDS. 37 
 
 hunsel:^ Horace again threw himself back in the 
 carriage. No enjoyment could he find in surveying 
 the exquisite landscape around him, over which the 
 beams of the setting sun were now throwing a golden 
 glory.
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 
 SEPARATION. 
 
 "We sre undonel these are the villains 
 That all the travellers do fear so much ! " 
 
 Shakspeahb. 
 
 IWILIGHT comes on gradually in England, 
 day melting into darkness by slow, almost 
 imperceptible degrees. But it is not so 
 in Calabria. Scarcely has the upper rim 
 of the golden sun dipped below the horizon, when 
 the dark cm-tain of night is thrown over the land- 
 scape, spangled with tremulous stars. Horace was 
 startled from his disagreeable reflections by what 
 seemed almost like sudden darkness ; and Mrs. Cleve- 
 land became yet more nervously alive to the dangers 
 of the road, when she could no longer see their 
 approach. 
 
 Having reached the bottom of the long, steep hill, 
 Jacomo got down from his seat, and lit the carriage 
 lamps. In reply to the lady's anxious question as 
 to whether it would not yet be better to go back.
 
 SEPARATION. 39 
 
 he replied that it would now be as easy to proceed 
 to Staiti as to return to the inn, for the road down 
 which they had just descended was one fitted for 
 goats rather than for horses. Jacomo muttered and 
 grumbled a good deal, as he remounted to his seat, 
 about the folly of having started at aU ; and his 
 words, though but half understood, did not tend to 
 reassure Mrs. Cleveland. 
 
 The momentary glare which the lamps threw in 
 passing on gray rock, or gloomy thicket, seemed to 
 make the darkness beyond more deep and oppressive ; 
 and the jingle of the horse-bells, and rumble of the 
 wheels, but drearily broke the stillness of that un- 
 frequented road. Horace knew weU that his mother 
 was in an agony of nervous alarm, dreading to catch 
 sight of a bandit behind every bush ; and notwith- 
 standing his natural courage he began in some mea- 
 sure to share her apprehensions. Raphael's warning 
 rang in his ears — and the more vividly memoiy re- 
 called the countenance of him who had given it, 
 the more Horace wondered at himself for having 
 allowed so little weight to his words. Horace had 
 often longed for an adventure ; but night travelling 
 through a wild and desolate country, known to be 
 infested by robbers, has in it more of romance than 
 of pleasure even to one of courageous spirit. 
 
 The road now lay through the deep recesses of a
 
 40 8RPAR4TION 
 
 wood, where the boughs, meeting and intermingling 
 above, formed an arch over the way, and blotted out 
 from view the few stars that had gleamed in the sky. 
 Suddenly there was heard the sharp report of a pistol, 
 which made Mrs. Cleveland start and shiiek, and 
 the next moment the horses were thrown violently 
 back upon their haunches, and the lamplight dimly 
 showed indistinct forms glancing like phantoms 
 through the darkness. Then came wild fierce faces 
 at the window ; the door was forced open, and the 
 travellers dragged out of the carriage almost before 
 they had time to be certain that all was not some 
 terrible dream ! Horace's first impulse, however, 
 was to defend his mother ; all unarmed as he was, 
 he struck at the man who had seized her, but received 
 himself a sharp blow on the arm which made it drop 
 stunned to his side. He glanced round, and that 
 glance was sufficient to assure him that resistance 
 would be utterly hopeless. There were at least five 
 or six robbers around, most of them already busily 
 engaged in rifling the carriage ; and strange sounded 
 their laughter and their jests as they drew forth now 
 this thing — now that — dragging cloaks, bandboxes, 
 dressing-case, umbrella, fan, carpet-bag, to be piled 
 in a heap on the road. The bandit who had seized 
 Mrs. Cleveland had already torn from her neck the 
 gold chain, and with it the watch which she wore ;
 
 SEPAEATIOa. 41 
 
 and plunging his coarse hand into her pocket had 
 turned it inside out, to make sure that none of its 
 contents should escape him. Trembling as in a fit 
 of ague, the poor lady had been constrained to pull 
 ofi" her gloves, and draw hastily from her icy fingers 
 the jewelled rings wliich adorned them. Horace was 
 half-maddened at the sight, but he had no power to 
 protect his mother ; he could but pass his left arm 
 around her to support her from sinking, and glare at 
 the spoilers with the vain Avrath of one whose strength 
 does not equal his spirit. Jacomo was on his knees, 
 invoking the Virgin and all the saints to defend 
 him ! The robbers took little notice of him, save that 
 one spurned him with his foot in passing ; and that 
 another sternly bade him cease his whining, or he 
 would dash out his brains ! 
 
 Amidst the confusion and teiTors of the scene, 
 Horace yet retained his self-possession sufiiciently to 
 notice that none of the bandits kept any of the plun- 
 der, but that they placed it together in the heap before 
 mentioned, probably with a view to division. The 
 word " Matteo " was also occasionally heard amid 
 the tumult of voices, and presently eveiy eye was 
 turned in one direction, whence came a crashing sound 
 as if some one were forcing his way through the 
 brushwood. Mrs. Cleveland had sunk on the gi-ound, 
 Horace was kneeling beaide her, half supporting her
 
 42 SEPARATION. 
 
 drooping form, when there strode into the dimly 
 lighted space the tall figure of the chief of the banditti, 
 
 Matteo was a large and powerful man, with a 
 countenance on which the character of ruflSanism 
 was so legibly stamped, that had he appeared in 
 gentlemen's society under whatever auspices, with 
 whatever name, or in whatever dress, a child would 
 have instinctively shrunk from him, and a stranger* s 
 first thought have been, " There is one whom I would 
 rather not meet alone at night in a solitary place." 
 Grizzled was the shock of coarse hair thrown back 
 from his dark face, — grizzled the untrimmed beard ; 
 but his thick beetling brows were intensely black, 
 and almost joined together in one. The most repul- 
 sive feature was the mouth, of which the lower jaw 
 projected, and which was furnished with teeth so 
 irregular and large, that they suggested the idea of 
 the fangs of some beast of prey. The alarm of Mrs. 
 Cleveland increased when the light fell on the coun- 
 tenance of the man in whose power she knew herseK 
 to be. Clasping her hands she gasped forth in broken 
 Italian, "Oh, mercy — we will pay ransom — we will 
 give anything — only spare me and my son ! " 
 
 " Ransom ! " repeated Matteo in a hoarse voice, 
 "we want from you something more than money;" 
 and turning sharply round to one of his companions 
 he inquired, " Has not the Rossignol returned ? " 
 
 \
 
 SEPARATION. 43 
 
 "Not yet," replied the young man addressed, who, 
 though seemingly several years older than Raphael, 
 bore so strong a Hkeness to him, that the first im- 
 pression of the bewildered travellers had been that 
 the musician whose warning they had neglected, and 
 whom they had left behind at the little inn, had by 
 some strange means ovei-taken the carriage. The 
 second glance at Enrico had however quite removed 
 such impression. The cast of the features might be 
 alike, — there might be the same classical outline, the 
 same delicately pencilled brow, — but the expression of 
 the face was utterly dissimilar. Instead of the calm 
 thoughtfulness, tinged with melancholy, which had 
 struck Mrs. Cleveland in the improvisitore, there was a 
 restless wildness in this young man's eye, like that of a 
 hunted animal, and a nervous twitch in his lip peculi- 
 arly apparent whenever he was addressed by Matteo. 
 
 "Why has he not returned?" growled Matteo; 
 " and why did he go at all ? " 
 
 " He went for tidings of your son, and he has not 
 had time to return," was the answer. 
 
 "If he play me false," commenced the brigand, — 
 gi-inding his white fangs instead of completing his 
 sentence. 
 
 " He has not played you false, or these birds 
 would not be in youi- net," cried Eurico, as he pointed 
 to Horace and his mother.
 
 44 ft SPA RATION. 
 
 The English youth at once comprehended that 
 " the Rossignol" (the Italian word for nightingale) 
 must be a cant name for Raphael ; and that the musi- 
 cian, whatever might have been his motive in utter- 
 ing his words of warning, must have incurred some 
 risk by doing so. 
 
 Matteo now turned again towards his captives, 
 and spoke as follows to the trembling lady, using 
 violent gesticulation, and giving emphasis to his 
 speech with the action of hand and foot : — 
 
 " You know, or you do not know, that the dogs 
 of soldiers have seized my son; that they have dragged 
 him off to a dungeon ; that the sentence of a tyranni- 
 cal judge may condemn him, as it has condemned 
 other bold spirits before him. You are rich, a golden 
 key opens all doors — ay, even the barred and 
 bolted gate of a prison ! You shall write to the 
 government; you shall say that you are in Matteo' s 
 hands, at Matteo' s mercy ; you shall tell what con- 
 ditions I offer. If Otto be set free you shall be 
 set free ; if they hurt but a hair of his head " — 
 Matteo half unsheathed his stiletto, and the gleam 
 of the cold blue steel spoke more forcibly than 
 words. 
 
 "There is little use in writing," suggested Enrico ; 
 " these people are strangers — foreigners — a mere 
 letter is thrown aside — blood is spilt while officials
 
 SEPARATION. 46 
 
 take their drive or their siesta.* Let one of the 
 prisoner go, knowing that the life of the other hangs 
 on the issue, and the dullest employ^ will be made 
 to hear, the slowest to act ; English gold will be 
 lavished freely, and Otto be a free man again." 
 
 Mrs. Cleveland glanced anxiously from one speaker 
 to the other, unable to catch the whole of their mean- 
 ing, but understanding in a general way the nature 
 of a discussion in which she was so deeply concerned. 
 
 "Right! right!" exclaimed the robber. "We'll 
 keep the lady and send off the boy." 
 
 " No ! " exclaimed Horace, starting to his feet; " if 
 a prisoner must remain in your hands, keep me and 
 release my mother." 
 
 " Oh, my child ! my child ! " cried the lady, " never 
 shall they part us — never ! " and she stretched out 
 her clasped hands to Matteo in an attitude of agon- 
 izing entreaty. 
 
 "I'll send her" growled the brigand; "she is a 
 mother, she will not spare cries or tears to wring 
 mercy out of the merciless. Hear me, woman ! " he 
 continued in a louder tone, to the trembling supplicant 
 before him, — "you shall go to those high in power 
 and plead for my son as you would plead for your 
 son; and pour out your gold to those who never yet 
 refused gold, yea, if it were the last ducat which you 
 
 * llie noonday ale«p which ItaJiaiu habittuiUy takft.
 
 46 SEPARATION. 
 
 possessed to keep you from beggary. If Otto be 
 standing here in three days " — 
 
 " Three days are not enough," interrupted Enrico, 
 "you require an impossibility ; application may have 
 to be made to Najjles, to the king himself" 
 
 " Ay, ay," said the brigand impatiently ; " Naples 
 IS more than a stone's throw, and time may be needed, 
 even though love and fear alike give wings. If, 
 woman, in seven days my son be standing here free 
 and uninjured," Matteo stamped on the ground as 
 he spake, "free and uninjured shall your son be 
 restored ; if there be one hour's delay " — Matteo 
 uttered with an oath some threat which the lady 
 could not understand, but of its horrible nature she 
 could judge both by the gesture of him who made 
 it, and by the Livid paleness which overspread the 
 face of her son, 
 
 " Horace ! what does he say ? " she exclaimed. 
 
 " Never mind, mother ; it was something that you 
 had better not understand. You know quite enough, 
 you know that my hfe depends upon your procur- 
 ing within seven days the release of this Otto, this 
 son of Matteo." Horace spake less distinctly than 
 usual, and even his lips looked bloodless and white. 
 
 Matteo turned to the heap of plunder. " Is every- 
 thing here ? " he sternly inquired. 
 
 "Everything," promptly replied several voices.
 
 8BP.A RATION. 47 
 
 The brigand pointed to Jacomo. " Make that 
 fellow take the reins again," he said, "and drive as 
 one who drives for his life. Thrust the woman back 
 into the carriage; she must be at Staiti within the 
 hour." 
 
 Two or three rude hands were instantly laid on 
 Mrs. Cleveland. But she clung to her son as if it 
 were to death iastead of to libei'ty and safety that 
 she was to be hurried. In that moment of terror 
 and anguish all his faults and her own pteriLs were 
 forgotten ; the motlier thought only of her child ; 
 to tear her from him was to rend asunder the 
 very strings of her heart ! 
 
 " Mother, dear, don't give way like this ; there's 
 no use resisting, no use entreating ; we may yet 
 meet again, all may be well ; don't you give these 
 wretches an excuse for treating you roughly ! " and 
 as he uttered these broken sentences, Horace tried 
 gently himself to unclose those clinging arms. It 
 was only, however, by sheer force that the robbers 
 tore Mre. Cleveland away from her boy, and her cry 
 as they were severed rang in the ears of Horace Like 
 a death-kneU. He had a teirible persuasion at that 
 moment that he was parted from his mother never 
 to see her again. A crowd of recollections rushed 
 through the youth's brain: a consciousness that he 
 had been a self-willed, undutiful son ; that his con-
 
 48 8EPABATION. 
 
 duct had caused all this misery; that he had forgive- 
 ness to implore for a thousand faults, and yet that 
 his tongue had no power to ask it. Horace saw his 
 mother dragged to the carriage, and rather thrown 
 than lifted into it. From her silence after that one 
 cry, he believed that her senses must have failed 
 her, and was almost thankful for that belief. He 
 saw a robber strike one of the horses with some- 
 thing that made it, weary as it was, bound forward 
 with such frantic violence that Jacomo was almost 
 unseated. His exclamation of terror raised hoai-se 
 laughter from the lawless band, and before that 
 laughter had ceased the carriage with its gleaming 
 lamps had disappeared in the darkness, and Horace 
 stood, helpless and iUone, a captive in the midst of 
 bandiiti
 
 CHAPTER V. 
 
 ROUGH COMPANY. 
 
 '■ Too late ! too late ! how hearily that phrase 
 Comes, like a knell, upon the shuddering ear 
 Telling of slighted duties, wasted days, 
 
 Of privileges lost ; of hopes, once dear, 
 Now quenched in gloom and darkness ! words like these 
 
 The worldling's callous heart must penetrate. 
 All that he might have been in thought he sees, 
 And sorrows o'er his present wreck — too late !" 
 
 Mrs. Abdy. 
 
 F one feeling were more overpowering than 
 another to Horace at that trying hour, it 
 was the pang of remorse — despair of ever 
 being able to make up by devotion in 
 the future for ingratitude and disobedience 
 in the past. Oh ! that the selfish and self-willed 
 would anticipate the hour of final separation from 
 one whose tender love they are now throwing away 
 as a worthless thing, under whose reproofs they 
 chafe, for whose infirmities they have no indul- 
 gence. A time may come when they will in vain 
 wish that by the loss of every earthly posses- 
 sion they could purchase one smile fi^om the eyes, 
 
 (222.) A
 
 60 ROUGH COMPANY. 
 
 one fond word from the lips of a now neglected 
 
 parent — 
 
 " Not to have known a treasure's worth 
 Till time has snatched away the slighted boon, 
 Is source of half the misery we feel, 
 And makes this world the wilderness it is ! " 
 
 Horace was roused from his gloomy thoughts by 
 the hoarse voice of Matteo, " Has any one brought 
 the irons ? " he said. 
 
 With a heavy clanking sound a robber threw 
 down on the gi'ound an old pair of shackles, red with 
 rust, which had, probably at some remote period, 
 been worn by one of the band. Matteo pointed 
 with his coarse finger to Horace — a significant action 
 which required no explanation. As the fetters were 
 being fastened over the slender ankles of the youth, 
 the chief bade Enrico take charge of the prisoner, 
 for whose safety he should answer with his own. 
 
 Then followed a division of the spoil. Mrs, 
 Cleveland's dressing-case and desk were forced open 
 with a dagger — the contents of her purse counted 
 out, the various articles of her luggage placed in 
 separate heaps. Reserving almost all the gold for 
 himself, Matteo distributed his booty. Most of the 
 robbers looked discontented, but not one dared to 
 utter a murmur. Horace saw with bitter emotion 
 his mother's most valued trinkets in these rude 
 hands ; the Maltese cross which he himself had
 
 ROUGH COMPANY. 51 
 
 given, the mourning brooch with his father's hair, 
 nay, the very wedding-ring which had united hia 
 parents, were profaned by the touch of fingers which 
 might be stained with murder. These papers, some 
 of them priceless to her who had once owned them, 
 were thrown away or trampled under foot. Horace 
 could not stifle an intlignant exclamation as he saw 
 an ill-looking Calabrian, deeply pitted with small- 
 pox, deliberately set on fire at a torch which one of 
 the party had brought, a beautiful pencil sketch of 
 his late father, which Mrs. Cleveland had prized 
 above all the jewels in the world. 
 
 Matteo beckoned Enrico to some little distance, 
 apparently to give him some orders, and their de- 
 parture seemed to be the signal for more unrestrained 
 and lawless mirth. Then also the murmurs which 
 had been checked by the presence of the dreaded 
 chief broke out amongst such of the band as had 
 been disappointed in their share of the plunder. 
 
 " What am I to make of trumpery hke this ! " 
 exclaimed the robber who had burnt the likeness, 
 holding up to view with great contempt a silver 
 gray cloak with a hood, a black gown, a lace trim- 
 med parasol, and a fan ! 
 
 His appeal was answered by a roar of laughter. 
 
 "You may set up for a gentlewoman, Beppo ! " 
 shouted one.
 
 52 ROUGH COMPANY. 
 
 " My share matches yours," laughed another, 
 " you've the dress, and I've the dressing-case ! " 
 
 " Ay, with silver tops to all the bottles," growled 
 Beppo, " I'll make an exchange if you wilL" 
 
 The offer was only received with a louder burst 
 of merriment, and the disappointed Beppo turned 
 fiercely towards Horace. 
 
 " Here's a garment more to my mind ! " he cried, 
 and flinging down his bundle of woman's clothes, 
 the robber seized hold of the indignant and strug- 
 gling captive, and by force dispossessed him of his coat. 
 The gang gathered around, much amused at the 
 scene, laughing uproariously at the vain passionate 
 resistance of Horace. 
 
 "There's more peel on the orange!" ciied one, 
 
 and the young captive might have had to submit to 
 
 further indignities had not Emico come to the rescue. 
 
 " Hold ! " he cried, " the prisoner is in my charge ; 
 
 no one has a right to touch him but me." 
 
 "For seven days," said Beppo significantly — "he'll 
 want no clothes after that ; " and putting out his 
 large coarse foot he added with a laugh, " in seven 
 days I'll have hosen and boots, I take it that his 
 will just fit me ! " 
 
 "It's a shame to dig a man's grave before his 
 eyes ! " exclaimed Enrico. 
 
 "Shame!" repeated Beppo angrily, "don't come
 
 it your brother over us ; it's enough to have one 
 lunatic in a family, say I." 
 
 Without taking any notice of the insult, Enrico 
 touched Horace on the shoulder and bade him come 
 with him ; which the youth was ready enough to do 
 — it being an unutterable relief to him to be re- 
 moved, even for a short time, from the company of 
 the rest of the lawless band. Enrico led his captive 
 into the deep recesses of the wood, seeming to find 
 his way by instinct through the darkness in which 
 shining fire-flies glanced and played. Horace envied 
 them their liberty ; he walked with difiiculty and 
 pain ; his fetters not only impeded his movements 
 but chafed his ankles. He stumbled over the in- 
 equalities of the ground, struck against branches 
 which he could not see, and his chain caught and 
 entangled in brambles, and he often felt inclined 
 to throw himself down on the ground in utter de- 
 spair of getting on. Enrico neither pitied nor ap- 
 peared to notice his sufierings, but hurried him on 
 through the thicket. 
 
 Horace, who, notwithstanding his fetters, grasped 
 strongly the hope of future escape, was eagerly on 
 the watch for landmarks, and strained his eyes in 
 the darkness to find some. The rippling sound of 
 water, and the occasional glimpse which he caught 
 through the trees of what appeared to be a stream,
 
 64 ROUGH COMPANY. 
 
 seemed to supply something like a guide. His hope 
 strengthened as the noise increased so greatly, that 
 Horace felt certain that they were approaching a 
 cataract plunging down the side of the mountain ; 
 the roar of waters could not be mistaken, thousfh 
 nothing was visible to the eye. Before Enrico 
 reached what must be the head of the fall, he turned 
 sharply round to the left, and grasping his captive 
 by the wrist, made him follow in the same direction. 
 
 "Is there not a cataract yonder? " asked Horace; 
 it was the first time that he had addressed his jailer. 
 
 "Sheer two hundred feet over the rocks," was 
 the reply; "we call it ' Cascata della Morte (the 
 death fall),' for a miserable wretch was once whirled 
 over the edge." 
 
 " And perished ? " inquired Horace. 
 
 " As surely," answered Enrico, " as if he had flung 
 himself from the top of St. Peter's or down into the 
 crater of Vesuvius. The remains, when recovered 
 from the stream in the valley yonder, scarcely re. 
 tained semblance of the human form." 
 
 Horace hardly paid attention to the concluding 
 words, he was so carefully surveying the path before 
 him. He had left the thick wood behind him, and 
 had now to pass along a ledge of rock, which seemed 
 like a shelf jutting out of the mountain, and which 
 overhung a precipice of whose depth there was not
 
 ROUGH COMPANY, 65 
 
 sufficient light to enable him to judge. To Horace 
 a vast chasm of darkness appeared to spread to the 
 right. Here Enrico and his prisoner were challenged 
 by a robber who had been left as a sentinel to guard 
 this dangerous post. 
 
 " Chi va la ? " (Who goes there ?) cried the man. 
 Enrico gave the word "Morte," and passed on with 
 his captive. 
 
 " I think that I might possibly find my way back 
 from hence to the high road," thought Horace, " with 
 the sound of the water to guide me, were I only freed 
 from these sliackles. But if a sentinel be always 
 placed here on the watch, it would render escape 
 well-nigh impossible. One blow would send one 
 reeling over that rock into depths that it makes the 
 brain dizzy to think of ! " 
 
 Enrico now again struck into the forest, and here 
 the path became so very intricate that Horace soon 
 lost all idea even of the direction in which he was 
 going, all clue by which he might find his way back. 
 The path was so much tangled with tliicket, that 
 the progress of Enrico and his prisoner became ne- 
 cessarily very slow, and Horace soon became not 
 only exhausted, but despairing. It was some time 
 since a word had been exchanged, but as they toiled 
 on through the brushwood, Enrico said abruptly to 
 his companion, " You need not fear insult from me,
 
 56 ROUGH OOMPA.KY. 
 
 for I, like yourself, am a gentleman bom. My 
 father was of good family, he was an officer in the 
 royal army, and died in the service of the king." 
 
 "Then how can you — ." Horace stopped short, 
 being afraid of saying something that might offend. 
 
 " How can I consort with such ruffians ? you 
 would ask. No matter ; that is no business of yours. 
 Men may be bound by other kind of chain than 
 that which you drag so wearily along." 
 
 There was extreme bitterness in the young man's 
 tone, and though Horace could not see the face of 
 the speaker in the gloom, he imagined how the thin 
 lip was twitching and the restless eye wandering 
 around. Horace was anxious to ascertain to a cer- 
 tainty whether Raphael were the brother to whom 
 reference had been made, and who had been spoken 
 of as " the Rossignol," but he was afraid of drawing 
 the improvisatore into difficulty or danger by letting 
 it be known that he had ever seen him. As a lead- 
 ing question, Horace asked Enrico whether he knew 
 English, remembering that Raphael had uttered his 
 second warning in that language. 
 
 " No ; is it likely that I should ? " answered the 
 robber. 
 
 Foiled in his first attempt to gain information, 
 Horace made another. " ^\Tiy did that fellow call 
 your brother a lunatic ? " said be.
 
 Enrico and his prisoner are challenged by the robber 
 
 sentinel. 
 
 Pagess
 
 KOXJGH C0MP1_XY. 87 
 
 " Because he is one ! " replied Enrico impatiently ; 
 " none but a madman would be always putting his 
 head into the lion's mouth, certain that it must be 
 bitten off at last ! " 
 
 " Does he belong to the band ? " asked 
 Horace. 
 
 " Yes — no — what is it to you ? " cried Enrico. 
 
 This rebuff put an end to the conversation, though 
 it increased the desire of Horace to know more of 
 the mysterious Raphael ; for he was now certain 
 that the stranger at the door of the inn was the 
 brother of the bandit Enrico. 
 
 At length the long tangled forest was passed, and 
 the way opened on a rocky space, where, by the 
 faint star-light, no longer hidden by fob' age, Horace 
 saw a bold, partiaUy-wooded cliff rising before them, 
 a gigantic mass of gloomy shade. Horace had little 
 opportunity, however, of remarking anything but 
 the difficulty of the ascent, as progression here took 
 the character of climbing, which the fetters on his 
 limbs made a terrible effort. 
 
 "It is impossible for me to get up, chained as I 
 am ! " exclaimed Horace, after having rubbed the 
 skin from one of his ankles, in a vain attempt to 
 raise himself to a platform of rock. 
 
 " Impossible ! " echoed Enrico, with a short mock- 
 ing laugh ; " it must be done, and the sooner the
 
 58 ROUGH COMPANT. 
 
 better, or Matteo will be here to quicken youi 
 movements with the point of his stiletto." 
 
 Once and again Horace tried to get up, the mois- 
 ture dewing his lip and brow, both from the pain 
 and the exertion ; but though he had been the most 
 active boy at Eton, cumbered as he was now with 
 his shackles he could not succeed. Then Enrico, 
 growing impatient, lent a strong hand to help him. 
 Even with this assistance it was with the utmost 
 difficulty that the suffering youth reached the plat- 
 form. He stopped for some moments to recover his 
 breath, and to wipe his heated temples. 
 
 " Could you find your way back ? " said Eni'ico. 
 
 " The wood seems to me to be a perfect labyrinth." 
 
 " Then there is no chance of your attempting an 
 escape ? " 
 
 " I fear that I have more will than power to 
 escape," replied the young captive with a sigh. 
 
 " Do you know what would foUow your making 
 any such attempt ? " 
 
 " Perhaps — " began Horace. 
 
 " Most assuredly," interrupted Enrico, " I should 
 send a bullet through your head." 
 
 " This gentleman, as he calls himself, is not much 
 better than the rest," was the silent reflection of 
 Horace, 
 
 A few more steps, and the two had reached the
 
 ROUGH COMPANY. 59 
 
 mouth of a cave which yawned in the mountain, its 
 mouth half hidden by a thick growth of cactus, which 
 abounded as a weed in this place. Horace was glad 
 to have arrived at his destination, whatever it might 
 be, for he felt that he could not for many minutes 
 more have endured the exhausting effoi't of dragging 
 his fettered feet over the rocka.
 
 CHAPTEIl VI. 
 
 THE robbers' cave. 
 
 •^Oh, fools," said I, " thus to prefer dark night 
 Before triK! light ; 
 To Uve in grots and caves, and liate the day 
 Because it shows the way. 
 The way which from this dark and drear abode 
 Leads up to God ! " 
 
 Vacohan. 
 
 fRICO, followed by his prisoner, groped his 
 way through the cave, and then along a 
 passage in the rock too low to admit of 
 their standing upright. The dampness of 
 the air, the darkness of the place, made the 
 unhappy Horace feel as though he were entering a 
 tomb. They soon, however, emerged into a very 
 spacious cavern of irregular shape, at one side of 
 which was some light. This light, as Horace soon 
 perceived, came from two wax tapers, burning in 
 front of an image of the Virgin : the feeble gleam 
 served only to make "darkness visible," not reaching 
 at all to the roof of the cave, and showing but little 
 even of its brown rugged wall The place was
 
 THE ROBBERS' OATR. 61 
 
 tenanted by bats, which wheeled around in circling 
 flights, seeming to Horace's fevered imagination like 
 spirits of evil haunting the robbers' cave. The 
 youth watched with curiosity to see whether Enrico 
 would cross himself or bow on passing the image, 
 and as he did neither, the prisoner ventured upon a 
 remark. 
 
 " I should hardly have expected to see that here" 
 he said, pointing to the shrine. 
 
 " Why so ? " asked his companion. 
 
 " Because," answered Horace, trying to put his 
 reply in the least offensive form, " I should not have 
 thought Matteo a man to care for religion." 
 
 "That shows how little you know about him," 
 said Enrico. " Some of your mother's good ducats 
 will go to a fat friar for masses, that the rest may 
 be enjoyed with an easy conscience ; and though 
 Matteo has not scrupled to rob a ti-aveller on this 
 Friday, nothing would persuade him to touch a 
 morsel of meat." 
 
 "Is it possible," exclaimed Horace, "that a man 
 can so deceive his own soul ? " 
 
 " None of that talk here," cried Emico, with a 
 gesture of irritation ; " we have more of it than we 
 like, and will never stand it from you ! " 
 
 " From whom can they hear it ? " thought the 
 astonished Horace. " One would as little expect to
 
 fi2 THE ROBBERS CAVE. 
 
 hear tnith as to find honesty in a den like 
 this ! " 
 
 Enrico now lighted a torch which was fastened in 
 the rock a few feet above a long low table, which 
 Horace now for the first time perceived, and which, 
 with the rude benches on each side of it, seemed to 
 form all the furniture of the place. On it were 
 ranged sundry flagons, bottles of wine, and other 
 preparations for a meal. 
 
 " I suppose that while you are our prisoner you will 
 partake of our fare," said Enrico. " Will you join 
 our jovial party at supper to-night, or shall I at once 
 introduce you to the luxuries of our private apartment 
 — the elegant chamber which you are to share with 
 me and my brother ? " Enrico's tone was satirical, 
 and there was indescribable bitterness in his smile. 
 
 " If you could possibly keep me apart from the 
 band to-night, I should be thankful," said Horace : 
 " I am parched with thirst, but I have not the 
 slisrhtest inclination to eat food." 
 
 Enrico went up to the table, and filled a large 
 tankard with TVater, which Horace eagerly drained. 
 He then bade the prisoner follow him, and a little 
 more — to Horace — painful clambering up rude stony 
 steps brought them to a recess in the side of the cave, 
 about ten feet above the floor, and overlooking the 
 table.
 
 THB bobbers' cave. 63 
 
 It was 80 utterly dark, that it was by feeling and 
 not sight that young Cleveland became aware that 
 there was a heap of dry leaves upon the rocky floor. 
 
 "As the Rossignol has not returned," said Enrico, 
 " you may take possession of his bed. I warrant it 
 that you have been accustomed to a more soft and 
 dainty couch ! I must go below to prepare for the 
 banquet," 
 
 So saying, Enrico groped his way back to the 
 floor of the cavern ; while Horace, dizzy and bewil- 
 dered by the strange events of the night, gave a 
 deep sigh of relief at finding himself in comparative 
 solitude. He threw himself down on the heap of 
 leaves, resting his burning forehead on his arm, and 
 tried to collect his scattered thoughts and realize 
 his position. 
 
 " What a strange, wild place this is ! shall I ever 
 leave it alive ? — shall I ever again look upon the 
 sunshine, or feel the pure breath of heaven ? What 
 horrors these walls may have witnessed ; could they 
 speak, what fearful tales of crime might they disclose; 
 and it is more than probable that, ere a week shall 
 have passed, another may be added to the list," 
 Horace changed his position in feverish restlessness, 
 and a sharp thrill of pain reminded him of the fetters 
 on his limbs, "There would be none to lift a hand, 
 or to speak a word in my defence ; no, nor to fee]
 
 64 THE ROBBER3' CaVX. 
 
 pity for my youth, whatever I might have to endure ! 
 Even tliis Enrico, who seems somewhat less brutal 
 than the rest, would shoot me dead on the spot 
 rather than suffer his captive to escape. Oh, my 
 mother, my poor fond mother, how little you ever 
 expected your son to be in such a situation as this ! " 
 Then Horace recalled how, ever since he could re- 
 member, his parent had been wont to come and sit 
 at night by his bed-side, stroke back his curly hair, 
 and talk to him of holy things, and tell him how 
 much she loved him. These nightly visits, once a 
 pleasure to both, had within the last year become a 
 cause of painful feeling between Horace and his 
 mother. The youth had grown jealous of being 
 treated like a child ; it had annoyed him to be dis- 
 turbed from his desk or some interesting book by 
 the entrance of his mother at her regular hour ; — to 
 be chidden for sitting up late, or warned of the 
 danger of fire. Horace had become so impatient of 
 the interruption, the reproof and the warning, that 
 he had at last actually locked his door, and answered 
 his mother's " good-night," without turning the key 
 to admit her. Mrs. Cleveland had been deeply 
 wounded, Horace hardly guessed how deeply, but it 
 was agony now upon this his first night of captivity 
 to recall the sound of her step in the passage, the 
 tone of her plaintive "good-night," and to think that
 
 THE bobbers' cavb. 66 
 
 that step — that voice might be heard by his ear no 
 more. Oh, why had he not loved her better? — 
 why, why had he not always welcomed the presence 
 of one so dear ? 
 
 With this train of thought came linked another ; 
 it was not only in filial piety that Horace Cleveland 
 had failed ; his neglect had not been only towards his 
 mother. Carefully brought up as he had been, the 
 youth had, with tolerable regularity, observed the 
 outward forms of religion, and conscience had been 
 easily satisfied that all was right with his soul. 
 Horace had mistaken reverence for devotion, and be- 
 lief in God's truth for faith. But such a shadow of 
 religion could not support him under the pressure of 
 real trials, or make tolerable the prospect of death ; 
 it had no strength or solidity in it. Horace could 
 not realize the presence of a heavenly Father in the 
 dark gloomy cave, nor was the psalmist's assurance 
 his, — The Lord is my light and my salvation, whom 
 shall I fear ; the Lord is the strength of my life, of 
 whom shall I he afraid ? In courage and spirit the 
 young Etonian was by no means deficient — but 
 human courage and spirit will bend imder the pres- 
 sure of protracted trial ; that terrible walk in 
 shackles had for the time exhausted the energies of 
 Horace, and in that gloomy abode of evil he felt 
 
 desolate and wretched indeed, 
 ites. 5
 
 66 TUB robbers' CAV15. 
 
 Even the comfort of silence was soon taken from the 
 prisoner. Before many minutes had elapsed, a wild 
 uproar of voices announced the approach of the band. 
 One by one the robbers emerged from the low passage 
 which united the outer and inner caves, some bear- 
 ing spoil, and some bearing torches, which threw a 
 wild red glare on their dark faces and picturesque 
 dress. Horace counted eight bandits, including 
 Enrico. The men sat noisily down at the table, 
 Matteo and some others had their seats near the 
 wall, and were so immediately under Horace that 
 he could not see them, without stretching his head 
 so far forward that he would have been himself ex- 
 posed to the observation of the robbers, which he 
 anxiously desired to avoid ; but whUe remaining 
 under cover of the darkness of his recess, Horace 
 had a full view of Enrico and three of his com- 
 panions, who sat opposite to their chief 
 
 I shall not enter into details of what — with dis- 
 gust and horror — the young Englishman saw and 
 heard on that night ; the oaths, the tales, the songs 
 of the coarsest description, the sounds of wild revel, 
 the bursts of laughter strangely echoing through the 
 recesses of the vaulted cave, till it seemed as though 
 fiends unseen shouted and laughed again. Enrico, 
 laying aside his former manner, appeared to be the 
 gayest of the gay, plunging into the torrent of un-
 
 THE ROBBBRS CAVE. 67 
 
 holy mirth as though he sought to drown all memory 
 and all remorse. Horace tried to shut out from 
 his own ears the sounds of profane merriment, but 
 he tried in vain. It seemed to his loathing mind 
 that if one black spot were to be found on earth, 
 where evil, unmixed evil, reigned triumphant, where 
 faith was quite shut out, where heavenly hope could 
 not come — that spot was the robbers' cave in the 
 depth of the Calabrian mountain !
 
 CHAPTER VII. 
 
 MUSIC AND MADNESS. 
 
 " For years upon thee there has poured 
 The summer's noonday heat 
 And through the long dark starless night 
 
 The winter storms have beat ; 
 But yet thy duty has been done 
 
 By day and night the same, 
 Still hast thou met and faced the 8torm, 
 Whichever way it came ! " 
 
 Orksnk. 
 
 *A ! the Rossiguol come at last," shouted 
 Beppo, as a low clear whistle was heard 
 in the dark passage. 
 
 Horace looked down eagerly, and saw 
 the sKght form of Raphael, as he came 
 forth fi'om the gloom, bearing his iustrument of 
 music. 
 
 The young Calabrian looked exceedingly weary. 
 He made a slight inchDation of the head on entering 
 towards the place where Horace knew that the chief 
 was ; he then laid his guitar against the rocky wall, 
 and sat down on a vacant seat beside his brother 
 Enrico.
 
 irUBIO AND MADNESS. 69 
 
 " What news of Otto ? " cried Matteo, whose voice 
 was easily recognized amongst the rest by its peculiar 
 harshness. 
 
 " I could gain no tidings beyond those which have 
 already reached you," replied Raphael, in low rich 
 tones, which formed as strong a contrast to the dis- 
 cordant sounds which had lately prevailed, as his 
 appearance did to that of his companions. " He 
 was, as you know, conveyed by a strong military 
 escort towards Staiti ; thence to be taken to Reggio. 
 He had not been able to communicate with any one 
 at the inn, access to him being strictly forbidden by 
 the officer in charge," 
 
 Something that sounded Hke a curse burst from 
 the lips of Matteo. 
 
 " And what are your news ? " inquired Raphael, 
 with what seemed to Horace a somewhat anxious 
 air. 
 
 One of the robbers replied with a laugh, — " Some 
 good business done to-day ! English travellers are 
 always worth the plucking ! It will take you some 
 time with your curing and your carolling to bring 
 in the value of a plaything like this ;" and he held 
 up the glittering gold chain which had been torn 
 from the neck of Mrs. Cleveland. 
 
 " Any blood shed ? " inquired Raphael quicldy, 
 resting his clenched hand on the table, and sternly
 
 70 MUSIO AND MADNKHd. 
 
 regarding the last speaker. Wlien a short account 
 of what had occurred had been given to him, the im- 
 provisatore looked relieved, and Horace instinctively 
 felt that he had a friend in the man whom he had 
 called to his face a low musician, a jaU-bird, a com- 
 panion of thieves. 
 
 Raphael bent towards his brother and whispered 
 some question, to which Enrico replied by glancing 
 up towards the recess occupied by the captive ; then 
 heaping food upon a trencher which was before the 
 Rossignol, he bade him eat and drink, and refresh 
 himself after his long walk. 
 
 Raphael shook his head, and pushed the trencher 
 away. 
 
 " If you will not eat, you shall sing," cried Matteo. 
 " Beppo here has a voice which he might have bor- 
 rowed from a raven, and Marco's is like a muffled 
 drum — we've not had a singer worth listening to, 
 since Carlo was shot in the wood ! " 
 
 Raphael did not appear much more disposed to 
 sing than to eat, but Matteo spoke like one whose 
 will was a law which few would have dared to 
 oppose ; and the musician, albeit reluctantly, laid his 
 hand on the guitar. 
 
 " Give us the jovial old Spanish drinking song, 
 with the bolero — give it out bold and free ! " ex- 
 claimed Beppo.
 
 MUSIC AND MADNESS. 71 
 
 " I shall choose my own song," replied Raphael 
 coldly, "and sing it in what manner I list." 
 
 " A madman's theme must be madness," cried the 
 ill-favoured robber. 
 
 "Beit so," answered the Rossignol ; "although 
 I accept not your name — I take the word as my 
 subject. Madness shall be my theme." 
 
 He stiTick a few chords with a light bold hand — 
 and the silvery sound in that fearful place seemed 
 like the tones of an angel's harp. In an instant all 
 other noise was so completely hushed, that Horace 
 could hear distinctly the slow drip of water distill- 
 ing from the roof of the cave. The attention of the 
 robbers deepened as, after a short prelude, the Ros- 
 signol began to sing : his exquisite voice poured forth 
 in a wild and original air, sometimes rapid and al- 
 most gay, but at the close of every verse ending 
 in a minor key, and in tones of such deep pathos 
 that they sounded like a dirge from the dead, 
 or a wail for the lost. Horace had often listened 
 to music, but he had never before heard such 
 music as this. In others he had felt sweet song 
 a charm, but in Raphael it was a power. It 
 was a spell which kept chained in almost breath- 
 less silence the reckless beings whose fierce pas- 
 sions brooked no restraint either of law or con- 
 science.
 
 72 MUSIC AND MADN1B8S. 
 
 MADNESS. 
 
 A wanderer stood by a rapid stream, 
 
 When a scroll unto him was brought ; 
 *Twas a father's message of love, addrest 
 To one whose childhood his care had blest, 
 'Twas an offer of pardon, peace and rest ; — 
 
 But the prodigal whom he sought. 
 Only flung the scroll from the river's brink, 
 And watched it slowly and slowly sink. 
 Oh ! madman, to break love's golden link I 
 
 On a hill stood a poor wayfaring man. 
 
 When a parchment to him was given 
 By which he was proved the rightful heir 
 To all the broad region before him there, 
 The wooded valleys, and meadows fair, 
 
 Bounded but by the arch of heaven. 
 But with reckless hand he the parchment tore, 
 And the breezes afar the fragments bore. 
 Oh I madman, that wealth can be thine no morel 
 
 A doomed man crouched o'er his prison fire, 
 
 His heart for his fate he steeled ; 
 Already he heard the castle bell 
 Boom drearily forth his dying knell. 
 When his eye on a royal writing fell ; 
 
 'Twas his pardon, signed and sealed 1 
 But he flung the pardon into the flame. 
 And so went forth to a death of shame. 
 Oh I madman, well hast thou earned the name 1 
 
 " Almost as well," exclaimed Beppo, " as the 
 rhymer who could make such a song ! Sing to us 
 of men of flesh and blood, for the world holds no 
 BUch fools as those in your ballad — they be more
 
 MUSIO AND MADNBSa, 73 
 
 unnatural than the ghosts and goblins of nursery 
 rhymea" 
 
 " For the matter of that," observed Marco, another 
 of the robbers, " there's many a prodigal I wot o^ 
 has thrown his father's letter away." 
 
 "But to tear a deed of inheritance — throw a par- 
 don into the fire — nothing so wild, so improbable 
 was ever yet said or sung. Such mad freaks as 
 those are not played by men even in their 
 dreams." 
 
 " Are you sure of that ? " asked the Rossignol, 
 while his fingers, as if unconsciously, wandered over 
 the strings of his guitar. 
 
 " Is the song ended ? " said Matteo. 
 
 "Not ended — but you may have heard enough," 
 was the answer of the improvisatore. 
 
 " Let's hear it out," cried the chief " Let's hear 
 it out," echoed the bandits. 
 
 Again rose the rich full tones, but with deeper 
 emphasis, more thrilling expression. 
 
 Such madmen amongst us live and dwell 
 
 Such madmen amongst us die ; 
 A father's message is heard— forgot ; 
 A treasure offered — accepted not ; 
 Men wildly prefer the demon's lot, 
 
 To freedom and life on high ! 
 A king's free pardon — a parent's stay, 
 Infinite wealth may be theirs to-day. 
 Oh! madmen, to cast them all away!
 
 74 MUSIC AND MADNESS. 
 
 The song ceased ; there was an instant of deep 
 stillness, and then Beppo flung a tankard at the 
 head of the speaker, as his comment on moral so un- 
 welcome. By a quick movement Raphael avoided 
 the blow ; Enrico glanced fiercely at Beppo ; the 
 Rossignol laid his hand on his brother's arm, as if to 
 restrain him from expression of anger, and without 
 taking any other notice of the insult, arose from his 
 seat. 
 
 The countenances of the banditti, as Horace looked 
 down upon them, would have been a study for a 
 painter. The music had a very different effect upon 
 its various hearers. Beppo's face was flushed with 
 passion, while over that of Marco, a powerful man 
 who sat next to him, gatliered a gloomy scowl. A 
 third wore a mocking sneer, a glance that seemed to 
 say that while he admired the music, he cared 
 nothing for the moral of the song. Enrico's expres- 
 sion, after the glance of indignation had passed away, 
 was that of silent misery which he made a vain 
 efibrt to conceal. The bow might have been drawn 
 at a venture, but in one heart the barbed arrow was 
 rankling. And there stood the Rossignol, calm and 
 intrepid, as one not unconscious of danger, but 
 raised above its fear. Horace looked with wonder- 
 ing curiosity at the man who could dare to sing such 
 a lay in such a place, and marvelled what mysterious
 
 MU3I0 AND MADNESS. 76 
 
 link could bind his fate with that of ruffians with 
 whom it appeared that he could have no feeling in 
 common. Even as regarded Enrico, when Horace 
 now looked upon the two brothers, and contrasted 
 them with each other, he could hardly conceive how 
 he had ever traced a resemblance between them. 
 
 The noise of the falling tankard clattering on the 
 rocky floor, was succeeded by that of the fist of 
 Matteo coming heavily down upon the table, as 
 if in anger ; when the chief spoke, however, he 
 made no allusion to the song ; that it had offended 
 him could only be gathered from the increased 
 savageness of his tone. 
 
 " It is time to disperse. Mountain-wolves, away 
 to your dens!" 
 
 The command was instantly obeyed. For a few 
 moments noise and uproar prevailed, and as the wild 
 band scattered in various directions, torches flashed 
 hither and thither in the hot murky air. Horace 
 watched the retreating form of Beppo, as the light 
 which he carried showed a deeper recess of the cave 
 than he had been able to see before, with glistening 
 stalactites hanging from the roof; and when he 
 turned to look for the Rossignol, found that he had 
 disappeared from his view. Remembering that 
 Raphael was to share his own rocky chamber, Horace 
 awaited hi.s coming with interest and impatience.
 
 78 MUSIC A.ND MJLDNKSa. 
 
 There was a step on the rough stair (if such that 
 might be called, that seemed framed by nature and 
 not by man), which led to the upper recess, and some 
 one entered, but in the darkness Horace knew not 
 whethei it were Raphael or Enrico. The comer threw 
 himself down on a heap of leaves not far from Hor- 
 ace, and either imagining the captive to be asleep, 
 or (as was more probable) forgetting his presence 
 altogether, gave a heavy groan as if in pain. That 
 sound assuredly did not come from the Rossignol's 
 lips. Horace lay for some time perfectly still, lis- 
 tening to the drip drip of water, and the deep sighs 
 of his unseen companion, and awaiting the coming 
 of Raphael, till, weary as he was, sleep overcame the 
 young captive. 
 
 The sleep was restless and troubled. Horace 
 dreamed that he was still looking down from his 
 recess in the cave, still listening to the noise of 
 water. But instead of a dripping sound, it was as the 
 roar of the Cascata della Morte; and instead of rob- 
 bers the cavern below him was filled with savage 
 Uons, that ramped and leaped and struggled together. 
 The dreamer knew that unless he denied his faith, 
 he was to be cast down from his height, a prey to 
 the jaws of the expectant wild beasts. Horace's 
 heart beat fast in his sleep — he felt the horrors of 
 nightmare upon him, a.s Matteo, more gigantic, more
 
 MUSIC AND MADNESS. 77 
 
 terrible than in reality, laid his heavy hand upon 
 his victim to hurl him down below. \Miile Horace 
 struggled and hesitated in his dream, he thought 
 that another prisoner was led forward to incur the 
 renegade's guilt, or to endure the martyr's doom. 
 Horace saw Raphael, fairer and of loftier stature 
 than his waking eyes had beheld him, but with the 
 same calm, intrepid look on his noble features. 
 There was not a word spoken, but the glance of the 
 victim's upward eye showed that in him, at least, 
 there was no hesitation in the choice between apos- 
 tasy or death. So might Shadrach of old have stood, 
 calm, pale, resolved, while the red furnace glowed in 
 fiery heat before him. The lions bounded and roared, 
 shook their tawny manes, showed their white gleam- 
 ing fangs — and Horace uttered an exclamation of 
 horror as he beheld Raphael hurled down to glut 
 their ravenous rage. But instead of falling, the 
 victim rose in air ; suddenly spreading white pin- 
 ions like an angel, he mounted on high, above the 
 lions — above his foes — above the ken of the gazing 
 Horace, leaving a track of light behind hiia, and 
 like music the words, "Follow me," came floating 
 down, as if from the clouds. 
 
 Horace started, and awoke from his dream.
 
 CHAPTER VIIL 
 
 A DASH FOB FREEDOM. 
 
 "Say, watchnttMi, what of the night! 
 Do the dews of the morning fall t 
 Have the orient skies a border of light, 
 
 Like the fringe of a funeral pall ? — 
 The night is fast waning on high. 
 
 And soon shall the darkness flee, 
 And the morn shall spread o'er the blushing sky, 
 And bright shall its glories be ! " 
 
 Akon. 
 
 [HE summer movning bad dawned, and though 
 no direct ray could ever enter the inner 
 cave, Horace could see the reflection of 
 pure rosy light tinging the rugged stone, 
 hundreds of feet above him, through a cleft in the 
 rocky roof, which appeared as if it had been rent 
 asunder by the shock of an earthquake. Most re- 
 freshing to the captive's eye was even that reflected 
 gleam, which showed that the sun was shining upon 
 earth, though not upon him ; and he longed for the 
 wings of which he had just been dreaming, to fly 
 upwards through that lofty cleft to the glorious day- 
 light beyond.
 
 A DASH FOK FREEDOM. 79 
 
 Horace half raised himself on his elbow and looked 
 around him. Not two yards from the spot on which 
 he rested he saw the kneeling form of Raphael, who 
 was evidently engaged in prayer. The sight of him 
 was to Horace like the sight of the sun-lit rocks ; — 
 something to witness to the existence of Heaven's 
 light even in this abode of darkness. On the other 
 side lay Enrico asleep, and the quiet which prevailed 
 through the cave showed that the day was but little 
 advanced. 
 
 After a brief space of time Raphael arose from 
 his knees, and turning towards Horace, perceived 
 by the dim light that the captive was awake. 
 
 " How have you slept ? " he asked in Italian, ad- 
 dressing Horace in the third person singular, which, 
 in that language, is a token of respect. 
 
 Even this trifling mark of courtesy was grateful 
 to the unfortunate youth. 
 
 " I slept but ill," replied Horace ; " how could I 
 look for pleasant slumbers here ? " 
 
 " The bed is but a hard one," said the Rossignol, 
 "to one who has been accustomed to a softer piUow, 
 though custom has made its roughness no hardship 
 to us. Yonder, where the water drips, Nature has 
 formed a simple basin, where you may find refresh- 
 ment in bathing your weary Kmbs." 
 
 Horace attempted to rise, but the clambering of
 
 80 A DASH FOR FEEEDOM. 
 
 previous night had made his fetters gall him so 
 severely, that every movement was pain. 
 
 Raphael saw his distress. "I know too well 
 what it is to wear such anklets," said he. 
 
 "Can you not free me from them ? " exclaimed 
 Horace. 
 
 The Rossignol shook his head. "I cannot free 
 you from them," he said, " but I can render their 
 effects less painful ; " and he drew from a little 
 hole in the side of the rock some lint and ointment, 
 which, kneeling down, he at once began to apply to 
 the captive's swollen ankles. The touch of his hand 
 was gentle as a woman's, and Horace felt grateful 
 for the relief imparted. 
 
 " I regret that I spoke o£ you as I did yesterday," 
 said the youth, remembering his insulting manner 
 and words at the door of the inn. 
 
 " It is not at once that we know either our friends 
 or our foes," replied Raphael. 
 
 " But you will be my friend — I know it — I can 
 trust you ! " exclaimed Horace, an eager hope arising 
 in his heart ; and, speaking in English, in a low rapid 
 tone, he offered the Italian a large reward — a thousand 
 ducats — two — three — if he would aid him in effecting 
 his escape, and so restore him to freedom and safety. 
 
 Raphael knitted his brows, and shook hLs head 
 sadly in reply.
 
 A DASH 70E FBEEDOM. 81 
 
 " It would be a noble deed — it would be to rescue 
 a fellow-creature £i*ora danger — " 
 
 "And to deliver my only brother to death," in- 
 teiTupted Raphael, pointing to the sleeper at his 
 side. 
 
 " Matteo would never — " 
 
 " Matteo ha.s vowed that Enrico shall answer for 
 your safe keeping with his life ; Matteo never breaks 
 such a vow," said Raphael, speaking in imperfect 
 English. 
 
 "But ho cannot be such a ruflBan as to murder 
 his own follower," pursued Horace who was un- 
 willing to let go his only hope of escape. 
 
 " He would do it — nor would it be for the first 
 time," said Raphael, his face darkening with some 
 recollection of horror ; "it was not by the hand of 
 soldier or executioner that Carlo perished in the 
 wood ! " 
 
 Horace felt the blood run cold in his veins, yet 
 his intense desire for freedom made him once more 
 return to the subject. "If Matteo be so merciless," 
 he said, "how dared you provoke his anger last 
 night ? " 
 
 " I had my message to give, and I gave it," re- 
 plied the improvisatore ; "he who builds on the 
 brink of a volcano does so with the knowledge that 
 the lava may one day overflow. Yet do I stand on
 
 8S A DASH FOE FREKUOM. 
 
 vantage ground, and Matteo would bear from me 
 what he would bear from no one beside." 
 " Why so ? " inquired young Cleveland. 
 "He has an old wound in his thigh, which, hav- 
 ing been imperfectly healed, has broken out afresh. 
 Having gained, when I was very young, some slight 
 knowledge of surgery from my gi-andfather, I am 
 able to afford him such aid as the chief would be 
 loath to lose. Besides," continued Raphael, " Matteo 
 has a passionate love for melody, the one softening 
 quality yet left him ; and words are endured when 
 clothed in music which, without it, would be 
 perilous in the utterance. I must now depart; 
 the band usually pursue their work at dusk, but 
 mine requires the daylight." Raphael now spoke 
 in his native tongue, being so little conversant 
 with English that he was obliged, when using that 
 language to interpolate many words from his own. 
 
 "Do not leave me!" exclaimed Horace, who 
 already looked upon the Rossignol as his only earthly 
 protector. 
 
 " There is a villager sick, perhaps dying, whom I 
 must see, and others who must not vainly expect 
 me. I will, please Heaven, return before dark; and 
 will, ere I go, bring you food to supply the wants 
 of the day." 
 
 So saying, Raphael with a light step descended
 
 A DASH FOR FREEDOM. 83 
 
 the rude steps which led to the body of the cave, 
 and soon returned with a plentiful supply of better 
 fare than Horace would have expected to find in such 
 a place. His appetite was now keen, as he had eaten 
 nothing since he had left the inn on the mountain, 
 
 " How shall I ever repay you for your kindness 
 to a prisoner ? " he said to Raphael. 
 
 "I shall ask a favour of you this evening," re- 
 plied the Rossignol, which, if granted, will richly 
 repay any slight services which I can render. I 
 must go now — the day advances — but I leave you 
 with little anxiety ; while Otto lives, your life is 
 perfectly safe from any deed of violence. Annoy- 
 ance or insult you may have to endure, but a brave 
 youth, as I doubt not that you are, can endure 
 hardness like a good soldier of the cross," 
 
 The last words, and the glance which accompanied 
 them, acted on the spirit of Horace like the sound 
 of a trumpet. Refreshed by his morning ablutions 
 and the food of which he had partaken, not only the 
 youth's bodily frame felt invigorated, but his mind 
 rebounded from its late depression with all the 
 elasticity of hope. There were a thousand chances, 
 Horace thought, in his favour. His mother might 
 — would succeed in her efforts to efiect his exchange 
 with the bandit's son, or the government would be 
 roused to send an overwhelming force to crush the
 
 84 A DASH FOR FREEDOM. 
 
 robbers. Even failiug this, Matteo himself might 
 be bribed to release his captive, or Raphael, moved 
 by generous compassion, aid him to effect his escape. 
 But why should he wait for Raphael ? — the thought 
 darted into the mind of Horace as he concluded his 
 substantial meal. Was he not himself an English 
 boy, an Etonian, renowned through the school for 
 agihty and spirit ? could he not, without any assist- 
 ance, recover the freedom which he had lost? Young 
 Cleveland glanced eagerly around — below — his heart 
 throbbing high at the idea of such a feat as would 
 establish his reputation as a hero for the rest of his 
 days. The cavern was still perfectly quiet — the very 
 bats had retired to rest — there was nothing but the 
 sleeping figure of Enrico to betoken that the place 
 was inhabited by any living creature but himself. 
 The entrance was not bolted nor ban-ed ; when 
 Raphael had departed through the aperture, which 
 was only distinguishable from the walls of the cave 
 by its more intense blackness, no sentinel had chal- 
 lenged him for a password. Horace recollected, in- 
 deed, with uneasiness, that a robber had kept guard 
 on the ledge of rock ; but he hoped that at an hour 
 so early as the present, no such precaution might be 
 deemed needful. There must be danger, indeed, in 
 an attempt to escape, but what Englishman would 
 shrink from danger ? nay, had not the peril in itself
 
 A DASH FOK FREEDOM. 85 
 
 a certain undefinable charm ? Horace had often 
 longed for an adventure — here was one which had 
 in it enough of romance to satisfy the most chival- 
 rous spirit. 
 
 The only thing which presented any real difficulty 
 to the boy's sanguine mind, was the bondage of his 
 fettei-s ; they not only cruelly impeded his move- 
 ments, but made such a clanking as he walked, that 
 it was certain to rouse the robbers. If Horace were 
 once beyond the cave, the noise would signify less, 
 but in that vaulted, echoing chamber, every sound 
 was trebled. As his only resource, the youth half 
 reclined on the rock, and holding up the chain with 
 one hand, so that the iron should not touch the stone, 
 with the other he helped to propel himself along in 
 a slow and most uncomfortable manner. Tedious 
 and awkward as was this method of progression, it 
 had at least the merit of being noiseless, and every 
 yard crept over seemed to Horace to be a gigantic 
 stride towards freedom. But oh, how distant seemed 
 that yawning chasm through which the fugitive 
 must make his way ! how often he stopped in breath- 
 less anxiety to listen for sounds of pursuit ! 
 
 At length the nearer end of the rocky passage 
 was gained, and still perfect quiet reigned around ; 
 after their midnight revel the bandits' slumbers were 
 heavy and long. Horace had not crept far through
 
 86 A DASH FOR FREEDOAL 
 
 the passage when the increasing light and the 
 freshening air told of his approach to the outer 
 world. He was so eager and impatient to reach it, 
 that the crouching position and slow progress to 
 which he was confined became almost intolerably 
 irksome. Horace had a vivid recollection of Enrico's 
 threat ; and the idea of being struck down like a 
 rat in its hole, or shot in the back without the pos- 
 sibility of flight or resistance, increased the intensity 
 of his desire to get beyond the perilous passage. 
 
 Horace reached the outer cave, wliich was light 
 in comparison to that which he had quitted, though 
 the entrance was much overgrown with plants. It 
 opened upon the radiant east, and vivid though 
 broken rays of sunshine were streaking with bright 
 lines the rugged pavement and walls. "0 blessed 
 sunlight ! " exclaimed the prisoner with transport, 
 as, pushing the mantling foliage aside, he made his 
 way into the open air, and sprang to his feet, feel- 
 ing in the action as though he already were almost 
 free ! 
 
 Bright was the morning, splendid the view which 
 the rocky platform without the cave commanded ! 
 An ocean of waving forest spread downwards — 
 almond, olive, and palm, with a thick growth of 
 underwood between, a wilderness of foliage, a laby- 
 rinth of wood, clothing the mountain-side, more than
 
 A DASH FOR FREEDOM. 87 
 
 half-way up which the robbers' den was situated, 
 Horace had, however, no time now to indulge in 
 admiration, or even to enjoy the sensation caused 
 by the delicious air, and the knowledge that one 
 great difficulty had been surmounted ; he began at 
 once to search anxiously for a downward path. The 
 platform in front of the cave could only be quitted 
 by descending such a rough precipitous wall of rock, 
 that a false step must have been fraught with danger. 
 Horace, twelve hours before, might have gone 
 down rapidly enough, but what was practicable to 
 unfettered limbs was utterly impracticable to him 
 now. 
 
 " I should but break a limb by attempting to get 
 down ! " exclaimed the almost despairing youth, after 
 surveying again and again the rugged steep. "I 
 cannot conceive how I ever mounted these rocks. 
 Enrico dragged me up by sheer strength, or even 
 his benevolent hint as to the quickening power of 
 Matteo's stiletto would never have enabled me to 
 climb. And even were I unshackled, and able to 
 spring from rock to rock, by what clue could I find 
 my way tlirough that dense woodland before me ? 
 It shuts me in as efiectually as bars and bolts could 
 do. Oh, misery, to be thus mocked with the hope 
 of freedom, only to find that, after all my exertions, 
 it is impossible to escape ! "
 
 88 A DASH FOR FREEDOM. 
 
 Horace was startled by a rough grasp on 
 his shoulder. Turning sharply round he beheld 
 Enrico. 
 
 "So you thought to give us the slip ! " exclaimed 
 the bandit, significantly pointing to a pistol which 
 he carried in his belt "Think you that if there 
 had been a chance of our bird's escaping, we should 
 not have clipped his wings more closely ? " 
 
 "0 Enrico!" exclaimed Horace with passionate 
 earnestness, "you can help me — you can set me 
 free. A file would be worth its weight in gold ! 
 Strike oQ" my fetters — guide me through the wood, 
 and the richest reward — " 
 
 " Name it again and I'll strike you dead ! " cried 
 Enrico, his sallow countenance assuming almost a 
 livid hue. 
 
 " You are miserable here — your life is — " 
 
 Enrico gnashed his teeth with passion. " What- 
 ever my life here may be," he exclaimed, "I am 
 not going to fling it away in a mad attempt to 
 rescue a stranger. Miserable I may be, but not in- 
 sane enough to draw down upon my head the venge- 
 ance of a man who never forgives, and who, when 
 he singles out a foe, never fails to make him a 
 victim. Have I not seen Carlo lying in his blood ? 
 There is not one man in the band who would aid 
 you to bafile Matteo, though you should promise
 
 A DASH FOR FREEDOM. 89 
 
 him to fill that cave to the roof with silver and 
 gold" And with these words on his lips, the rob- 
 ber turned, and retired into the darkness of the 
 cavern, leaving Horace to meditate on the despe- 
 rat-e character of his own situation,
 
 CHAPTER IX. 
 
 ANXIOUS HOURS. 
 
 " Must we see 
 All blissful things depart from ua, or ere we go to Thek ? 
 We cannot guess Tliee in the wood, or hear Thee in the wind, 
 Our cedars must fall round us ere we sec tlie light behind ; 
 Ay, sooth, we feel too strong in weal, to uioet Thee on that road. 
 But woe being come — the soul is dumt) thatcrieth not on God !" 
 
 Elizabsih Browning. 
 
 |0W unwilling is youtli to part witli hope — 
 how it clings even to its shadow ! Be- 
 lieving against the evidence of his senses 
 that what was so desirable could not be 
 impossible, Horace only desisted from 
 attempts to descend the rocks, when, in making 
 them, he had hurt his ankles so severely that ho 
 would have cried aloud with the anofuish, had he 
 not feared that the sound might be overheard by 
 the robbers. With a very heavy heart the unhappy 
 captive then dragged his chain to a little cleared 
 space a few yards higher than the entrance to the 
 cave, where the roots of an oak offered a rude seat. 
 Here Horace Cleveland rested his aching limbs, and
 
 A.KX10U8 HOURS. 91 
 
 leaning his head on his hands, gave himself up to 
 anxious thought. 
 
 Still his mind was running upon chances of es- 
 cape. Horace recalled the words of Raphael which 
 had surprised him when they were uttered, — " I shall 
 ask a favour of you which, if granted, will richly re- 
 pay any services that I can render." What favour 
 could a prisoner possibly have it in his power to 
 grant ? Raphael must be anticipating his release, and 
 his restoration to a position in which he could largely 
 reward any kindness which he now might receive. 
 Perhaps the young Italian hoped that Horace might 
 procure his pardon from the king of Naples for some 
 crime, the commission of which had driven one born 
 for better things to seek the shelter of a robber's 
 den. Perhaps the free pardon of Enrico might be 
 the desired boon. Horace's thoughts rambled on 
 through paths almost as mazy as the forest before 
 him. He would take Raphael back with him to 
 England — he would place him in the way of dis- 
 tinguishing himself. Raphael was the son of an 
 officer, and bore the stamp of a gentleman ; with his 
 singular talents he would grace any society, and 
 might raise himself to a high position. Horace had 
 already begun to feel a strong interest in his myste- 
 rious friend, whose character and situation afforded 
 to the youth's mind an enigma which he was curious
 
 9S UiXIOUS HOUltS. 
 
 to solve. Raphael certainly kept evil company, and 
 a man may be known by his chosen associates ; the 
 girl at the inn had more than hinted doubts regard- 
 ing his character ; the Rossignol had himself con- 
 fessed that he had once worn shackles, which con- 
 firmed Giuseppina's report that he had known the 
 inside of a prison. But, on the other hand, Horace 
 recalled the song of Raphael ; he remembered how 
 his presence, like that of some being of higher and 
 purer nature, had checked the foul flood of vile con- 
 versation which had flowed amongst the banditti, 
 and how in the dim twilight he on that morning 
 had seen the young Italian kneeling in prayer. 
 That last recollection raised in the bosom of Horace 
 a feeling of self-reproach. Except a few instinctive 
 ejaculations, which could hardly be called prayers, 
 the English boy since his capture had neglected the 
 duty of devotion. He had been so much taken up 
 with his own hopes and fears, his difficulties and 
 dangers, so great had been his eagerness to escape, 
 and the excitement caused by the strange scenes pass- 
 ing around him, that Horace had not bent his knee 
 in prayer, as he had been accustomed from child- 
 hood to do. And yet, never through the course of 
 his life had Horace had greater need of Divine pro- 
 tection. He had tried all earthly means for his 
 deliverance, and aU having failed, nothing remained
 
 ANXI0TT8 HOTTRS. 93 
 
 for the prisoner but to turn unto Him in whose 
 hands are the issues of life and death. Under the 
 spreading branches of the oak, in the stillness of that 
 wild and desolate spot, the young captive knelt 
 down and prayed, Horace prayed for his mother 
 — for himself — more for rescue from earthly trials 
 than for grace and strength to endure them, for the 
 youth was yet ignorant of human weakness, and of 
 the objects for which affliction is sent to the sons of 
 men, 
 
 " Ha, ha ! see the heretic at his beads ! " exclaimed 
 the mocking voice of Beppo, who, with two or three 
 of his companions, had sauntered lazily forth into 
 the sunshine, 
 
 Horace was on his feet in a moment, ashamed — 
 strange cause for shame ! — at having been discovered 
 by these men in the act of prayer. The scornful 
 laugh of the robbers brought the blood to his cheek. 
 
 The banditti had merely come out of the cave to 
 sun themselves in the morning beams, and enjoy in 
 the open air the dolcefar niente of which the Italians 
 are so fond. They stretched themselves on the 
 ground in front of their den, and the better to be- 
 guile the time, amused themselves by asking the 
 young stranger a number of questions regarding his 
 country, its customs, its people, its ruler, making 
 their comments upon his replies in a half jocular,
 
 94 ANIIOtrS HOURS. 
 
 half insulting manner, which sorely tried the patience 
 of the young Etonian. Common sense, however, 
 showed Horace that there was little to be gained by 
 quarrelling with men who held his life in their 
 hands, and that it was better to bear an insulting 
 jest than to try whether the robbers' stilettos had 
 keener edge than their wit. Partly to change the 
 current of conversation, and partly to gain infor- 
 mation on a subject that interested him, Horace 
 suddenly asked Beppo where the Rossignol had 
 learned the song which he had sung on the preced- 
 ing night. 
 
 " Who ever asked where the nightingale leams 
 its lay ? " answered the robber, whose face looked 
 even more repulsive when seen by the clear light 
 of day, than it had done by torch-gleam. "And 
 yet notes of his sort suit our wild haunts so ill, that 
 I trow that he learned it in his cage ! " 
 
 " He has been in prison then ? " asked Horace. 
 
 "Oh, he, like most of us, has known what it is 
 to lodge free, gratis, and for nothing at the expense 
 of our gracious King Francis," laughed Beppo, " and 
 has found the bedchamber none of the airiest, and 
 the royal fare none of the daintiest ! " 
 
 " And for what offence ? " began Horace ; but 
 Enrico, who had joined the party, fiercely cut his 
 questioning short
 
 ANXIOUS H0UE8. 96 
 
 "There be ways of shackling tongues as well 
 as limbs ! " he exclaimed, resting his right hand on 
 the butt of his pistol, and glaring at young Cleve- 
 land as if he had touched a wound. 
 
 Horace made no attempt to pursue the conversa- 
 tion so nidely interrupted. The banditti began to 
 amuse themselves with dirty cards, gambling away 
 their ill-earned spoils ; and Horace, as he sat watch- 
 ing them in silent disgust from under his tree, saw 
 many things that had belonged to himself and his 
 mother staked and lost in play. Then came the 
 noonday meal of maccaroni and the peculiar fruit of 
 the cactus, which was eaten in the open air, and of 
 which the prisoner, with a rude hospitality, was in- 
 vited by the robbers to partake. The day had now 
 become oppressively hot, and the banditti, after the 
 fashion of their country, stretched themselves on the 
 ground to enjoy their afternoon siesta. Horace did 
 not sleep ; even had he been in the habit of con- 
 forming to this Italian custom, he would now have 
 felt too restless and anxious to do so. In a half-re- 
 cumbent position he remained listening to the loud 
 monotonous noise of the cicala, a kind of beetle that 
 all day long fills the air with its harsh grating sound, 
 and watching the lizards as with quick emotion 
 their lithe slender forms glanced in and out of holes 
 LQ the rock. Familiarity with the sight of the rob-
 
 96 ANXTOUB HOURS. 
 
 bers had rather lessened his fears of danger from 
 them, and though Horace had small hope of effect- 
 ing his escape by any efforts of his own, he had 
 strong expectations that the unwearied exertions of 
 his mother would avail to procure his release. 
 
 When the sun, sloping towards the west, was 
 throwing the broad shadow of the mountain across 
 the valley which stretched in front of the cave, the 
 banditti prepared to start upon some lawless expedi- 
 tion. The day of listless indolence and reckless 
 gambling was probably to be succeeded by an even- 
 ing of crime. Horace was well pleased to find that 
 Matteo had no intention of dragging his captive 
 with him into the woods. The youth had exchanged 
 no word with the chief on that day, but before the 
 robber quitted his mountain haunt, he strode up to 
 Horace, and addressed him with an expression of 
 savage determination upon his hard features, that 
 was calculated to inspire more fear than the tenor of 
 his words. 
 
 " I need hardly command you, boy, not to stir 
 beyond this platform of rock, as — even were you 
 unfettered — it would be impossible for you to find 
 your way through yon forest without a guide. It 
 may be as well, however, to remind you, that these 
 woods are our familiar haunts, that watch is kept 
 there by night and by day, and that a network sur-
 
 ANXIOUS HOUBB. 97 
 
 rounds you there which you would foci before you 
 saw it. Were you detected in any insane attempt 
 to break through the toils, short and sharp would 
 be the means taken to curb your restless humour. 
 You are not the first prisoner whom I have kept for 
 a ransom, and I have found a little iron in the foot 
 a more effectual restraint than a great weight of iron 
 around it." 
 
 " Ay," joined in Beppo, who had overheard the 
 threat, " the procuratore of Garda will go halting for 
 the rest of his life, as a token that he passed one 
 night in the den of the wolf, and tried to make his 
 escape in the morning ! " 
 
 itUi
 
 CHAPTER X. 
 
 THE LONE SENTINEL, 
 
 ' Ye are before your God, 
 But we press onward still, 
 The soldiers of His army, 
 
 The servants of His wilL 
 A captive band in foreign land. 
 
 For ages long we've been. 
 But our dearest theme, and our fondest dream. 
 Is the Home we have never seen !" 
 
 Alforo. 
 
 |ORACE had not been left many minuteb 
 to ruminate over the bandit's parting 
 warning, when the sound of a melody, 
 warbled in rich tones which, once heard, 
 could ever afterwards be recognized, 
 
 announced to his glad ear that the Rossignol was 
 
 coming through the forest. Little as the captive 
 
 had seen of the improvisatore, he yet welcomed him 
 
 as a friend. 
 
 " I have been impatient for your return," Horace 
 
 exclaimed, as soon as Raphael emerged from the trees. 
 
 " Have you heard any tidings from Staiti ? can you 
 
 give me any news of my mother ? "
 
 THE LONE SENTINBI^ 99 
 
 Raphael made a sign in the negative, as he ad- 
 vanced to the foot of the rocky ascent. 
 
 Horace leaned over the rough parapet and said in 
 English, " Could you not contrive to bear a note or 
 a message from me to my mother ? " 
 
 " Matteo made me give my word of honour that 
 I would not do so," repKed Raphael ; " had he not 
 bound me by that which he knows that I never 
 break, he would have detained me in his fastness 
 here, almost as close a prisoner as yourself." 
 
 With the agility of a chamois the young Italian 
 now ascended the rocks to gain the platform in front 
 of the cave, unimpeded by his instrument, which he 
 carried slung behind him. His first glance, on 
 reaching the spot where Horace awaited him, 
 was directed towards the fettered ankles of the 
 captive. 
 
 " You have been attempting to escape ! " he said 
 quickly. 
 
 "Is it a crime in your eyes to make an efibrt for 
 freedom ? " asked the prisoner. 
 
 " In your case it is useless — utterly useless — 
 worse than useless," said Raphael with earnestness ; 
 " I know better than you can know, in how close a 
 clutch you are held ; I see, as you cannot see, the 
 pit-falls surrounding you here." 
 
 " But what can I do ? " exclaimed Horace im-
 
 100 THE LONE SENTINEL. 
 
 patiently, chafing under the sense of bondage like a 
 caged lion. 
 
 "Trust in God," was the reply; and these three 
 ■words, uttered with the manly simplicity of one who 
 in himself had proved their power, dispelled in the 
 mind of Horace every lingering doubt and suspicion 
 as regarded the character of Raphael Wonder- 
 ingly he revolved the mystery of the connection of 
 a man of no ordinary earnestness of devotion, with 
 the lowest and worst of his race. As little would 
 Horace have expected to find the rich blossoms of 
 the passion-flower twining round a cluster of poison- 
 ous fungi, or a jewel glittering on some heap of 
 corruption, as a firm decided Christian man in a 
 den of robbers and thieves. How could a rain-drop 
 retain its purity when mixed with the stagnant 
 waters of a pool ? how could the spark of faith still 
 live with so fierce a storm of temptation around it ? 
 
 Wliile Horace was reflecting on his strange com- 
 panion, Raphael, laying aside his guitar, had entered 
 the cave. He soon returned, bearing with him such 
 liniment as he had used in the morning to relieve 
 the pain caused to the captive by the chafing of his 
 fetters. Raphael then knelt down upon the rock, 
 and applied the simple remedy. Horace, unaccus- 
 tomed to suffering or restraint, could scarcely endure 
 the pressure of the iron upon his galled and swollen
 
 THB LONE SENTINEL. 101 
 
 ankles. He implored Raphael, as he had urged 
 Enrico, to release him from the torturing bonds. 
 Sadly but firmly his suit was refused, and when 
 pressed, it only wrung forth the unanswerable 
 question, " Would you have me sacrifice the life of 
 my brother ? " 
 
 When all that was possible had been done for the 
 prisoner's relief, Horace asked Raphael, with some 
 curiosity, what was the favour which he had ex- 
 pressed his intention of one day asking. 
 
 " I ask it now," replied the Rossignol ; and to 
 the surprise, and almost disappointment, of young 
 Cleveland, he drew forth from his bosom a small 
 English Testament, which bore marks of having 
 been much used. 
 
 " I would have left this with you this morning," 
 said Raphael, "but I feared lest my treasure should 
 be discovered, and taken from you by force. See, 
 it is in English," he continued, "and the little 
 which I know of that tongue has been chiefly learnt 
 from its pages ; but my knowledge is very imper- 
 fect ; oft in vain I struggle to make out the mean- 
 ing of a passage, like one groping in the darkness of 
 a cave. You, who can speak my language as well 
 as your own, will make all clear and plain to my 
 understanding. ' ' 
 
 " How did you get this ? " asked Horace with
 
 102 THE LOXE SENTINEL. 
 
 interest, turning over to the title-page, on which 
 the name of Pietro Marino was written. 
 
 " Let us leave the tale to another day," replied 
 Raphael ; " time is now precious, I expect that the 
 band will this evening return more early than usual. 
 Could you know how long and how anxiously I 
 have waited for svich an opportunity as this, you 
 would not marvel at my reluctance to hazard its 
 loss by delay." 
 
 So saying, Raphael threw himself on the rock 
 beside Horace, and eagerly turning over the pages 
 of the Testament, showed place after place where he 
 had found difficulties from his imperfect knowledge 
 of English. Horace had often read the Bible with 
 his mother, often listened to chapters in church, and 
 had with tolerable regularity, though with slight 
 attention, perused the Scriptures by himself. But 
 the cold lifeless form which the performance of this 
 duty had too often been to the youth, was some- 
 thing different indeed from the intense earnestness 
 which he now saw in his strange companion. It 
 was evident that to Raphael religion was a living 
 reality, something that engaged all the powers of 
 his mind as well as all the affections of his soul. 
 The Bible was to him as the Father's letter, 
 treasured in the bosom of the Son ; as the charter 
 by which he held all his dearest hopes; as the
 
 THE LONE SENTINEL. 103 
 
 "pardon signed and sealed" granted to the prisoner 
 by the grace of his King. 
 
 The Rossignol and Horace read together as long 
 as the daylight lasted, and when that failed they 
 returned to the cave, and pursued their occupation 
 by the gleam of the tapers which were lighted in 
 front of the Virgin's shrine. 
 
 Horace was well versed in Scripture history, but 
 he had only a very superficial knowledge of the 
 Epistles of St. Paul The glowing, fervent spirit of 
 devotion breathing through them had found no re- 
 sponse in his heai-t. He read now, almost as though 
 they were new to him, the soul-stiiiing words of the 
 apostle and martyr, proclaiming the blessed truths 
 which he so joyfully sealed with his blood. "Watch 
 ye, stand fast in the faith, quit you like men, be 
 strong ! " Horace felt that the Italian at his side 
 was not merely reading this as a chronicled address 
 to suffering saints of old, but receiving it as a rous- 
 ing call to himself a watchword to be used on the 
 field of battle, a command from a leader to a soldier 
 of the cross. 
 
 " Is it true," asked Raphael, when at last he 
 paused in his reading — "is it time that in your 
 blessed land these Scriptures are open to aU ? " 
 
 " Tlie poorest can have a Bible," replied Horace. 
 
 " What a power must be wielded there for the
 
 104 riii Loire SEKTIK El- 
 
 truth ! " said the Italian, laying his hand upon the 
 open Testament. " In this country there is but a 
 man here and there, like a picket in a hostile land, 
 a sentinel on a post of danger, to grasp with a feeble 
 hand the sword of the Spirit, the Word of God, 
 standing forth in a cause which, were it not the 
 cause of the Almighty, he might well consider 
 to be desperate ; but with you, how strong, how 
 united a phalanx must hold the ground against 
 all opposers, and go forward conquering and 
 triumphant in the great battle that is waged on 
 earth ! " 
 
 " Of what battle do you speak ? " said Horace, 
 rather to draw forth an answer from Raphael than 
 from any difficidty as to his meaning. 
 
 " The great battle between Truth and Error, Light 
 and Darkness, God and Satan," repKed Raphael; 
 " that battle in which every individual must be en- 
 listed on one or the other side." 
 
 " Not necessarily to take any very active part," 
 observed Horace, who felt that as regarded himself 
 there had been little interest, and certainly no great 
 effort in the strife. 
 
 Raphael fixed his large earnest eyes upon the 
 speaker with an expression of grave surprise. " In 
 the world's warfare," said he, " what do we esteem 
 a soldier who shrinks from taking his part in the
 
 THE LOKB SENTINEL. 106 
 
 struggle, who obeys not his leader, who deserts his 
 banner at a period of danger 1 " 
 
 "We esteem him a coward," replied Horace, 
 " And if he take part with the enemy ? " 
 " He has the name, and deserves the fate of a 
 traitor." 
 
 " And what shall we call those who, enlisted from 
 infancy to oppose sin and Satan, are content to 
 remain mere spectators of the strife, or who actually 
 join the ranks of the foe ? " 
 
 " Nine-tenths of the Christian world do so," 
 observed Horace, "and certainly look upon them- 
 selves neither as cowards nor traitors. Few con- 
 sider that there is any battle to be fought at all ; 
 men follow their own pleasure, do their own will, 
 and doubt not but that all will be well in the end." 
 " You do not think so ? " said Raphael 
 Horace knew not what to reply. He was too 
 conscious that he had been describing his own state 
 of mind, and felt that if a brave, earnest, self- 
 sacrificing spirit of devotion be necessary to the 
 Christian soldier, he was unworthy of the name. 
 Willing to change the conversation, he said abruptly, 
 " You must be indeed as a sentinel in a hostile land; 
 I wonder how you can keep your ground at all in 
 this the very stronghold of the enemy." 
 
 " I can but grasp my sword, and look to my
 
 106 THE LONE SENTINEL. 
 
 Leader," said Raphael. "I am sometimes well- 
 nigb ready to give up all in despair, but He can 
 keep me from falling." 
 
 " I marvel why you remain here," began Horace, 
 when he was prevented from concluding his sen- 
 tence by the sound of a shrill whistle from the 
 wood, and Raphael, hastily rising, thrust his Testa- 
 ment into his bosom. 
 
 " I knew that they would return soon," he said; 
 " see where yonder they come." 
 
 The banditti returned in a very discontented 
 mood. They had found no prey, and brought back 
 no booty. The only consolation which they found 
 under their disappointment, was that of exercising 
 the power of tormenting, and their unfortunate 
 prisoner had to run the gauntlet of every kind of 
 annoyance. Horace, little accustomed to insult, 
 chafed with impotent rage. He glanced at Raphael, 
 as though to claim his protection, and the Rossignol, 
 without appearing to notice the appeal, came to his 
 relief in the only effectual way. The liquid tones 
 of his guitar were heard through the noisy uproar, 
 and the tumult suddenly lulled. The notes exer- 
 cised such a spell as fable ascribes to that of Orpheus, 
 and almost as savage an auditory as that which 
 listened to the ancient bard, gathered around the 
 Rossignol as he poured forth his thrilling lay : —
 
 THE LONE SENTINEL. 107 
 
 There is a sword of glittering sheen — 
 
 All unite to defend the right I 
 Its blade is bright, and its edge is keen, 
 But the wound it gives is a wound unseen, 
 
 And who would flinch in the glorious fight I 
 
 There is a foe — a ruthless foe — 
 
 Such unite to oppose the right ! 
 In secret ambush he croucheth low. 
 And the blow he strikes is a deadly blow, 
 
 But who would flinch in the glorious fight I 
 
 There is a banner floating wide — 
 
 All unite to defend the right ! 
 The blood of martyrs its folds have dyed 
 When the best and the bravest fought side by side, 
 
 For who would flinch in the glorious fight ! 
 
 There is a Leader exalted high ! 
 
 All unite to defend the right ! 
 Through Him His followers hosts defy. 
 Through Him they learn to do and to die, 
 
 And scorn to flinch in the glorious fight 1 
 
 There is a palm — a victor's palm — 
 
 All unite to defend the right ! 
 "Twill be given in realms of peace and calm 
 To the steadfast spirit, the stalwart arm 
 
 That never flinched in the glorious fight ! 
 
 Then shall lips touched with living flame 
 
 In song unite — in the world of light, 
 " In our Leader's strength, in our Leader's name, 
 We fought — we struggled — we overcame — 
 
 And victors stood in the glorious fight ! " 
 
 So spirited was the air, so flowing the measure, 
 that Matteo himself beat time with his heavy hand
 
 108 THB IX)WE SENTINEL. 
 
 on the table, and several of the banditti actually 
 joined in the burden. Horace saw, however, by the 
 glances dii'ected towards the improvisatore, that the 
 words were only tolerated on account of the music ; 
 and Enrico, as if the strain were hateful to him, 
 quitted the table before the song was ended. On 
 the mind of the young prisoner himself the effect of 
 the lay was powerful He felt his spirit roused by 
 the music, which seemed to burst forth from the 
 singer's soul rather than from his lips. Horace 
 realized, as he had never done before, his own re- 
 sponsibilities as a sworn soldier of Christ. Had he 
 not been enlisted to serve under the banner of the 
 cross, to fight manfully against the world, the flesh, 
 and the devil ? And how had he kept his vow — 
 how had he fought under that banner ? What in- 
 terest had he taken in the holy cause — what had he 
 ever sacrificed in order to spread its conquests ? It 
 was not needful for Horace to compare himself with 
 missionaries spending their strength and hazarding 
 their lives to win heathen lands for their Leader ; 
 nor with the devoted men — yea, and women — who 
 in densely crowded cities lead the assault against 
 the enemy's mightiest strongholds ; such may be 
 termed the forlorn hope of the Christian host, the 
 Gideons or Davids of the army ; but had he shown 
 himself worthy to be counted even amongst the
 
 THK LONE 8ENTINKL. 109 
 
 common rank and file ? Had he ever struck one 
 good blow for the sake of religion against a besetting 
 sin ? Had he cared even to keep his sword bright ? 
 Had he not felt ashamed on that morning at being 
 discovered in the act of prayer? Could he regard 
 himself as other than a coward, even if he deserved 
 not the name of a traitor ? How the lay rang that 
 night in the ears of Horace ! The music haunted 
 him when he retired with Raphael to the rocky 
 recess, whither they had been preceded by Enrico. 
 Horace there found a fresh bed of fragrant herbs, 
 which had been gathered for him, over which was 
 thrown a mantle which he had seen on the shoulders 
 of Raphael. 
 
 In silence the Rossignol knelt down to pray, and 
 the young Englishman knelt beside him. Horace 
 expected some taunt from Enrico, who lay stretched 
 on his heap of leaves ; but the bandit watched them 
 in sullen silence, by the light of a torch which he 
 had stuck on the wall 
 
 As Raphael was making his simple preparations 
 for the night, in removing a portion of his dress he 
 bared his shoulder, and accidentally displayed to the 
 view of Horace a hurt which he had received on it, 
 a purple contusion, as from some blunt but heavy 
 instrument. The injury had evidently been both 
 recent and severe.
 
 110 THE LONK SKNTINKL. 
 
 "No light hand left such a mark as that?" ex- 
 claimed Horace. 
 
 " It was Matteo's work, it is no prison-scar npon 
 me," replied E^phael, covering the evidence of the 
 chief's brutality, 
 
 " And do you know how he won that scar?" ex- 
 claimed Enrico with vehemence. " In coming be- 
 tween the wolf and his prey, in trying to save that 
 poor wretch Cario from destruction. His attempt was 
 in vain, all that he does is in vain ; the hand that left 
 that mark will fall more heavily upon him one day." 
 
 It was long ere Horace could sleep ; the sight 
 of that bruised lacerated shoulder had brought more 
 vividly before him the savage nature of the man in 
 whose absolute power he lay than aught that he had 
 seen or heard. " Raphael must indeed," thought 
 the captive, "be as a sentinel on a post of danger, 
 as a soldier isolated from his comrades in an enemy's 
 land." Horace looked at the young Italian, stretched 
 in peaceful shiraber on his rocky bed, and wondered 
 how his repose could be so serene and untroubled. 
 It was the consciousness of the presence of a watch- 
 ful Guardian that gave to the soldier of the cross 
 calm sleep in the robbers' den. His last waking 
 thought had been, " The Lord is my light and my 
 salvation, whom shall I fear? the Lord is tlie 
 strength of my life, of whom shall I he afraid ?"
 
 CHAPl'ER XL 
 
 THE ORPHAN S TALK. 
 
 " Not always full of loaf, nor every apring 
 
 Not eniUess uigbt, nor yet eternal day ; 
 The saddest birda a season find to sing, 
 
 The roughest storm a calm may soon aUay. 
 Thus with succeeding tnrns God tempereth all. 
 
 That man may hope to rise, yet fear to faU !" 
 
 STRANGE Sabbatli was that to Horace 
 which commenced with the dawning day. 
 How unlike those which he had once spent 
 in England ! With what yearnings of 
 regret he recalled his walk through the 
 little wood, and down the field with his 
 mother, where the faint chime of the bells of the little 
 church summoned the villagers to prayers. Horace 
 closed his eyes on the rude and gloomy cave around 
 him, and tried to make memory and fancy replace 
 the hateful scene ; he sought to shut his ears to the 
 noise of oaths, profane talking, and wrangling, and 
 to imagine himself listening once again to the sound 
 of rustics' voices blending in the sweet Sabbath 
 hymn. Sadly he recalled privileges unprized and
 
 112 THK orphan's tale. 
 
 too often neglected when he had had the power to 
 enjoy them. He had frequently been weary, when 
 in England, of the quiet monotony of the holy day, 
 desiring more active amusements, more exciting 
 pursuits. Horace now remembered the peaceful 
 Sabbaths in his home almost as though they had 
 been spent in paradise, and sighed when the doubt 
 presented itself whether he would ever be permitted 
 to know such Sundays again. 
 
 It need scarcely be said that the Sabbath was no 
 holy season to the robbere ; it was passed with 
 rather more of noisy riot than the preceding day 
 had been. There was more of the wild mirth so 
 forcibly described as the crackling of thorns under 
 the pot, the laughter which makes the thoughtful 
 listener more sad than sounds of woe. The robbers 
 gambled, danced, revelled, swore ; Raphael was the 
 especial target for their coarse jests, which he bore 
 as one who was accustomed to endurance, a veteran 
 in sufferhig, though young in years. Horace mar- 
 velled how long the improvisatore had been sub- 
 jected to the daily martyrdom of such an existence, 
 a constant chafing and fretting like that of the 
 waves against some solitary headland. As Horace 
 watched his countenance, rather sad than stern, 
 the lips resolutely bridled to silence, the thoughtful 
 eyes, in which a smile would have seemed so
 
 THE orphan's talk. 113 
 
 strange a guest, the poet's words recmred to hia 
 
 mind — 
 
 " How sublime a thing it is, 
 To suffer and be strong." 
 
 Raphael, during the first part of the day, ap- 
 peared to avoid the society of the prisoner ; he 
 neither addressed, nor even looked towards hinn . 
 It seemed to Horace that the young Itahan did not 
 wish his comrades to see that there was any com- 
 munity of thought or sympathy between them ; and 
 Horace felt that to have been recognized as the 
 friend of the Rossignol would have increased the 
 difficulties of his own position. It would have been 
 like leaning on a lightning conductor while thunder 
 was growling above. 
 
 When gambling had succeeded to more noisy 
 revels, the improvisatore approached Enrico, who 
 was seated amid a gioup of his rude companions 
 outside the cave. Horace, from his favourite seat 
 under the oak, where he enjoyed comparative seclu- 
 sion, watched with interest the movements of the 
 brothers, though he could not overhear their conver- 
 sation. Raphael laid his hand on Enrico's shoulder, 
 stooped down, and whispered something in his ear. 
 Enrico, who had a dice-box in his hand, frowned 
 and shook his head with a gesture of impatience. 
 Again there was a low whisper, and the robbers 
 
 (888) 8
 
 114 THE OKPHAN's talk. 
 
 around burst into loud mocldng laughter. Distress, 
 indecision were stamped upon the face of Enrico, and 
 as Horace viewed on the one side the anxious 
 pleading look of the brother, on the other the dark 
 glances of his reckless companions, he seemed to 
 behold, in human embodiment, spirits of good and 
 of evil contending for the possession of a soul. This 
 time the good appeared to gain the mastery, for 
 Enrico, suddenly flinging dice and dice-box on the 
 ground, sprang to his feet, and followed his brother 
 down the rocks into the forest, in whose recesses 
 they were soon lost to view. 
 
 They were absent for more than an hour, and on 
 their return Enrico looked sadder and more sub- 
 dued, as, with folded arms and do^vncast eyes, he 
 emerged from the shadow of the trees. Horace sus- 
 pected that the interview had had some relation to 
 himself, for Enrico, after mounting to the rocky 
 platform, stood for some moments before his prisoner, 
 surveying him with a fixed and inquiring gaze, 
 then, as if answering some question to himself, he 
 shook his head and turned sadly away. 
 
 When, in the hottest and most oppressive part of 
 the day, the banditti retired for their accustomed 
 siesta, the improvisatore joined Horace under the 
 oak. Again was the Testament produced, and again 
 the prisoner and his companion drank deeply of its
 
 THE orphan's tale, 115 
 
 life-o-ivinof truths. He who has never known severer 
 thirst than that which makes a draught of cold 
 water refreshing on a warm summer's day, can 
 scarcely conceive the feverish eagerness of the tra- 
 veller in the desert, when, exhausted and parched 
 with thirst, he bends over the lonely well. Raphael 
 was treading the wilderness of life, the scorching 
 sun of temptation above him, the burning sands of 
 tribulation beneath his feet, and the Scriptures were 
 to him as the cooling waters to the pilgrim ready to 
 perish. 
 
 " I wish," said Horace, when at length there was 
 a pavise in the reading, " that you would tell me 
 how you ever came to lead this strange life amongst 
 robbers, and what induces you, unfettered as you 
 are, to remain in this horrible place. Enrico has 
 told me that your father was an officer and of gentle 
 birth ; how came the sons of such a man to dwell 
 in the haunts of banditti ? " 
 
 Raphael sighed as he made answer. " My father 
 was of an honourable family ; but his own heroic 
 virtues would have ennobled any descent. He was 
 ' without fear and without reproach ; ' his name had 
 never been coupled with disgrace. I was but a 
 child when I last saw my father, but well do I re- 
 member — never can I forget — how I used to clamber 
 on his knee and play with his sword-knot ; and how
 
 116 THE OBPH All's TALK. 
 
 he would lay his hand on my head and tell me that 
 I should one day serve the king, and that the duty 
 of a brave soldier is simply prompt, unswerving 
 obedience — obedience even unto death. And the 
 lesson which my father gave to his child he sealed 
 with his blood. He received orders to defend a 
 mountain pass from the enemy with a small body 
 of troops that were placed under his command. I 
 know not — it was never clearly ascertained — whether 
 in the confusion of a general retreat that small band 
 was actually forgotten, or whether the commander 
 had found it impossible to send reinforcements to 
 its aid ; it was isolated, unsupported, and attacked 
 by a greatly superior force. Some of those under 
 my father's command urged the necessity of retreat; 
 resistance, they said, was hopeless ; to attempt to 
 defend the pass was but to throw away the lives of 
 his men. 'I was placed here to hold this post,' 
 was the gallant reply ; ' and till I receive orders from 
 my leader to quit it, here am I bound to remain. 
 It is his office to command, and mine to obey.* 
 The men," continued Raphael with emotion, "were 
 not inspired by their captain's heroism. False to 
 their trust, one by one they deserted their banners. 
 A single brave man remained firm as a rock at the 
 post of duty ; where my father had planted hia 
 colourSj there he fought, and there — he fell !"
 
 tHK OKPHAirs TALK. 11? 
 
 " And did not your king reward such generoua 
 devotion by caring for the fatherless children of such 
 a man?" exclaimed Horace, as Raphael with a deep 
 sigh closed his brief account. 
 
 " Earthly princes do not resemble Him who keeps 
 a record of every act of obedience," replied Raphael 
 "There were a few words of praise, a ribbon, and a 
 cross, and then all appeared to be forgotten. My 
 brother and I might have starved in the streets ol 
 Naples but for the kindness of our mother's father, 
 a physician, who supported and educated us for the 
 sake of a daughter whose loss he yet mourned. 
 
 " Enrico became weary of the monotony and re- 
 straint of the life which he led in the good old man's 
 home. He spent much of his time away from it, 
 and became acquainted with some who made no 
 good use of the influence which they acquired over 
 his generous and confiding nature. 
 
 "When I had reached the age of fifteen, my 
 grandfather died ; I was with him at the last, re- 
 ceived his parting blessing, and closed his dear 
 eyes. All my earthly comfort was buried in his 
 grave. I wHl not dwell on the events of the following 
 year." Raphael chose not to unveil to the eye of a 
 stranger scenes of riot and selfish profusion in the 
 house which the memorj"^ of a venerable relative had 
 to him rendered sacred. He would not relate how
 
 118 THE orphan's TALB. 
 
 Enrico had recklessly squandered his young brother's 
 inheritance as well as his own, exposing the orphan 
 left to his guidance to the contamination of such 
 society as might have rained liis soul as well as his 
 fortunes. Raphael was tender of the reputation of 
 a brother whom he yet loved with the strength of 
 that affection which can bear all, hope all, endure 
 all. But though the Rossignol purposely left out 
 all the darker shades of the picture, Horace had 
 already seen enough of Enrico to fill up the outlines 
 for himself. After a brief pause, Raphael continued 
 his narration : — 
 
 "I was sleeping one night in my chamber, when 
 I was startled from slumber by the sudden entrance 
 of my brother. It was the hour before dawn, when 
 darkness is deepest ; I could not see his face, but I 
 was alarmed by the grasp of his icy hand, and the 
 strange altered tone of his voice 'Raphael,' he ex- 
 claimed, ' we must fly ! I am a ruined man ! the 
 bloodhounds are already on my track!' I found 
 afterwards that my unfortunate brother had been 
 mixed up in a night-brawl, in which a man of high 
 rank had been killed, and that Enrico was suspected 
 — falsely suspected " — Raphael laid strong emphasis 
 on the word — "of having dealt the fatal blow. 
 Enrico had no means of proving his innocence ; he 
 had Uttle money left, and no friends. He had been
 
 THE orphan's tale. 119 
 
 the victim of men more unscrupulous and reckless 
 than himself, who were willing to screen their own 
 guilt by sacrificing their dupa Why should I 
 dwell on a painful theme ? Before morning we fled 
 from Naples. Pursued by the ministers of the law, 
 Enrico took refuge in these mountains of Calabria, 
 and, driven to desperation, in an evil hour joined 
 himself to a band of outlaws. I accompanied his 
 steps and shared his fortunes." 
 
 " Then it was thi'ough no error of your own that 
 you became associated with these men of blood ?" 
 
 " I say not so," replied Raphael, quickly, " nor 
 can attempt to justify my weak corapKance. I was 
 young and inexperienced, indeed, but not so young 
 nor so ignorant as not to see the snares into which 
 I was running. I was carried on by an impetus 
 which I had not sufficient strength of principle to 
 resist. My own views of religion and duty were 
 dark. My conscience, indeed, was not dead ; but 
 while I could stifle its reproaches by supposed good 
 deeds, while Latin prayers and long fastings could, 
 as I thought, atone for sharing the booty of the 
 robber (in his worst crimes, thank God, I never 
 shared !), I pursued my course with but little re- 
 morse. I will not weary you with accounts of 
 pilgrimages to holy shrines made with bare and 
 bleeding feet, nor tell how many hours at night were
 
 120 THE orphan's talk. 
 
 often spent in reciting prayers that I understood 
 not. Vain superstition ! miserable opiates to put to 
 sleep the restless monitor within ! I was a favourite 
 with Matteo and his followers ; my youth, and per- 
 haps my love of music, and my slight knowledge of 
 the healing art, won for me more kindness and in- 
 dulgence than it might have been supposed that 
 such men could have shown. I ministered to their 
 pleasure and to their comfort ; they loved my jests 
 and my songs. I might say whatever I liked — 
 almost do whatever I liked ; I was as the spoiled 
 child of the band." 
 
 Horace felt no surprise that the gifted boy, at- 
 tractive in person and winning in manner, should 
 have exercised powers of fascination over the rough 
 spirits around him. The prisoner had himself begun 
 to feel in the society of Raphael a kind of magnetic 
 influence, which made him watch every look, and 
 listen for each word, with a strange interest for 
 which he could scarcely have accounted. Circum- 
 stances, however, had evidently altered as regarded 
 the connection of Raphael with the banditti, and 
 Horace remarked to the Rossignol that he seemed 
 to be now rather tolerated than liked. 
 
 "How is it," asked young Cleveland, "that the 
 once ' spoiled child of the band ' is now treated 
 with such harshness, and even brutality, that ii
 
 THR orphan's talk, 121 
 
 seemed to me to-day as though your very life were 
 scarcely worth a day's purchase ? How is it also 
 that you have learned to put away superstition, to 
 see the foUy of dead forms, and have become so 
 earnest in the service of God, that you are ready to 
 hazard all for his sake ?" 
 
 "It is a long story," replied Raphael, "and I 
 hear by the sound of voices in the save that the 
 bandits' siesta is over. We must not be seen to- 
 gether," he continued, rising hastily from his seat ; 
 " you have perils enough to encounter as an English- 
 man, a Protestant, and a prisoner, without its being 
 added to your list of offences that you can call Raphael 
 a friend." 
 
 Horace was disappointed at the interruption to 
 the tale of the improvisatore, and awaited with 
 curiosity and interest a fitting opportunity to hear 
 its conclusion.
 
 CHAPTER XII. 
 
 HOW THE LIGHT WAS LIT. 
 
 "And darkness and doubt are now flying away, 
 
 No longer I roam in conjecture forlorn ; 
 
 So breaks on the traveller, faint and astray, 
 
 The bright and the balmy effulgence of morn. 
 See Truth, Love, and Mercy in triumph descending, 
 
 And Nature all glowing in Eden's first bloom ; 
 On the cold cheek of Death smiles and roses are blending, 
 And beauty immortal awakes from the tomb !" 
 
 Bkattie. 
 
 RAPHAEL spent several hours in visiting the 
 sick, and the opportunity which Horace 
 desired came not until the morrow. Tid- 
 ^ ings having been brought from Marco, who 
 had gone out as a spy, that a travelUng 
 party was expected on the way to Staiti, the bandits 
 departed at dawn in the hope of intercepting it. 
 They went off in high spirits, except Matteo, whose 
 fierce and gloomy visage was never lighted with a 
 
 smile. 
 
 "Enrico lost his last carlino at play yesterday !" 
 shouted Beppo ; " but he will return with a heavy 
 bag of ducats with which to line my purse. He
 
 HOW THJE LIGHT WAS LIT. 123 
 
 puts one hand into a cavalier's pocket, and with the 
 other makes the contents of it over to me. I call 
 him the lion's provider." 
 
 " A lion more given to roaring than to fighting," 
 laughed Enrico ; but the laugh was suddenly cut 
 short as he caught the eye of his brother. 
 
 Raphael approached Enrico, and though Horace 
 could not distinguish what he said to him in his low 
 earnest tone, the robber's reply was more audible. 
 "I must go — I have no choice — I may prevent 
 bloodshed." Enrico had the same uneasy, vacillating 
 manner which Horace had before remarked, and the 
 nerve of his lip twitched violently. 
 
 "Enrico, keep at my side!" called out Matteo, 
 turning upon the Rossignol a scowl of dark suspicion 
 and dislike. 
 
 Horace and Raphael watched the departure of the 
 banditti. The latter stood for some time with folded 
 arms, his eyes fixed upon the spot where Enrico had 
 disappeared from view, and with an expression of 
 such anxious care on his face, that Horace did not 
 venture to disturb him. Presently, however, the 
 pale features resumed their usual calmness, and 
 Raphael, turning towards the captive, proposed that 
 they should renew their study of the Scriptures. 
 
 Some time was spent in this occupation. Horace 
 was beginning to regard his seat under the oak much
 
 124 HOW THiS UOHt WAS Lt*. 
 
 as he regarded his place in the old village church. 
 The presence of earnest piety had seemed to isolate 
 that one little spot from all the rocks around, and 
 the green boughs above were as the roof of a temple 
 consecrated to God, There were portions of Scrip- 
 ture which Horace felt that he should always connect 
 with that oak and with him who now sat by his 
 side beneath it — verses that he could never hear 
 again without recalling the musical tones of the 
 Rossignol's voice. 
 
 When the reading was concluded, Horace asked 
 Raphael to tell him something of the circumstances 
 attending his capture and imprisonment. "For I 
 have understood, both from yourself and from others," 
 said the youth, " that you, like myself know some- 
 thing of captivity. How did you fall into your 
 enemy's hand?" 
 
 " Simply thus," replied Raphael ; " I was wander- 
 ing slowly through the woods one evening, when I 
 heard a rapid step behind me, and on turning, be- 
 held Matteo wounded, bleeding, gasping, like a stag 
 whom the hunters have pursued till his strength is 
 exhausted, and he can but turn, face them, and die, 
 I saw by his staggering uncertain step that he could 
 not fly much further. 'Boy!' he exclaimed, 'they 
 are upon me ! Plunge yonder through the tliicket, 
 and let them hear you ; you may draw ofi" pursuit
 
 HOW THE LIGHT WAS LIT. 125 
 
 from your captain.' I obeyed, was followed, and 
 taken." 
 
 "Then your generous act saved the chief? " 
 
 "It was a mere act of impulse," replied Raphael; 
 "it deserved no praise, and won no gratitude. I 
 was now a prisoner, bound and guarded. I was 
 taken from one place to another, and brought before 
 a tribunal of justice. There was little against me 
 but bare suspicion, for no actual crime could be laid 
 to my charge. I had, indeed, been seen in the 
 company of banditti ; I was known to be acquainted 
 with Matteo ; I had baffled the soldiers when they 
 had believed that the blood-money for his capture was 
 within their grasp. The last offence might be 
 atoned for ; I was offered freedom and reward if I 
 would betray the secret haunts of Matteo. Of 
 course such treachery was not to be thought of 
 
 "After tedious imprisonment and examinations 
 before various authorities, I ^vas condemned to six 
 months' labour in the galleys, rather for obstinate 
 silence than for any offence which could be proved." 
 
 " What ! " exclaimed Horace, " was not the re- 
 membrance of the faithful services of your heroic 
 father sufficient to save his son from so harsh a 
 sentence ? " 
 
 "No one knew my parentage," replied Raphael 
 quickly ; "no, no ; sunk as I was. disgraced, con-
 
 126 HOW THE LIGHT WAS LIT. 
 
 demned, I jealously guarded the honour of my father's 
 name as the one precious possession left me, which 
 would never he tarnished by shame. It should 
 never be said that the son of Raphael Goldoni had 
 appeared as a criminal at the bar of justice ! " 
 
 " Were you not in a state of misery on hearing 
 your doom ? " asked Horace. 
 
 " I was in a state of sullen despair. It seemed 
 to me as if there were no help for me on earth or in 
 heaven. I was an outcast, a wretch abandoned by 
 my fellow-creatures ; I accused them of cruelty and 
 injustice ; and, what was far worse, my soul rose in 
 guilty rebellion against the decrees of Providence. 
 I looked upon myself as a sufferer rather for the 
 crimes of others than my own, forgetful that no 
 circumstances could justify my compliance with 
 what I had known to be evil. Sometimes, indeed, 
 conscience, oft stifled, would make itself heard, and 
 then the icy calm of despair was exchanged for a 
 tempest of anguish, such as almost shook reason 
 from its seat. I could no longer have recourse to 
 the miserable refuge offered by pilgrimage or pen- 
 ance; even the relief of confession was denied me, 
 for I had never learned to go in simplicity of faith 
 for pardon and absolution to Him who heareth in 
 secret. This mortal life was to me as a prison, and 
 yet I clung to its dark walls, for I saw nothing
 
 HOW THB LIGUT WAB LIT. 127 
 
 beyond but purgatorial fires, which made the 
 thought of death a terror. I knew myself to be 
 guilty in the sight of God, and I could not recognize 
 a compassionate Father in the awful Judge before 
 whom I trembled. My service had been that of a 
 slave, my sufierings were those of a slave ; far more 
 galling than the iron which fettered my limbs was 
 that which entered into my souL" 
 
 " And how long did this misery last ? " 
 " Not long," replied the Italian. " I and my com- 
 panions in punishment were chained by two and 
 two in the galleys, and on the third day of my 
 labours I was coupled with a man whose demeanour 
 at once struck me as difierent from that of the other 
 prisoners. He was not old in years, but his form 
 was bowed by suffering and sorrow, and white as 
 silver were his locks and the beard which descended 
 almost to his girdle. He looked so cahn and re- 
 signed in the dignity of conscious innocence, that 
 even the first glance convinced me that no criminal 
 was at my side. Had I been in a less gloomy and 
 despondent mood, I should have questioned my new 
 companion ; but I had lost all interest in life, all 
 care for what was passing around me. Even when 
 Marino (such was his name) spoke a few words of 
 kindly greeting to his partner in misfortune, I only 
 bowed my head in reply, and preserved a moody
 
 128 HOW TRE LIGHT WAS LIT. 
 
 silence. I thought that the galley-slave pitied me, 
 and my proud heart shrank from pity, even when 1 
 needed it most. 
 
 " Our toil on that day was severe. We had to 
 row at our utmost speed, hour after hour, under the 
 burning rays of the sun, which were reflected with 
 dazzling glare from the waters. I felt as if the un- 
 wonted and protracted labour were drawing my 
 very life away, and I saw that my comrade, who 
 was weaker, suffered yet more than myself. The 
 beaded drops were upon his brow and his lip, and 
 he bent over his oar as if every stroke might be his 
 last. While we were painfully toiling on, a gay 
 cavalier, stretched at ease in the stem of our galley, 
 was humming a light lay of love, or quaffing cool 
 draughts of sparkling wine. He took no notice of 
 the exhausted rowers, except to express impatience 
 at the slow progress which they made. At length 
 the keel grated on the shore, we lifted our oars, and 
 the cavalier stepped on the beach. There were gay 
 friends to welcome him there, and take him with 
 them to cool orange-groves and glittering fountains, 
 towards which we wearily turned our longing eyes. 
 There with fair and high-bom ladies would he enjoy 
 the feast, the dance, and the song, while we sat thirsty, 
 weary, neglected — the very outcasts of mankind. 
 
 " My companion addressed me again, in a voice
 
 HOW THE LIGHT WAS LIT. 129 
 
 SO faint that I could at first scarcely catch his 
 meaning, ' Is it not well, my son,' he murmured, 
 ' that there is One who hath said, " Come unto Me 
 all ye that labour and are heavy laden, and I will 
 give you rest ? " ' 
 
 "The words sounded strange to me, and I replied 
 with sullen despair, 'There is no rest for me — no, 
 not even in the grave ! ' 
 
 " ' Then you have never yet come to Him, never 
 yet found the Saviour,' said Marino ; ' you have not 
 yet accepted His invitation ; perhaps till this day 
 you never heard it.' 
 
 " This was so unlike any address to which I had 
 hitherto listened on the subject of religion, that it 
 instantly arrested my attention. Fresh from the 
 pure fount of Truth came the words which Marino 
 now uttered. Parched as I was with feverish thirst, 
 with a force which I cannot describe came especially 
 one blessed verse, which I have ever since regarded 
 as the very breathing of infinite Love. ' And the 
 Spirit and the Bride say, Come ; and let him that 
 heareth say, Come; and let him that is athirst, 
 come ; and whosoever will, let him take of the water 
 of life freely: 
 
 "That day, — that sultiy exhausting day," con- 
 tinued Raphael, clasping his hands as he spoke, "I 
 regard as the birth-day of my soul It was then 
 
 1234) 9
 
 130 HOW THE LIGHT WAS LIT. 
 
 first that I learned that there was pardon, full free 
 pardon, even for the chief of sinners ; that there 
 was love, infinite love, towards those for whom the 
 Lord had died. I learned that I had been * bought 
 with a price,' and that I was no longer mine own. 
 In the morning my soul had been even as your 
 person now is. I had been shackled with my sins, 
 galled, imprisoned, without power to shake oflf either 
 the burden of my guilt or the dread of its punish- 
 ment. I had seen before me a forest labyrinth of 
 difilculties and temptations, and had no clue to 
 guide me through it. The grand, glorious truth that 
 the blood of the Saviour ' cleanseth from all sin,' 
 broke at once my chain and set me free ; and hence- 
 forth God's Word was to be my guide to safety, to 
 peace, and, I trust, hereafter — to glory." 
 
 The countenance of Raphael as he paused was 
 even as Horace had seen it in his dream. There were 
 some moments of silence, only broken by the cease- 
 less noise of the cicala and the sigh of the wind 
 through the wood. 
 
 "Who was Marino," inquired Horace; "and how 
 came so good a man to be working as a slave at the 
 oar?" 
 
 "He had been sentenced to the galleys for a very 
 difierent crime from any of which I had been sus- 
 pected," replied Raphael. "Marino, as I learned
 
 HOW THE LIGHT WAS LIT. 131 
 
 afterwards from himself had been a student of 
 medicine, brought up in the Romish faith. Circum- 
 stances, or rather the leading of God's Providence, 
 had taken him to England, where he had resided for 
 years, and where he had acquired not only a know- 
 ledge of the language, but of the tnith which in 
 your land is guarded and prized. Marino might 
 have remained honoured and happy amongst those 
 whose communion he had joined ; but he thought of 
 the darkness of ignorance shrouding his own beau- 
 tiful country ; he thought of the bondage of super- 
 stition in which his fellow-citizens groaned ; Marino 
 returned to be a missionary to his own people. 
 Following the steps of his Master in the path of 
 self-denying labour, he soon tracked the holy foot- 
 prints through sufferings also. You know, doubt- 
 less, that with Italians it is held a crime to search 
 the Scriptures; doubly a crime to teach others to do 
 so. Marino for both offences was sentenced for 
 three years to the galleys ; alas ! broken down as 
 he was by hardship and trial, his life did not last 
 out the term." 
 
 " Was it not much to be regretted," observed 
 Horace, " that, instead of labouring where he could 
 have laboured in safety, this good man threw away 
 freedom, and, as it proved, life itself, upon such a 
 desperate venture ? "
 
 132 HOW THB LIGHT WAS LIT. 
 
 " / have no reason to say so," replied the Rossig- 
 nol with deep feeling. " Marino was silenced from 
 preaching the gospel to freemen, that he might 
 cany the glad tidings to slaves ! Who can say- 
 that he lived or that he died in vain ? I was not 
 the only wretched outcast over whose darkness he 
 shed light, though to none was he such a friend, 
 such a father as he was to me. When his spirit 
 passed away, I felt that for the third time my earthly 
 stay had been wrenched from my hold, but now I 
 was not left desolate. Marino had led me to the 
 Rock — the changeless — the everlasting ! " Raph- 
 ael's voice faltered as he continued, covering his 
 eyes with his hand : " When they dropped his life- 
 less remains into the sea, without funeral rite, with- 
 out toU of bell, without even a coffin to shroud 
 them ; when the waves of the Mediterranean rolled 
 over the spot where slept the friend I loved best 
 upon earth, even then God sent thoughts of comfort 
 — of triumph — into my soul. I knew that Marino 
 would rise again, incoiTuptible, immortal, glorious ; 
 that the sea should give up her dead and the Saviour 
 reclaim His own. And I knew that there was 
 something left also for me — an object in life, as well 
 as a hope in death." 
 
 " What was that object ? " asked Horace. 
 
 Raphael seemed unable to give an audible reply.
 
 HOW THE LIGHT WAS UT. 133 
 
 He turned over silently the leaves of his Testament, 
 and laid his finger upon this verse : " The love of 
 Christ constraineth us ; because we thus judge that 
 if One died for all, then were all dead ; and that 
 He died for all that they which live should not 
 henceforth live unto themselves, hut unto Him which 
 died for them ! " 
 
 Horace remained for a space with his eyes rivetted 
 upon the passage, marvelling how he had never be- 
 fore seen how it contains not only the ground of a 
 Christian's hope, but of a Christian's willing obedience. 
 What is true religion but " a personal love for a per- 
 sonal Saviour ? " " The love of Christ constraineth!" 
 that is the very watchword of the soldier of the 
 cross upon the battle-field of life. Not to live to 
 self, but unto God ; not to do our own will, but 
 God's will ; to make His love our inspiring motive, 
 His glory our end and aim ; — this is the object, the 
 only object, worthy of an immortal souL 
 
 After a lengthened pause, Horace resumed the 
 conversation. "I am surprised," said he, "that 
 one whose whole character had been changed like 
 yours, should ever have come back to a den of 
 wickedness like this." 
 
 "When Marino departed," replied Raphael, "my 
 six months of durance had almost come to a close. 
 Often and anxiously I revolved in my mind what
 
 134 HOW THE LIGHT WAS LIT. 
 
 course it would be right to pursue after I should 
 have regained my freedom. Sometimes I almost 
 decided upon working my way to England ; at 
 other times I proposed returning to Naples, seeking 
 out some old acquaintances of my grandfather, and 
 trying through their assistance to make my entrance 
 into his profession. Amidst my various projects 
 one truth was ever recumng to my mind. A sol- 
 dier chooses not his own post ; it was my one 
 simple duty to find out where my Leader would 
 have me to be, and what He would have me to do. 
 More and more strongly the conviction came that 
 nowhere was light more needed, and into no place 
 was it less Kkely to penetrate, than into this rob- 
 bers* cave. Here seemed to be my allotted post, 
 and hither I accordingly came." 
 
 "You were throwing yourself into the midst of 
 great temptations," observed Horace. 
 
 "I felt that — I feel it," replied Raphael; "and 
 often have I feared presumption, and closely have I 
 searched my own motives for running so great a 
 risk. But," he continued, as if conscious that there 
 was a need of explaining his position in order to 
 justify his conduct, " I knew that there were cir- 
 cumstances in my favour, which made it possible 
 for me to plant my foot where by another man no 
 standing-ground could have been found. I was
 
 HOW THE LIGHT WAS LIT. 135 
 
 known amongst the banditti, liked, favoured ; per- 
 haps I counted too much upon that favour, as I 
 certainly did upon the circumstance of having saved 
 the life of their captain." 
 
 " But the danger ! " exclaimed Horace Cleveland. 
 
 " There was nothing but bare life to be hazarded ; 
 I had nothing else that I could lose — not even a 
 fair reputation. I had neither father nor mother to 
 mourn me ; I had but a brother, and he was one of 
 the band ; perhaps my strongest earthly incentive 
 was the hope of being the means of winning his 
 souL" 
 
 "And how were you received by the banditti ? " 
 inquired Horace, who regarded this project of plant- 
 ing a " home mission " in the midst of a gang of 
 ruflBans as the wildest, most impracticable scheme 
 which enthusiasm had ever devised. 
 
 " I was received with a welcome so cordial and 
 warm, that it almost shook my resolution to strip 
 away all deception, and at once avow the reason for 
 my return. I was enabled, however, to speak out 
 the truth — to own that I came not to rejoin the 
 band, to eat bread that was won by robbery, or to 
 touch gold that was stained with blood — to say that 
 If the outlaws desired it I would tend their sick, 
 and do what other kindly offices I might without 
 wounding my conscience — but that I was now the
 
 136 HOW THE LIGHT WAS LIT. 
 
 soldier and servant of One who suffei-s no compro- 
 mise with sin." 
 
 "I should have liked to have heard such an 
 avowal made to such men," exclaimed Horace, "and 
 to have seen the countenance of Matteo as you 
 spoke ! That was indeed walking into the lion's 
 den, and laying your hand on his mane. How was 
 your strange offer received ! " 
 
 " With bursts of laughter and mocking jests. 1 
 believe that some of the banditti deemed that im- 
 prisonment had affected my brain." 
 
 " I marvel not at that," returned Horace. " Did 
 you not find it hard to stand against the storm of 
 ridicule ? " 
 
 "So hard that I almost cowered beneath it. I 
 had then, however, nothing beyond such ridicule to 
 bear. The robbers were amused — not infuriated. 
 My conditions were mirthfully accepted. I was 
 elected with shouts as friar and father confessor to 
 the band, and was given full leave to pray and to 
 fast as long as it might suit my pleasure to do so." 
 
 "The outlaws doubtless thought," observed Horace, 
 "that your resolution was but some strange passing 
 fancy." 
 
 "I doubt not that they thought so," replied 
 Raphael, " and that they promised themselves much 
 diversion from what was to them so novel But
 
 HOW TQE LIGHT "WAS LIT. 137 
 
 when the robbei-s fouud that though they might be 
 in jest, the object of their mockery was in earnest, 
 opposition assumed a different form." 
 
 "You were persecuted, threatened, tormented," 
 said Horace, recollecting the lacerated shoulder, and 
 the cruel insults of which he had himself been a 
 witness. 
 
 " I had a little rough discipline," answered Raphael 
 lightly, " such as* every soldier must look for. I 
 have often cheered myself under it by remembering 
 the words of my father — if applicable to earthly 
 warfare, how much more so to the heavenly ! — ' The 
 duty of a brave soldier is simple, prompt, unswerv- 
 ing obedience, even unto death ! ' " 
 
 " But does it not damp your spirit," asked Horace, 
 " to find that you labour and suffer in vain ? " 
 
 A thoughtful, pensive expression sat on the brow 
 of the young Italian as he replied, " Is there not a 
 promise that such labour shall not be in vain ? 1 
 have not much to cheer me, I own, as regards any 
 little efforts of my own ; yet the village youth whom 
 I am now going to visit has begun to pray in ear- 
 nest, and in the Saviour's name alone. Sometimes 
 I think that in my brother's bosom a better spirit 
 is stirring, though he is hedged round with difficul- 
 ties whose greatness a stranger cannot fully under- 
 stand, God will give Enrico to me ; while life
 
 138 HOW THE LIGHT WAS UT. 
 
 remains, I will never cease to pray for my brother, 
 and He in whom I trust will grant me my heart's 
 desire." The sigh which followed came from a 
 burdened, but yet a confiding heart. 
 
 "Oh yes," cried Horace, anxious to efface the 
 painful impression caused by a thoughtless question, 
 "you will not suffer without reward. I know not 
 whether you will care to hear it, but I must tell you 
 one thing. Though, from my cradle, I have heard a 
 great deal about reKgion, I have never thought so 
 seriously upon the subject as you have made me do 
 during these last few days. If I ever become a real 
 Christian — a faithful soldier, as you would say — I 
 shall trace the beginning of an earnest life to these 
 hours which I have spent with you under this oak." 
 The pale face of Raphael lighted up with an ex- 
 pression of joy, as when a sunbeam, bursting from 
 behind a cloud, throws over a still stream a pathway 
 of glory. The smile was so bright^ so sudden, so angel- 
 like in its gladness, that it often in future days re- 
 curred to the memory of Horace. Raphael grasped 
 his hand with the warmth of a brother, but without 
 commenting upon what he had said ; and the im- 
 provisatore soon afterwards descended to the forest 
 to go on his errand of mercy to the sick.
 
 CHAPTER XIII. 
 
 FAILURE. 
 
 " Lile is real, life is earnest, 
 And the grave Is not its goal ; 
 ' Dust thou art, to dust retumest, ' 
 Was not spoken of the soul. 
 
 " Let us then be np and doing 
 With a heart for any fate, 
 Still achieving, still pursuing, 
 Learn to labour and to wait." 
 
 Longfellow. 
 
 50T the example and influence of Raphael 
 alone tended to ripen good resolutions in 
 the mind of the English captive ; much 
 resulted from the effect of the long hours 
 of solitude in which reflection was forced 
 upon him. To one of Horace's lively temper and 
 active disposition, meditation had appeared to be 
 of all occupations the most tedious and unprofitable, 
 as long as study or amusement could fill up each 
 waking hour. It was thus that little wisdom had 
 been gained while a good deal of knowledge had 
 been acquired, and that even the lessons of experi- 
 ence had made but small impression upon Horace
 
 140 FAILURE. 
 
 Cleveland. He had had his day-dreams, it is true, 
 and his schemes of ambition, but neither had been 
 calmly reviewed in the sober light of truth. Now, 
 having nothing else to do, Horace perforce must 
 think ; and the result of reflection was that the 
 proud lad, who, exalted by conscious superiority 
 over his companions, had feared comparison with no 
 one, now felt mortified and even disgusted with 
 himself, Horace recalled circumstances that had 
 once elated him ; he remembered the trophies won 
 by intellectual or physical efforts, all their glitter 
 and glory seemed gone. When the youth recollected 
 how utterly he had ignored "the only object in life 
 worthy of an immortal soul," he felt little cause to 
 exult at having won the prize at the examination, 
 or the honours at foot-ball or the boat-race. These 
 things were indeed good in themselves, but what 
 were they compared to the crown of life towards 
 which the soldiers of the cross were pressing? Horace 
 thought of the heroes of old, to emulate whom had 
 been his ambition ; he compared Caesar and Alex- 
 ander with Marino the galley-slave — they, sweeping 
 like a pestilence over the earth ; he, employing his 
 dying breath in leading his fellow-sufferer to God. 
 What were the different results of their labours ? 
 The warriors had, as it were, sent up a blazing 
 rocket to startle the world, falling in a shower of
 
 FAILURE. 141 
 
 dazzling sparks that glittered awhile, and then ex- 
 pired. The galley-slave had been the instrument 
 in God's hand of lighting a star that should shine 
 in the firmament of bliss when sun and moon should 
 be seen no more. What are all human trophies 
 compared to the trophy of a rescued soul, what all 
 earthly glory compared to the glory which cometh 
 from God ? 
 
 " Raphael has been given a difficult, a perilous 
 post of duty," thought Horace ; "was none allotted 
 to me ? He tries to influence for good the lowest 
 and worst of his kind ; have I had no power to influ- 
 ence, and if I had, what use did I ever make of it ? 
 Was not I also a soldier of the cross ? " 
 
 The youth resolved that, if ever permitted to see 
 his mother and his country, he would pursue a less 
 selfish course than that which he had hitherto fol- 
 lowed, Horace's heart grew heavy as he thought of 
 the possibility — at that moment it almost presented 
 itself as a probability — that he would nevf^r be 
 granted an opportunity of redeeming the past. Very 
 bitter was it to him now to recall how his petulance 
 and pride had distressed his mother, to know that 
 he had added weight to the widow's cross, instead 
 of helping her to support it. " You have planted 
 many a thorn in my pillow ! " Were not these al- 
 most the last words that he had heard from her
 
 142 FAILURE. 
 
 loving lips ? had he not seen her weep for the un- 
 dutifulness of her only son ? If a brother's blood 
 was once said to cry from the earth, would not a 
 mother's tears do so also ? Horace arose from his 
 seat, restless and miserable ; he must find something, 
 do something to drive from him distracting thoughts. 
 Raphael had left his guitar leaning against the rock. 
 Horace took it up, and swept his hand over the 
 strings ; he could produce sound but not music. No 
 melody came from the strong but objectless touch. 
 Horace put down the instrument again, it only 
 brought back again the theme of his painful reflec- 
 tions. Had he not struck life's chords with the 
 same careless hand, and had they not given forth 
 jarring discord ? 
 
 Unable to play, the prisoner attempted to sing in 
 order to while away the wearisome hours. He 
 tried to wake the mountain echoes with some of the 
 bold spirited lays which he had sung with his com- 
 rades at school "The Englishman" had been a 
 favourite, and the youth burst forth into the noble 
 song, — 
 
 " There's a land that bears a well-known name," 
 
 but he could not finish the first stanza. The thought 
 of his country, "the star of the ocean," "the island 
 home of an Englishman," almost overcame the poor
 
 FAILUEE. 143 
 
 captive, and Horace needed all his manliness to re- 
 fi"uin from giving way to tears. 
 
 Then a plaintive strain came to his remembrance; 
 Horace had often heard his mother sing it, and he 
 associated her voice with each word. It seemed so 
 well suited to his own sad estate, his fallen hopes, 
 once so bright and gladsome, that giving utterance 
 to his feelings in the poet's appropriate lines, he sang 
 Moore's well-known lay : — 
 
 " All that's bright must fade, 
 
 The brightest still the fleetest, 
 All that's sweet waa made 
 
 But to be lost when sweetest ! 
 Stars that shine and fall, 
 
 The flower that drops in springing, 
 These, alas ! are types of all 
 
 To which our hearts are clinging ! 
 
 " Who would seek or prize 
 
 Delights that end in aching ? 
 Who would trust to ties 
 
 That every hour are breaking ? 
 Better far to be 
 
 In utter darkness lying. 
 Than be blest with hght, and see 
 
 That light for ever flying 1 " 
 
 " Beautiful, but not true ! " exclaimed a voice be- 
 side him. Horace started and turned round ; he 
 had been so much absorbed in the train of ideas 
 awakened by the words, that he had not heard 
 Ptaphael ascending the rocks, nor been aware that
 
 144 FAILURE. 
 
 the mournful song had reached any ear but his 
 own. 
 
 " Sing it again," said the improvisatore, 
 
 Horace felt some reluctance to comply with the 
 request from one who was himself a master of 
 the musical art ; he would rather have listened than 
 sung. At Raphael's desire, however, he repeated 
 the strain, the improvisatore listening intently, and 
 keeping time to the music with his hand. 
 
 "And now let me hear you," said Horace; "and 
 let us have something more cheerful." 
 
 Raphael took up his guitar, and struck a few 
 chords fuU of harmony and tone in a different and 
 far richer key than that in which Horace had been 
 singing. He afterwards remained for several minutes 
 silent, gathering and arranging his thoughts. "I 
 will be your echo," he then said with a smile ; 
 " but I will give back your notes in more joyous 
 straia, less meet for the poet, but more for the 
 Christian;" and catching up the air, Raphael sang 
 in Italian as follows : — 
 
 " Earth's bright hopes must fade, 
 
 Not those which grace hath given ; 
 Joys were fleeting made, 
 
 But not the joys of heaven ! 
 Stars that shine above, 
 
 And flowers that cannot wither, 
 These are types of peace and love 
 
 That shall abide for ever !
 
 irAIL0££. 146 
 
 Who that seeks the skies 
 
 Would mourn earth's pleasures blighted, 
 Weep o'er broken ties 
 
 Soon to be re-united ! 
 Blest e'en awhile to be 
 
 In darkness and in sorrow. 
 Assured we soon the dawn shall see 
 
 Of an eternal morrow ! " 
 
 Raphael did not lay down his guitar ; the last 
 thought seemed to link itself on to another, and 
 changing the mournful air to a burst of triumphant 
 melody which appeared to well up ftesh from a 
 deep spring of joy within him, the Rossignol poured 
 forth in his richest tones the following 
 
 SONG OF HOPE. 
 
 Now in the east Hope's trembling light 
 
 Proclaims a brighter dawning; 
 Though woe endureth for a night, 
 
 Joy Cometh in the morning ! 
 
 For many weary ages past 
 
 Hath sin's dark night prevailing 
 A gloom o'er all the nations cast, 
 
 Whence rose the sounds of wailing 1 
 The idol -gods have many a shrine 
 
 Where, bound in chains of error, 
 Myriads, shut out from light divine, 
 
 Crouch down in shame and terror ! 
 But in the east Hope's rosy light 
 
 Proclaims a brighter dawning ; 
 Though woe endureth for a night, 
 
 Joy Cometh in the morning !
 
 146 FAILITRB. 
 
 Pleasure has thrown her torches' glare 
 
 Upon a world benighted, 
 And Science in the murky air 
 
 Her glimmering tapers lighted ; 
 Some joys, like fire-flies, played and glanced 
 
 To mock our vain pursuing, 
 And folly's meteors wildly danced 
 
 Above the gulf of ruin 1 
 But in the east Hope's purer light 
 
 Proclaims a brighter dawning ; 
 Though woe endureth for a night, 
 
 Joy cometh in the morning ! 
 
 Like Cynthia from her silvery car, 
 
 The Church could darkness light«n ; 
 Each high example, like a star, 
 
 Shone forth to cheer and lighten. 
 But I shall need nor star nor moon 
 
 In that clear day before me. 
 The Sun of Righteousness shall Boon 
 
 Burst forth in cloudless glory ! 
 Yes, in the east Hope's kindling light 
 
 Proclaims a brighter dawning ; 
 Though woe endureth for a night, 
 
 Joy cometh in the morning ! 
 
 " Hark ! " exclaimed Horace suddenly, " the rob- 
 bers are in the wood ! " 
 
 The music had scarcely died on the lips of 
 Raphael ; his eyes were fixed upon the sky as if 
 already beholding in its blue depths the signs of the 
 coming triumph. He turned them now towards the 
 forest, and something of the brightness of hope lin- 
 gered in them as he said, leaning over the rocky 
 parapet to gaze, " They bring no prisoners, I see no
 
 FAILITRK. 147 
 
 spoil ; they have been disappointed again of their 
 prey." 
 
 The gang of robbers wore a very different air from 
 what they had done in the morning, as slowly and 
 sullenly, one by one, they swung themselves up to 
 the platform in front of the cave. On Enrico's face 
 alone Horace fancied that he could detect an ex- 
 pression of relief, as his eye met that of his brother. 
 
 "They never came, though we watched for them 
 from sunrise till sunset ! " cried one of the band. 
 " I take it they've put off their journey till the 
 morrow. Some woman's whim, I'll be bound, for 
 we heard there's a signora in the party." 
 
 "We'll make them pay dear for our lost time," 
 growled Matteo with an oath, as with the back of 
 his rough hand he wiped his heated brow. 
 
 " I say," exclaimed Beppo, with a malignant 
 scowl at Raphael, "we'll never have luck with such 
 a preaching, praying heretic amongst us. What's 
 the use of our burning candles to the Madonna, or 
 vowing what best we can spare to the saints, if 
 we've him praying hard against us ? " 
 
 " The saints and the blessed Virgin Mary wouldn't 
 listen to him," cried Marco, crossing himself as he 
 mentioned the Madonna's name. 
 
 " I take it that his prayers go higher and 
 straighter than ours go, Marco," said Beppo ; " and
 
 148 FAILURE. 
 
 they can do something down here below, or Enrico 
 would not have hung back as he did to-day." 
 
 " I did not hang back," fiercely retorted Enrico. 
 
 "You'll prove but a hollow reed at the pinch," 
 said Beppo, who looked quite ready to defend his 
 opinions with something harder than words. " Did 
 not that psalm-singing brother of yours do all that 
 he could to prevent you from going about your 
 business this very day ? " 
 
 "He did not," stammered forth Enrico, avoiding 
 meeting the gaze of Raphael. 
 
 " Did you not ? " cried Beppo, turning to the im- 
 provisatore, upon whom every eye was now bent. 
 
 Horace was almost startled at the short affirmative 
 "si," which was the only reply of Raphael 
 
 " You did — did you ? " exclaimed Matteo, striding 
 up to the speaker, while his hand fumbled in his 
 leathern belt. 
 
 "And you prayed that our quarry might escape 
 us ! " cried Beppo. 
 
 " You did — did you ? " repeated Matteo, more 
 savagely than before. 
 
 Raphael met his fierce glare with unblenching 
 eye, and again briefly answered "si." 
 
 Horace held his breath, as one who sees a wild 
 beast crouching for his deadly spring on a defence- 
 less victim ; he expected every moment to see
 
 FAILUKE. 149 
 
 Raphael laid dead at his feet. When Matteo con- 
 tented himself with growling out a curse and a 
 threat, and with the other robbers sauntered into 
 the cave, the youth could hardly believe that the 
 improvisatore bore not indeed a charmed life, and 
 that some invisible circle of protection had been 
 drawn around him by a hand unseen. 
 
 " How could you dare to brave so his fury ? " ex- 
 claimed Horace to the Rossignol ; "I thought that 
 he would have struck you to the earth." 
 
 " He that speaks for the truth must hold to the 
 truth," replied Raphael, as, taking up his instrument, 
 he followed the banditti into their dark retreat.
 
 CHAPTER XIY. 
 
 TIDINGS. 
 
 " Would I could answer 
 This comfort with the like ; but I have words 
 That would be howled out in the desert air 
 Where hearing should not catch them ! " 
 
 " WhaX concern they? 
 The general cause ? or is it a fee-grief 
 Due to some single breast 7 " 
 
 " No mind that's honest 
 But in it shares some woe ; though the main part 
 Pertains to you alone. " 
 
 "If it be mine, 
 Keep it not from me ; quickly let me have it. " 
 
 Shakspeaak. 
 
 |ORACE was awakened very early on the 
 following morning by the sound of voices 
 speaking in earnest whispers near him. 
 His rocky recess, as the reader is aware, 
 was shared by the brothers Goldoni. The 
 struggling light of dawn was too dim to enable 
 Horace to discern their figures, but the tones of 
 Raphael's voice in their pecvdiar sweetness were 
 distinguishable from aU others even in the lowest 
 whisper. 
 
 "So young — ^his poor mother," these were the
 
 TIDINGS. 161 
 
 only words that reached the captive's ear, but he 
 felt assured that they related to himselll Enrico 
 seemed to be resisting some urgent entreaty, the 
 nature of which, however, could not be gathered 
 from his hurried, murmured reply. 
 
 "You are to me as a chain — a fetter," said 
 Raphael, still speaking below his breath. 
 
 "It is well that you have one, or you would be 
 using freedom to throw away your life upon some 
 insane venture," exclaimed Enrico, his impatience 
 causing him slightly to raise his voice. 
 
 Again there was the sound of pleading, low, fer- 
 vent, as from one who was wrestling for something 
 dearer than life. It was an entreaty to a brother, 
 a brother beloved, to have mercy upon his own soul, 
 to break from the bondage which held him, to gi-apple 
 with the foe who was dragging him downwards to- 
 wards the abyss of destruction. "To-day may be 
 the turning-point of your existence ; as you decide 
 for good or for evil now, so may the long, endless 
 hereafter be to you an eternity of bliss or of anguish. 
 There will be some dark deed done to-day ; those 
 who are watched for will not yield without resist- 
 ance, you may have the stain of murder on your 
 soul ; oh, while there is yet time flee — save your- 
 self — the door of mercy is open to you yet ! " 
 
 More followed, which Horace could not hear.
 
 162 TlDlIifaS. 
 
 The tone of Enrico's replies was agitated ; but it 
 seemed as if he lacked resolution to take some de- 
 cided step that his brother was urging upon him. 
 The result of the conversation, and it was a long one, 
 Horace could only guess by Raphael's closing words, 
 " Then no resource is left to me but prayer." The 
 tone in which they were uttered was not desponding, 
 but solemn, as if, when all earthly hope had failed, 
 he was enabled yet more firmly to grasp the promise 
 of his God. 
 
 Soon afterwards there was a stir in the cave. 
 From their various lurking-places the robbers came 
 forth, to partake of their morning meal, and prepare 
 for their expedition. Enrico carefully avoided his 
 brother ; and Raphael, who never joined the banditti 
 at their feasts, left the cave to follow the daily avo- 
 cations by which he earned his scanty subsistence. 
 
 The robbers seemed to be aware that the expected 
 travellers were not Hkely to be early on the route, 
 for they lingered in their haunt till past noonday. 
 Horace was, as before, exposed to their coarse jests 
 and rude banter. Beppo, in particular, took pleasure 
 in trying his mettle, and raising apprehensions in 
 his mind. The robber described with a minuteness 
 which almost sickened his hearer, barbarities exer- 
 cised upon former prisoners ; his memory was well 
 stored with horrors, and he took care that Horace
 
 TIWNGB. 163 
 
 should have the full benefit of their recital. Beppo 
 dwelt especially on the miserable fate of Carlo, one 
 of the band who had attempted to break from the 
 rest, and who had perished by the hand of the 
 captain. Horace noticed that Beppo, while telling 
 the tale, often glanced meaningly at Enrico. Raphael's 
 unhappy brother assumed a defiant, half-scorn- 
 ful air, boldly commended the mui'derous deed, and 
 seemed eager to cast from himself the slightest sus- 
 picion of any intention to follow the example of 
 Carlo. 
 
 Right glad was the English prisoner when at 
 length the robbers arose, looked to their matchlocks, 
 examined the priming, and after quaffing large 
 bumpers to the success of their man-hunt, left him 
 to his quiet solitude. 
 
 There is natural elasticity in the mind of the 
 young. As soon as the form of the last of the band 
 had disappeared behind the trees, Horace breathed 
 more freely, and the relief which he felt made his 
 spirit rebound into hope. "I shall have but three 
 days more of this to endure," thought he ; " the 
 worst half of the trial is ended, and oh, how glorious 
 it will be to fling these fetters aside, and tread the 
 earth once more as a freeman ! To leave behind, 
 once and for ever, this den of misery and horror ! 
 I shall not care to stay longer in Italy ; I shall hate
 
 164 TIDINGS, 
 
 the very sound of the lan^age in which I have 
 heard such things as I have been compelled to 
 listen to here. But I cannot part with Kaphael ; 
 no ! he has quite long enough held his hopeless post, 
 teaching those who will not learn, pleading with 
 those who will not hear ; he has quite long enoiigh 
 risked his life for the sake of a worthless brother. 
 With his talents and his earnestness of purpose, 
 what a glorious career is before him ! If his light 
 has shone even in this dark den, what a lustre will 
 it shed in some high position, where the world can 
 see its brightness ! Raphael is so unlike all other 
 men whom I have met with ; wherever he be he 
 will exercise power, and that power will be exerted 
 for good. I am sure that my mother would pay for 
 his expenses at one of our universities. The Christ- 
 ian soldier will then have a wider battle-field before 
 him ; he has been trained in these wild mountains 
 by hardship and danger for deeds which, if I mis- 
 take not, will one day make his name renowned." 
 
 From forming projects for his friend, it was an 
 easy transition to make some for himself. 
 
 But Horace's castles in the air were different now 
 from what they had been in the days of his careless 
 boyhood. Adversity is a powerful teacher, and 
 when its lessons are enforced by their visible influ- 
 ence upon another, when example shows how in the
 
 TIDrNQS. 156 
 
 fiery furnace the pure gold shines more brightly, to 
 a generous spirit like that of Horace its lessons are 
 seldom in vain. Young Cleveland now thought less 
 of commanding his fellow-creatures than of serving 
 them ; of being a victor in earthly warfare than of 
 approving himself as a good soldier of the cross. 
 He saw that his first post of duty must be home — 
 the second, the circle of his school-companions ; he 
 felt that his pride and self-will, the sins which most 
 easily beset him, must be resisted and overcome 
 there. Obedience to his parent would be the test 
 of his obedience to God. His wild undisciplined 
 spirit must be brought into cheerful subjection. 
 " Henceforth I will be a difierent son to my 
 mother," thought Horace ; " she shall never again 
 shed a tear for word or for action of mine." 
 
 Thus in pleasing and not unprofitable musings 
 passed the hours of the summer afternoon. Ever 
 and anon Horace turned his watchful eye towards 
 the wood, and listened for the sound of signal- whistle 
 or pistol-shot in the distance. There was nothing, 
 however, to teU that anything of human guilt was 
 marring the peace of that beautiful scene. All was 
 tranquil in the rich glow of sunshine ; and but for 
 the chains on his ankles, Horace could have enjoyed 
 the sense of calm repose in that bright, luxurious 
 clime. There was something of romance in his own
 
 166 TIDINOa. 
 
 situation which was not without its charms ; and 
 the youth smiled to himself as he thought what a 
 theme for a tale of stiiring interest his adventures 
 would be when the social circle of friends should be 
 gathered round the blazing logs of a Christmas fire. 
 None of his companions would be able to tell of 
 such hair-breadth escapes, or a life so wild and so 
 strange. It was very amusing to Horace to see in 
 imagination the wondering, curious, half-incredulous 
 looks on familiar faces, and to fancy that he could 
 hear his mother's ejaculations, now of thankfulness, 
 now of terror. 
 
 As he was busy di'awing these pictures of imagi- 
 nation, Horace saw the figure of the improvisatore 
 coming towards him from the wood. At first glance 
 he was struck by a change in the mien of Raphael, 
 perceptible even at a distance. The firm elastic 
 tread habitual to him was exchanged for a slow 
 lingering step, like that of an invalid, and twice he 
 raised his hand to his forehead as if oppressed by 
 dizziness or pain. Horace left his seat beneath the 
 oak, and advanced to meet Raphael as far as the 
 rocky parapet, beyond which he could not proceed. 
 He called out the Rossignol's name, but Raphael 
 neither replied nor raised his face to greet him with 
 his usual kindly smile. Instead of mounting the 
 rough mass of rocks almost with the lightness and
 
 TIDINGS. 167 
 
 ease that wings might have given, Raphael seemed 
 for the first time to experience some difficulty in 
 climbing, and Horace observed, as he gained the top, 
 that the face of the young Italian was even more 
 pale than usual 
 
 " Raphael, you are ill ! " exclaimed Horace. 
 
 The Rossignol shook his head. 
 
 " Something painful, I am certain, has happened. 
 Come, sit down on this rock ; or shall we go yonder 
 to our favourite oak ? " 
 
 Raphael seated himself on the rock, and turned 
 his face from his friend. 
 
 " You have had something to grieve or to alarm 
 you ? The lad whom you visited is dead ? " 
 
 " He is better," the Rossignol replied. 
 
 " But you feel dull and gloomy, as I felt yester- 
 day ; such a cloud came over me then, it seemed as 
 if everything were dark around. You cheered me 
 then, Raphael, it is my turn to cheer you now. I 
 have been forming such golden plans for the future, 
 plans for you as well as for myself;" and in a few 
 rapid sentences Horace described some of the hopes 
 which had been brightening his solitary hours. 
 
 Raphael only responded by a sigh so deep-drawn, 
 that Horjce saw at once that no light trouble, no 
 passing clou^ could cast such a shadow on his 
 soul
 
 168 TIDINOS. 
 
 " You have heard bad news," cried young 
 Cleveland ; "do they regard yourself or — or me ? " 
 
 Raphael's silence was sufficient reply. 
 
 " Tell me the whole truth ! " exclaimed Horace. 
 
 " Could you bear it ? " answered Raphael, slowly 
 turning round, and fixing his large dark eyes upon 
 Horace with a gaze of unutterable sadness. 
 
 "Yes; I am an Englishman, I can bear all, I 
 must know all ! " exclaimed Horace. His heart 
 was beginning to throb fast, while a sensation of 
 cold crept over him, assuredly not caused by the 
 weather. 
 
 " All is said in few words — Otto was hanged this 
 morning." 
 
 Prepared as he was for a painiul communication, 
 the tidings came upon Horace like a blow. He had 
 been so fidl of hopeful anticipation, he had had such 
 confidence in the power of his mother's tears, and 
 her gold, that he had Kttle reckoned upon having to 
 sufier anything beyond a seven days' captivity. 
 Now Matteo's horrible threat, that threat which he 
 had not dared to translate to his mother, rose up in 
 his mind like a spectre. 
 
 " Are you quite certain — quite certain that the 
 tidings are true ? " 
 
 " Quite certain," was the moumftd reply. 
 
 " Does Matteo know all ? "
 
 TIDINGS. 159 
 
 " He can hardly know it, or — or I should not 
 have found you here alone. But he will be sure to 
 know it before the morning ; evil tidings fly on swift 
 
 wings." 
 
 Horace grasped the arm of his friend with a con- 
 vulsive pressure. " Oh, Raphael, you will not — 
 cannot see me murdered in cold blood by that 
 merciless man ! For my mother's sake — for God's 
 sake — for the sake of Him whom you serve — re- 
 lease me — save me from this horrible fate ! " 
 
 The earnest imploring gaze was met by one of 
 anguish. 
 
 "We can fly together," continued Horace, speak- 
 ing with eager rapidity, " once out of the forest and 
 we both are safe, both happy — " " 
 
 Raphael interrupted him with a single word, 
 "Enrico!" 
 
 In that name were expressed all the difficulties of 
 his position, at least all such as might be regarded 
 as insuperable. The fearful choice to Raphael lay 
 but between his brother and his friend. To save 
 the one was to sacrifice the other. 
 
 It was a moment of exquisite pain to the captive 
 and his companion; so great was the tension of their 
 nerves, that the sound of a whistle from below made 
 them both start, as if it had been a death-signal ! 
 
 "They come — all is lost!" exclaimed Horace.
 
 160 TEDINGJi. 
 
 " No — not SO — there is but one man — it is only 
 Marco," said Raphael, as the powerful form of the 
 bandit appeared advancing to the rock. 
 
 " But he knows all — I see it in his face; he comes 
 a death-messenger ! " cried Horace. 
 
 And certainly the dark saturnine countenance of 
 the robber wore a deeper shade of gloom than usual, 
 such as could not escape the notice of the anxious 
 eyes that sought to read in it their fate. 
 
 " He may know nothing, do not betray your own 
 secret," whispered Raphael, whO: however, could not 
 but draw the same conclusion as young Cleveland 
 had done from the bandit's appearance.
 
 CHAPTER XV. 
 
 ONWARDS. 
 
 " Extend Thy all-protecting arm, 
 Oh, Thou whose awful judgment bows us to the dust, 
 Stretch forth Thy hand to raise us ! 
 Oh, let Thy Spirit elevate my soul. 
 And in the effort to support and soothe 
 (A friend in his distress), I'M hope to find 
 The strength and fortitude to bear my own ! " 
 
 Camoens, by H. 61. O. Tucker. 
 
 'HEN Marco bad reached the top of the 
 parapet, Horace drew a little hope from 
 the trivial circumstance ti^at the bandit 
 did not look at him, nor appear to notice 
 his presence. He addressed himself at 
 once to the improvisatore. 
 
 " Your preaching to the living is over, you may 
 now pray for the dead," he said in a hollow sepul- 
 chral voice, crossing himself as he spoke. 
 " Explain yourself ! " exclaimed Raphael. 
 "Your brother is" — Marco pointed downwards 
 — "with the souls in purgatory." 
 
 Raphael uttered an exclamation which wtis almost 
 
 (232J 11
 
 162 OKVTARDS. 
 
 like a cry. " Not by violence, not by violence ? " 
 he gasped forth. 
 
 Marco gloomily shook his head, and muttered 
 between his teeth, " The Cascata della Morte ! " 
 
 "How did it happen?" exclaimed Horace, giving 
 voice to the question painted on Raphael's agonized 
 face. 
 
 "We were aU on our way to the high road," said 
 Marco, " when some one proposed that instead of 
 following the bend of the river, it would be weU for 
 one or two of our party to cross it, so that by mak- 
 ing a round to the left, we might come on the 
 travellers from behind, while the rest attacked them 
 in front. Enrico and I had orders to cross. You 
 know," continued the robber, addressing himself to 
 Raphael, " that the only bridge there is the trunk of 
 the tree, thrown across from bank to bank, some 
 twenty yards above the Cascata. Enrico went first, 
 I lingered to tighten my belt, which was loose. I 
 know not whether he was taken with giddiness at 
 seeing the waters rushing on so madly beneath him, 
 or whether he stumbled on the rough bark, but I 
 saw Enrico suddenly go down splash into the cur- 
 rent. He gave a cry, and sti-uggled desperately, but 
 the rush there is so strong and rapid that no swim- 
 mer could stem it; the water bore him on as if he 
 had been a reed on the surface, on — over — you
 
 ONWARDS. 163 
 
 know the depth of the fall, and may judge whether 
 he could reach the bottom alive." 
 
 Raphael closed his eyes, as if to shut out a vision 
 of the awful scene — the precipice and the victim 
 dashed over it. 
 
 "Not time for a single Ave or Paternoster," said 
 the bandit, " even had he had the grace to repeat 
 one ; but I trow that you had made half a heretic of 
 him ; there was not a saint who would help him in 
 his need, or he would not have come to so awful an 
 end." 
 
 Raphael turned and rushed into the cave, to hide 
 himself from the sunshine, and give vent in solitude 
 and darkness to the first burst of uncontrollable grief. 
 
 " Ay, ay," said Marco, following him with his 
 eyes; "if ever one brother loved another, that 
 brother was Raphael. He is always teaching and 
 preaching about submission, but I take it that when 
 it comes to a sharp sudden trial like this, the here- 
 tic's faith and trust will be whirled away, like that 
 poor struggling wretch who has just been dashed to 
 pieces over the fall. It was an awful sight, even to 
 one used like myself to rough work," added the bandit, 
 wiping his brow; "and often when I stand sentry 
 within sound of that deathly catai-act, I shall fancy 
 that I hear again the last cry of the miserable Enrico." 
 
 " Is Matteo returning soon ? " asked Horace, who
 
 164 ONWARBS. 
 
 could not forget his own perilous position even in 
 his interest in the fate of the sufferer. 
 
 "He will come when he has done his business," 
 was the surly reply. " The sun has nearly sunk 
 behind the hills, but the expected party have not 
 yet appeared. The band will keep on the watch, 
 and perhaps pass the night in the woods. I am 
 appointed sentinel at the rock-pass till they return, 
 and I have come to fill my wallet and my flask, as 
 it is uncertain how many hours I may have to re- 
 main and keep guard." 
 
 So saying, the robber went to the entrance to the 
 cave, pushed aside the plants which almost concealed 
 it, and stooping his tall gaunt figure, entered in, 
 Horace felt an almost irresistible impulse to try once 
 more the descent of the rocks, impossible as he had 
 found it to be to climb down while the shackles con- 
 fined his ankles. He was almost bewildered by 
 what he heard, evil tidings succeeding evil tidings 
 with a rapidity which had overpowered for a time 
 the stronger nature of Raphael, disciplined as it had 
 been by conflict and sufiering. Horace attempted 
 to pray, but could not collect his thoughts; the 
 only words of Scripture that came into his mind 
 were, " Oh, that I had wings like a dove ! " and 
 that aspiration the poor doomed captive uttered 
 from the depth of his souL
 
 ONWARDS. 165 
 
 In about a quarter of an hour Marco emerged 
 from the cave, and proceeded towards his allotted 
 post. He stopped as he was about to pass Horace, 
 and looked at him with a scrutinizing eye. 
 
 " One might deem that you had been the one to 
 lose a brother," he observed, " or that you had just 
 seen the ghost of Enrico. You look white as a 
 corpse on the bier." 
 
 Horace made no answer, and the robber went on 
 his way. Scarcely had Marco reached the wood, 
 when Raphael came foi-th from the cave. He was 
 now perfectly calm, but almost stem in his sadness, 
 and Horace saw more distinctly than he had ever 
 seen it before, the Rossignol's likeness to his brother, 
 Raphael made a gesture to the prisoner to place his 
 foot upon a large stone which was near, and then, to 
 the sui'prise of Hwace, threw himself on his knees 
 beside him. 
 
 " When I besought God to make the path plain 
 before me, I thought not of this answer," said 
 Raphael in a low tone; "but just and true are His 
 ways;" and the moment after, with a file which he 
 had brought in his hand, he was working at the 
 chain of the captive. 
 
 The mingled feelings of hope, fear, delight, im- 
 patience, which struggled together in the bosom of 
 Horace pass description. Though Raphael filed
 
 166 OirTAKDB. 
 
 with the full power of his right arm, it seemed to 
 Horace as though the stubborn iron would never 
 give way, and the noise caused by the instrument 
 sounded to him so loud, that he was in terror lest 
 it should reach Marco, and awake his suspicions. 
 At the first pause made by Raphael, though it was 
 but to shake back the dark locks that had fallen 
 over his brow as he stooped, Horace caught the file 
 from his hand and used it himself with the desperate 
 energy of one who felt that his life might be the 
 sacrifice of even a few minutes' delay ; but he found 
 that better progress was made when he resigned it 
 again to Raphael. Not a single word was uttered 
 by either until the work was completed, and Horace 
 stood unfettered beneath the deep blue sky, which 
 was already darkening into night. He would have 
 leaped and bounded in the rapture of recovered fi-ee- 
 dom, but for an instinctive delicacy which forbade 
 demonstration of joy in the presence of the bereaved 
 brother of Enrico. 
 
 " Now, put on my mantle and hat," said 
 Raphael 
 
 *' Why so ? " asked Horace ; " surely we shall 
 escape together ; I shall have your guidance through 
 the forest ? " 
 
 " Through the most intricate part you shall have 
 it ; but when we reach the post guarded by Marco,
 
 ONWARDa 167 
 
 we must separate ; it is only wrapt in disguise that 
 you will be able to pass him." 
 
 " He is but one man — there are two of us," 
 began Horace, all his natural courage rising at the 
 prospect of a struggle. 
 
 " One man — but with two pistols at his belt, 
 and with a hand that, when it draws a trigger, 
 never fails to hit its mark. Remember also 
 that the sound of a shot would be sufficient to 
 draw the whole band upon us. Do not delay 
 putting on this disguise ; time is precious to you 
 now." 
 
 Horace promptly obeyed. Though he had not 
 yet attained the stature of Raphael, the difference 
 between their heights was not great enough to be 
 striking, and the almost sudden darkness of southern 
 latitudes was now falling upon earth. 
 
 " There is the moon," observed Horace; " her light 
 will serve to guide us on our way." 
 
 " I need it not," the Rossignol repKed, " every step 
 of that way is familiar to me;" and he began de- 
 scending the rocks. 
 
 Horace followed, rejoicing in his newly-restored 
 powers of activity, though their exercise was cramped 
 not a little by the necessity of moving with caution 
 in the darkness. Before he clambered over the 
 rocky parapet, he turned one last glance towards
 
 168 ONWARDS, 
 
 the old oak, the dim outline of whose branches he 
 faintly could trace. 
 
 "Farewell," thought the released captive, "fare- 
 well for ever to the place where I have suffered so 
 much of evil, and learned so much of good ; where 
 I have seen more of the wickedness of man, and 
 more of the grace of God, in a few days, than in all 
 my former lifetime !" 
 
 In profound silence, save when a pebble fell, dis- 
 lodged beneath a climbing foot or hand, the twain 
 descended those rocks down which the prisoner had 
 80 often gazed, measuring their depth with an 
 anxious and at length a hopeless eye. A few more 
 steps, and the fugitives had entered the depths of 
 the forest. Here the light was almost entirely shut 
 out, for rarely was a glimpse of the silver moon seen 
 behind the thick branches. Over moss-grown roots, 
 between the knotted gnarled trunks of old trees, 
 now bending low to avoid being struck by their 
 boughs, now thrusting aside plants whose long trail- 
 ing tresses concealed all trace of a path even during 
 the day, Raphael guided his companion. Occasion- 
 ally there was a rustle as they started some wild 
 creature from its lair, or a frightened bird rose on 
 the wing. A single nightingale was pouring forth 
 its soft melancholy lay ; other sounds there were 
 none, till a faint noise, as of a distant waterfall.
 
 ONWARDS. 169 
 
 reached the listening ear. A sudden tui-n at length 
 brought the fugitives to a break in the forest, and 
 Horace saw before him the same ledge of rock over- 
 hanging a precipice which he so well recollected 
 traversing under the guidance of Enrico. The moon, 
 almost at the full, in unveiled brightness shone on 
 the cold gray stone, veined with green moss and 
 Hchen, and the wooded heights which rose on one 
 side above it, and even revealed the awful beauty 
 of the deep gorge on the left, glimmering on a 
 stream which, hundreds of feet below, wound like a 
 thread of silver through the dark valley. Distinct 
 in the moonshine, which threw his black shadow on 
 the rock wall behind him, rose the gaunt form of 
 Marco the bandit. He stood at so narrow a part of 
 the ledge, that though he was almost close to the 
 rock, the precipice in front of him yawned scarcely 
 more than a yard from his feet. He could hardly 
 be passed without being touched, and Horace per- 
 ceived at once that, without the protection of a dis- 
 guise, the attempt to cross in front of the watchftil 
 sentinel must bring inevitable destruction. 
 
 " Draw your hat lower over your brow," whispered 
 Raphael; "the pass-word is 'Speranza;' if Marco 
 speak to you, do not reply, silence on my part 
 would cause no surprise after all that has passed. 
 The sound of water will be sufficient guide to you,
 
 170 ONVAKDS. 
 
 till you reach the bank of the stream ; do not 
 attempt to cross it," Raphael's voice faltered as he 
 spoke, " turn to the right and follow its course till 
 you reach the high road, which crosses it by a bridge. 
 And now — God's blessing go with you !" and ex- 
 tending his hand to Horace, Raphael added, " here 
 we must part." 
 
 "O Raphael !" exclaimed the young Englishman, 
 grasping it with emotion, " I cannot desert you thus, 
 I cannot leave you to the vengeance of Matteo — I 
 feel that your blood would be on my head — I would 
 rather go back to the cave !" The two hands were 
 yet clasped in each other, and Horace felt the warm 
 pressure of his fiiend's as he replied, "You would 
 have no chance of mercy ; your young life would 
 be the certain sacrifice ; I have a thousand advan- 
 tages which you do not possess. I know every man 
 in the band — 1 have put most of them under obli- 
 gation ; every path in the forest is familiar to me as 
 well by night as by day. If you knew the moun- 
 tain's weight which will be removed from my heart 
 by your flight, you would not dally thus with your 
 fate." 
 
 " But do I not leave you to danger, the most 
 terrible danger?" 
 
 " You leave me to the care of my heavenly 
 Father ; he is with me, I have nothing to fear."
 
 ONWARDS. 171 
 
 " But," began Horace, still retaining his hold of 
 the hand of Raphael, " if you should sufifer for this 
 generous act, I never should know peace any more." 
 
 " Say not so," murmured the Rossignol, with 
 more than his usual sweetness of tone; " if anything 
 should happen to me, think that the lone desolate 
 wanderer has found at last rest and a home ; that 
 the weary warfare is ended — the long life-struggle 
 over. I am not, as you are, a mother's hope, and 
 pride, and comfort ; I now stand alone in the world." 
 
 "I will be your brother!" exclaimed Horace; 
 " oh, I cannot, vdll not desert you !" 
 
 " You could not serve me, even were you to 
 return to the cave," said Raphael ; " I could not 
 replace the chains ; the Rubicon was passed when 
 I filed them asunder. My chance of escape would 
 be greatly lessened by my having to care for your 
 safety as well as my own. Therefore go, my friend 
 — my brother !" Raphael drew Horace to his 
 heart, and pressed him to it for a moment in a close 
 embrace ; then suddenly unloosing it, he turned 
 round and buried himself in the wood.
 
 CHAPTER XVI. 
 
 A PERILOUS PASS. 
 
 bions. 
 
 '^ercy, Lord Jesu« ! Omnipotent King I 
 Weakness and guilt to Thy feet I bring, — 
 Can I be lost while trembling 1 cling? 
 Full of corruption and guilt I have been, 
 Lord, If Thou wilt. Thou canst make me clean i 
 Guilty, polluted, weak, unbolieTing, 
 Save, or I perish; 
 
 Say, 'Else, be thou clean !' 
 
 Almighty, All merciful ! 
 
 Say, ' Rise, be thou clean !' 
 
 ■' Mercy, Lord Jesus, my Sariour and Guide 
 Turn not Thy face in anger aside, — 
 Lnok upon him lor whom Thou hast died ! 
 Bojiily at Thy word dared I the wave. 
 Now the strength falls me that contidence gave ! 
 In the deep waters, stoking, despairing. 
 Save, or I peri«h; 
 Thou only canst sare I 
 
 Almighty, AJl-merciful ! 
 Thou only canst saTo ' " 
 
 HE parting from Raphael gave a keen pang 
 to the young Englishman. Horace could 
 scarcely have believed that in so short a 
 space of time any human being could have 
 obtained so strong a hold upon his affec- 
 Pity, gratitude, admiration had combined in 
 
 a three-fold cord to knit to his heart the man whose
 
 A PERILOUS PASS. 173 
 
 fate had been so singularly Linked with his own, 
 and who was now freely risking life to save him. 
 But Horace had no time to dwell on tender recollec- 
 tions at a moment like this. The absorbing instinct 
 of self-preservation claimed now the first place in his 
 mind. Every minute of delay increased the danger 
 of the dreaded Matteo's return. Horace must pass 
 along that perilous ledge, close in front of the ruffian 
 whose strong arm could, were his slightest sus- 
 picion aroused, hurl the stripling over the beetling 
 precipice to lie a mangled corpse in the valley 
 below, 
 
 " Speranza ! Speranza ! hope!" Horace repeated 
 to himself, less from the fear that in the excitement 
 of the moment the pass-word might escape his 
 memory, than from an effort to draw encouragement 
 from the sound. " God be my helper ! God be my 
 hope !" and drawing Raphael's mantle yet more 
 closely round his form, and pulling the hat lower 
 over his eyes, with a palpitating heart, yet a firm, 
 brave step, Horace Cleveland strode forth into the 
 moonlight, which had never before appeared to him 
 so painfully brilliant. 
 
 " Ha, Raphael, you are not going thither ! it is 
 of no avail ! you will only turn your brain alto- 
 gether ! " exclaimed Marco, as Horace approached 
 him, and to the no small alarm of the fugitive, the
 
 174 A PERILOUS PASS, 
 
 bandit actually laid a strong heavy hand on his 
 shoulder. 
 
 "Speranza!" muttered Horace, shaking himself 
 loose from a grasp which seemed to him like that 
 of death. The fugitive could scarcely believe the 
 evidence of his own senses when he found himself 
 actually striding onwards beyond the perilous spot. 
 He expected every moment to be overtaken by a 
 bullet, or to hear a sudden shout of recognition. 
 He dared not look behind him, nor much quicken 
 his steps, but instinctively he held his breath till 
 he had gained the wood at the further end of the 
 ledge. Then, indeed, a low fervent thanksgiving 
 burst from the Hps of Horace, and he felt himself 
 really free. 
 
 The sound of falling water had every minute 
 become more and more distinct. Horace, with 
 eager hope, hurried forward in the direction from 
 whence it came. Yet a little struggling through 
 bramble and bush, trying the most direct way rather 
 than the clearest, while still listening with painful 
 anxiety for sound of pursuit, and the youth reached 
 the bank of a stream which was rushing on as if eager 
 to plunge madly down into the valley. The trunk 
 of a tree lay over it, cutting with its dark rough 
 outline the path of quivering silver which the moon- 
 beams had thrown across the waters. Here must
 
 A riOlILOUS PASS. 175 
 
 have been the scene of the fearful catastrophe which 
 Marco had related. Horace shuddered at the sight 
 of those dark rapid waters in which a fellow-creature 
 so lately had perished. He had now, however, 
 no time for reflecting on the untimely fate of the 
 wretched Enrico ; remembering the directions of 
 Raphael, Horace was about to track the upward 
 course of the stream, when he was startled by a 
 faint cry, as of a human voice, which mingled with 
 the rushing noise of the cataract. Horace was not 
 of a superstitious nature ; but it is no marvel that, 
 when his nerves were quivering from the tension 
 required for a great effort — at that hour of night — 
 in that desolate place — on the very spot where he 
 believed that, but a few hours before, a miserable 
 sinner had been swept into eternity — that cry should 
 seem to curdle the blood in his veins. 
 
 Again it rose more distinct than before : and now 
 superstition — if such a feeling had for a moment 
 arisen — gave place to one more worthy. Horace 
 was many yards fi-om the head of the cataract, 
 though he could see its spray white in the moon- 
 hght ; the way to it was very thickly overgrown 
 with brushwood, through which mortal foot had 
 never yet made its way. Horace held a short 
 debate in his mind as to the course which he ought 
 to pursue ; whether he should seek his own safety
 
 176 A PERILOUS PASS. 
 
 by going to the right, or whether he should force a 
 difficult passage to the top of the fall, in hopes of 
 giving aid to some fellow-creature in distress. Was 
 it not possible that Enrico, saved by some incom- 
 prehensible miracle, might be there in a position of 
 peril from which he had no power to extricate him- 
 self? Might not Horace give aid to the brother of 
 Raphael ? That last thought destroyed every doubt, 
 every selfish calculation of personal risk. Horace 
 only considered how he might reach the place, and 
 though not yet daring to answer the cry, he began 
 with all the activity and energy on which he once 
 had prided himself, to make his way to the edge of 
 the cascata. 
 
 When the English youth had accomplished his 
 object, how wondrous was the scene which presented 
 itself to his view as he bent forward to gaze down 
 the cascade. The body of water was not large, but 
 the depth of the fall was very great, and one sheet 
 of white foam overspread the stream which plunged 
 seething, hissing, roaring — down — down — down — 
 till it was lost in the cloud of spray which, hundreds 
 of feet below, veiled the bottom of the cataract. 
 Exquisite was the beauty of the fall, especially as 
 now seen by the misty, silvery light of the moon, 
 which gave a ghastly grandeur to the wild, bold, 
 wooded rocks, which the cataract seemed to be
 
 A PEBXL0U8 PASS. 177 
 
 cleaving asunder like an archangel's glittering sword. 
 But the eye of Horace was rivetted on one dark 
 object in the midst of the foam, not many feet below 
 the summit. At the first glance he deemed that it 
 might be a fragment of rock that had endured for 
 ages the dash and fret of the restless waters ; but 
 no ; it moved — it clung — a human being, suspended 
 as it seemed by mii-acle, was living — breathing in 
 the very heart of the dizzying roar and rush ! 
 
 "How can I help you?" shouted out Horace, 
 forgetful of everything but the frightful situation of 
 Enrico. 
 
 " A rope — quick — my strength is giving way !" 
 Hollow and strange came the scarcely articulate 
 sounds. 
 
 Horace struck his brow with his hand. " What 
 can I do ? oh, what can I do ? a rope were worth 
 the ransom of a king !" 
 
 " I can't hold out long ; the rush will bear me 
 down." The voice was fainter than before. 
 
 Horace drew Raphael's mantle from his shoulders ; 
 he tore from it strip after strip ; he could think of 
 no other means of saving the perishing man. With 
 fingers which trembled with nervous haste, he pro- 
 ceeded to tie together these unmanageable substi- 
 tutes for a rope. Tightly he knotted them, and 
 tried each knot ; for the awful consequences, were a 
 
 (288/ 12
 
 178 A PERILOUS PASS. 
 
 single one to give way, were too terrible to think of. 
 His movements were quickened by the horrible 
 dread that he would see Enrico, exhausted and de- 
 spairing, whirled down to certain death at the very 
 moment when deliverance appeared at hand. 
 
 " Haste, or I'm lost ! " cried the voice from the 
 faU. 
 
 Horace was engaged in fastening one end of his 
 improvised rope round a tree which bent over the 
 cataract. The stem was so slender that he almost 
 feared lest its roots should give way with the strain 
 which would be upon it, but there was no other 
 tree sufficiently close to the edge to serve his 
 purpose. 
 
 " Now !" exclaimed Horace, as he flung the thick 
 knotted rope towards the spot where the indistinctly 
 seen form of Enrico broke the long line of foam. 
 
 At that moment a cloud passed over the moon, 
 which had till then been shining in untroubled 
 brightness. 
 
 "Where is it? I can't find it!" cried Enrico, in 
 a tone of anguish. Horace's interest rose to agony. 
 He had done all that he could do — he had strained 
 every nerve — he had now nothing left but the 
 means of prayer. Fervently he prayed for light — 
 light on the fearful, the fatal darkness. Like a 
 film the cloud rolled away ; he looked down —
 
 " Hold on I hold on for your life 1 " 
 
 Pn^e 170.
 
 A PERILOirS PASa 179 
 
 almost fearing to look — Enrico was still clinging 
 below. 
 
 " I see it, but I can't reach it !" shrieked the 
 miserable man ; the dark line of the rope lay on the 
 foam just beyond his outstretched hand. 
 
 Horace was almost in despair ; he had no power 
 to throw it nearer ; the current of the waters was 
 gradually drawing the life-rope further away from 
 their victim, 
 
 "Make a spring at it!" exclaimed Horace, and 
 shuddered at his own words, lest Enrico should obey, 
 miss the rope, and be dashed to pieces down the fall. 
 
 " He has done it ! oh, merciful Heaven !" gasped 
 the youth, almost faint with extreme excitement ; 
 " hold on, hold on for your life !" and with a strength 
 beyond his years — a strength which seemed to be 
 superhuman — Horace, throwing his whole weight on 
 the upper end of the rope, drew it hand over hand 
 towards him. He was in momentary dread of 
 feeling it suddenly become hght from the yielding 
 of a knot, or from the numbed hands below giving 
 up their desperate grasp ; he was not without an 
 undefined sense of terror lest he should be over- 
 balanced himself, and instead of saving Enrico, be 
 dashed with him over the abyss. Not even when 
 Horace had passed Marco in safety had he expe- 
 rienced a feeling of relief so intense as when Enrico's
 
 180 A PERILOUS PASS. 
 
 dripping head appeared above the fall, and, a moment 
 after, with a tremendous effort, he swung himself on 
 to the bank. 
 
 " Thank God ! oh, thank God !" exclaimed Horace. 
 
 Enrico lay motionless, senseless ; his failing powers 
 had been concentrated on that one effort, and he 
 swooned as soon as it had been made. 
 
 The English youth did aU that he could to fan 
 the flickering spark of life. He first dragged Enrico 
 a few paces from the edge ; for in that moment of 
 dizzy horror he could not disconnect nearness to the 
 Cascata della Morte from the idea of danger ; he 
 longed to get beyond hearing of its roar. Horace 
 then removed part of the clothes of the half-drowned 
 man, which were torn, saturated, and dripping with 
 water. He chafed Enrico's limbs, breathed on his 
 lips, tried to impart warmth to the bruised and 
 benumbed frame. He wrung the water from the 
 long black hair which hung in tangled strands over 
 the ghastly face, which even in its senselessness 
 retained a look of distress which told of the agony 
 of the late struggle for life. 
 
 While Horace is thus engaged I will relate how 
 Enrico had come into the strange and fearful position 
 from which he had been thus wonderfully rescued. 
 
 When, slipping on the rough tree-bridge and los- 
 ing his balance, Enrico had fallen into the stream,
 
 A PERILOUS PASS. 181 
 
 struggling in vain with the current, he had been, as 
 Marco had described, borne onward to the edge of 
 the cataract. In vain had he attempted to catch at 
 the reeds or grasses near, in vain he had shrieked 
 for help; he had been whirled on, and then over in 
 that awful plunge which involved almost inevitable 
 destruction ! 
 
 From the centre of the rock-wall that backed the 
 cataract, and not veiy far from the summit, jutted 
 out a small fragment of crag, round and over which 
 the farious waters had for centuries dashed, bearing 
 away particles of the solid stone by ceaseless wear, 
 yet leaving a tooth-like })rojection, only visible when 
 the flood was not full, though its opposition always 
 whirled the spray in wider circles from that spot. 
 On this projection the unfortunate Enrico was 
 dashed, stunned and bruised ; caught by his clothes, 
 he had been suspended for some minutes in an 
 almost unconscious state, unable even to utter a cry. 
 He revived, indeed, but only to become aware of the 
 full horrors of his situation. His eyes being, from 
 his position, turned below, he beheld the awful depth 
 down which he expected every moment to be hurled, 
 as the fierce hissing waters, with unceasing flow, 
 seemed like merciless enemies determined to tear 
 him down, to wrench him away from the one little 
 point of refuge afforded by the projecting crag to
 
 182 A PERn,0tJ8 PARR. 
 
 which he now wildly clung, Enrico's soul sickened, 
 his brain reeled ; the din of the torrent rushing, roll- 
 ing, roaring — above, below — almost maddened the 
 wretched man ! A strange idea possessed his mind, 
 that it was Raphael's prayer which had arrested his 
 fall, that it was Raphael's prayer which suspended 
 him now, as it were, by a hair above the gulf, of not 
 only temporal but eternal destruction. If Raphael 
 should cease, even for a moment, to pray, the half- 
 frenzied Enrico believed that the waters would have 
 their wild will, and bear him crashing down to per- 
 dition, swathed in the white shroud of their foam ! 
 
 Thus passed the fearful time till brief twilight 
 deepened into night. Still Enrico clung to his crag, 
 its shape enabling him so to support his person that 
 its weight did not rest on his hands, though all their 
 strength was needed to enable him to resist the con- 
 stant pressure of the fmious waters. He was con- 
 tending with a foe that could never grow weary. 
 Often Enrico cried aloud for help, with a bitter con- 
 sciousness of the improbability that such cry would 
 reach a human ear, since he had never yet known 
 any one come to the top of the cHff, less from the 
 difficulty of reaching it, than from a superstition 
 which clothed the Cascata della Morte with super- 
 natural terrora The forest path, indeed, was not 
 far distant, but it was lonely and wild, and never
 
 A PERILOUS PASS. 183 
 
 trodden save by members of the band. It seemed to 
 Enrico as if the din which perpetually roared in his 
 ears completely drowned the sound of his voice. 
 He could hardly hear it himself ; how could it reach 
 a distant ear ? The robber had become calmer, 
 though not less wretched. His mind now reverted 
 to the past. Each event of his life — every error — 
 every sin — seemed to rise up before him distinct as 
 the white spray in the moonlight, hissed in his ears 
 with the roar of the faU. Had not his position for 
 years been imaged by his position now ? Carried 
 away by his passions as by the flood, hurled over 
 the brink of crime in full rapid career towards end- 
 less ruin, yet caught — suspended — restrained — as it 
 were, by the prayers, entreaties, example, of one who 
 remained amid the whirl, the rack, and the rush, yet 
 unshaken and firm as the crag. Enrico did not 
 pray to angel or to saint — Raphael had long before 
 opened his eyes to the vanity of such prayer ; but 
 in that hour of extremest peril the sinner's cry arose 
 to his God. Raphael had spoken of mercy ; might 
 not that mercy be extended even unto him, not per- 
 haps to save him from impending death, but from 
 the more fearful death of the soul ? Words that his 
 brother had read from the Scriptures flashed back on 
 the mind of Enrico, *^He is able also to save theTn to 
 the uttermost that come. utUo Ood by Him;" the
 
 184 A PERILOUS PASS. 
 
 drowning soul clung to that truth, even as the 
 numbed hands clung to the rock. Enrico knew the 
 utter impossibility now of saving himself; he felt 
 that he deserved no mercy from an offended God ; 
 but there was One who could save to the uttermost, 
 One who had died to save, One who could draw him 
 yet out of the horrible pit, and set his feet on a rock, 
 and order his goings. The prayer of him who was 
 ready to perish burst forth almost in the words of 
 the psalmist : " Save me, God; for the waters have 
 coTne in unto m,y soul. I have come into deep 
 waters, where the floods overfloiu me. I am weary 
 of my crying, my throat is dried ; mine eyes fail 
 while I look to my Ood." 
 
 While thus hanging, as it were, between earth 
 and heaven, Enrico heard the call of Horace. He 
 doubted not for a moment that the Almighty had 
 sent his brother to his aid. When the rope of 
 knotted strips was thrown down the cascade, it 
 seemed to the poor penitent as an emblem of 
 heavenly hope. Then sudden darkness hid it from 
 his view, and in vain his hand groped in the chill 
 waters to find it. The gloom of despair seemed to 
 settle on his soul. The cloud roUed away, and the 
 straining eyes of Enrico beheld the rope once again. 
 He sought to grasp it, and failed. Was it that 
 mercy, even the mercy held out to all contrite sin-
 
 A PERILOUS PASS. 186 
 
 ners, was not to be reached by him — that he who 
 for so long had tried the patience of a long-suffering 
 God, was to perish at last even in sight of the means 
 of salvation. 
 
 " Raphael is praying, and I will hope," thought 
 the struggling sufferer ; and when Horace shouted 
 down the direction to spring, "Raphael bids me, I 
 obey," was the reflection which nerved him for the 
 one desperate leap upon which he staked his exist- 
 ence. 
 
 Even when the rope was grasped, so great was 
 the sufferer's exhaustion, so benumbed and stiffened 
 were his fingers by the drenching of the flood, that 
 he could scarcely retain his hold. Yet it was as 
 though an angel whispered as he was dragged up- 
 wards through the dash and the foam, " Hold fast — 
 hold fast the hope set before you !" It was not 
 merely the action of a drowning man grasping a 
 cord, but of a perishing soul clinging to its last hope 
 of grace. 
 
 As soon as the fearful effort was crowned with 
 success, exhausted nature gave way. In a stupor 
 which must have had fatal consequences had it over- 
 whelmed him two minutes earlier, Enrico lay with 
 his dripping head supported on the knee of Horace 
 Cleveland. The stupor continued for some time ; 
 at len^h the pale Hps parted and sounds came
 
 186 A PEKII,OUS PASS. 
 
 forth. Horace bent down to listen, and caught tht 
 words, — 
 
 " Oh, Raphael, I knew it was your prayer !" 
 
 Tten the large black eyes suddenly opened. 
 They rested not on Horace, but looked wildly around, 
 as if seeking some other face ; and half raising him- 
 self on his arm, Enrico exclaimed, "Where is he — 
 where is my brother ?" 
 
 Horace did not answer, for at that instant his at- 
 tention was arrested by the sound of a distant report. 
 He sprang to his feet — there came another — 
 another — then the rattling sound of a volley, all in 
 the direction of the high road. 
 
 " Ha !" exclaimed Horace Cleveland, " the hunters 
 lay in wait for a deer, but they seem to have fallen 
 in with a lion," 
 
 Then, for the first time, Enrico recognized his 
 deliverer. " The English prisoner, and free ! " he 
 exclaimed in accents of alarm. 
 
 "Ay, free — free as the air, and not likely to be 
 soon in bondage again, if that sound of musketry, as 
 I believe, tells that soldiers are at hand." 
 
 Enrico stniggled to his feet, passed his hand 
 across his brow, and listened with a look of bewilder- 
 ment and fear. 
 
 "Enrico, you also are free — free from worse 
 bondage than mine. Remember that the robber?
 
 A PERILOUS PASS. 187 
 
 will deem your life forfeited ; surrender yourself up 
 to justice, and I pledge my honour that every effort 
 shall be made to procure your safety and your par- 
 don." 
 
 "Pardon!" Enrico repeated the word, clasped 
 his hands and looked upwards ; he was not think- 
 ing of the pardon of man.
 
 CHAPTER XVIL 
 
 ONE EFFORT MORE. 
 
 " The brave man ia not he who feels no fear, 
 For that were stupid and unnatural ; 
 But he whose spirit triumphs o'er his fear, 
 And boldly dares the danger nature shrinks from." 
 
 Joanna. Bajllib. 
 
 ^E will now return to Raphael, who with 
 keen and breathless interest had watched 
 from the shade of the forest Horace's 
 passage along the perilous ledge. When 
 Marco's hand had been laid on the 
 shoulder of the youth, the Rossignol could hardly 
 refrain from springing forward to the rescue, and 
 scarcely had Horace himself experienced greater 
 satisfaction than did his friend when that startling 
 danger was past. When the fugitive had disappeared 
 from his view, Raphael, for the first time, appeared 
 to have leisure to think of himself. To aid in the 
 escape of a prisoner was, as he well knew, a crime 
 to be atoned for only with life. Raphael was young, 
 and notwithstanding the recent bereavement, which
 
 ONE EFFORT MORK. 189 
 
 had been like the "WTenchiiig away of a heart-string, 
 life was to Raphael a precious thing, not to be parted 
 with lightly. As he stood with folded arms under 
 the shadow of the waving boughs, a sense of the 
 loveliness of nature came on his poet-soul with a 
 soothing, softening power. He felt loath to leave 
 God's beautiful world. How divinely fan looked 
 the scene before him, beneath the silvery rays of the 
 moon i How wooingly breathed the night-breeze 
 upon his feverish brow ! How sweet sounded the 
 nightingale's song, warbled soft through the stilly 
 air ! Hope, even earthly hope, was not dead in that 
 young bosom ; there was still a desire for human 
 love and for human happiness there. Raphael 
 thought of Horace, blessed with friends, a mother, a 
 home ; not, indeed, with envy, but with the in- 
 stinctive yearning of a tender and loving nature for 
 the sympathy of human hearts, of which he had 
 known so little. 
 
 Thus the improvisatore had no intention of await- 
 ing a violent death with folded hands ; he revolved 
 all possible means of .escape. From Matteo's mercy 
 he expected as little as he would have done from 
 that of a lioness whose cubs had been slaughtered 
 before her eyes. He must not await the burst of 
 frantic fury of a father bereaved of his son and 
 balked of his vengeance. Nor could Raphael count
 
 190 ONE EFFORT MORE. 
 
 upon the protection of any of the band, though he 
 knew that on some he had the claim of gi-atitude. 
 No, he must rely upon the aid of God and his own 
 efforts alone. Raphael resolved to wait just long 
 enough to give Horace a fair start, which might be 
 essential to the English youth's safety, and then to 
 follow himself in the same track as that which his 
 friend had pursued. It was time that Marco must 
 be passed on the perilous rock — that the bandit had 
 pistols in his belt, and that his bullet always levelled 
 his victim. But Raphael deemed it possible that 
 the man would be reluctant to slay a comrade, alone 
 and unarmed. Marco was savage, ignorant, blinded 
 by superstition, a fanatic in the Romanist faith, who 
 regarded murder itself as a venial offence compared 
 with heresy; but he was not so utterly hardened and 
 depraved as were Matteo and Beppo. The fate of 
 Enrico had seemed somewhat to move even his 
 rugged nature. At all events, Raphael felt that of 
 two dangers the lesser one was to be chosen ; — 
 better to try the chance of passing Marco, than to 
 await the return of Matteo and his gang. 
 
 After recommending himself to the protection oi 
 his heavenly Father, in submission to the Divine 
 will, whatever that will might appoint, the young 
 Italian quitted the shrouding shade, and with a firm 
 step advanced towards the sentinel, whose eyes were,
 
 ONB EFFORT MORE. 191 
 
 at that moment, turned in an opposite direction. 
 Raphael had, as we have seen, divested himself both 
 of hat and mantle. Hjs face was calm, but veiy 
 pale ; — the expression that of a man who knows 
 that he is facing death, but who has nerved himself 
 to face it without flinching. The mass of rich dark 
 hair thrown back from his high pale forehead, fell 
 almost to his shoulders, damp with the dews of 
 night. 
 
 Marco was repeating an Ave for the soul of the 
 miserable Enrico, when, chancing to turn round, he 
 suddenly beheld the tall figure approaching him in 
 the moonlight, bareheaded, in its spirit-like stillness 
 and calmness, with the gaze of its large thoughtful 
 eyes rivetted on his own. It came along the path 
 by which, not an hour before, he beheved that 
 Raphael had passed. The Rossignol marvelled to 
 see the fear which he was wrestling down in his 
 own heart suddenly transferred to the man before 
 him. Marco's eyes dilated, his lips parted, his very 
 hair seemed to rise from his head; he crossed himself 
 with a trembling hand, moving backwards step by 
 step as Raphael Goldoni drew nearer, but staring 
 at him still, like the hare fascinated by the gaze of 
 the serpent. At last with a cry, "'Eil suo spirito !" 
 ("It is his ghost !") the strong man actually turned 
 and fled, overpowered by superstitious terrors.
 
 102 ONE EFFORT MORE. 
 
 Tlien Raphael knew the cause of that before iii' 
 explicable alarm which his presence had inspired, 
 and with thankfulness for the path thus cleared for 
 him by means upon which he could never have 
 reckoned, came a bitter pang of remembrance, as he 
 thought on his brother, loved and lost ! There ap- 
 peared to be as little cause to doubt the death of 
 Enrico as there would have been had he been dashed 
 over the Falls of Niagara ; no human foresight could 
 have calculated upon the singular accident to which 
 he owed his almost miraculous preservation. 
 
 Scarcely had the Rossignol entered the wood on 
 the further side of the pass, with a feeling of deep 
 melancholy as he approached the scene of his brother's 
 fall, when he was startled, as Horace had been, by 
 the sound of distant firing. It was evident that 
 Matteo and his ruffian band had lighted on no des- 
 picable foe — that they were engaged in a desperate 
 struggle with those who would claim blood for 
 blood, and life for life. Raphael and Horace little 
 guessed that a timid, delicate woman, foiled in her 
 effijrts to save her son in one way, had attempted 
 another, with the energy given by desperation to 
 maternal love. There had been a carriage and a 
 lady within it ; there had been postilior^ and out- 
 riders ; the appearance of the equipage had beeu 
 such as to awake cupidity, but not arouse alarm.
 
 ONE EFFORT MORK 193 
 
 But the banditti were soon to find out that the 
 hands which held bridles were such as had been 
 well accustomed to grasp the sword. The luggage 
 on the carriage consisted of sabres and carbines ; 
 and the travellers within it, save one, were soldiers 
 chosen for courage and strength. Gold had, indeed, 
 been lavished with unsparing hand by the almost 
 despairing mother ; and now, notwithstanding con- 
 stitutional nervousness and delicacy of frame, Mrs. 
 Cleveland risked her own life amidst clashing steel 
 and flying bullets in order to lure from their secret 
 fastness, and draw within reach of the arm of justice, 
 those who in perilous captivity held her only son ! 
 
 What was the result of the conflict we shall hear 
 in the following chapter. 
 
 (233) 13
 
 CHAPTER XVIIl. 
 
 VICTORY. 
 
 Christian soldier ! arm thee 
 
 For tlie deadly fray ; 
 Let not fears alarm thee, 
 
 Let not doubts delay ! 
 When earth's hopes are brightest 
 
 Arm for the inward strife ; 
 With more than mortal foes then flpht^sl, 
 
 And for more than life ! 
 
 Christian soldier t shrink not 
 
 From the arduous strife, 
 Certain, if thou sink not, 
 
 Of the crown of life ! 
 Soon the warfare ending, 
 
 Death unglrds the sword. 
 And the victor-saint ascending, 
 
 Views his conquering Lord ! 
 
 [NWARDS ! ouwards ! now or never must 
 we make a struggle for fi-eedom ! " ex- 
 claimed Horace. " If your strength fail 
 you, Enrico, lean upon me. This is no 
 time for giving way to weariness ; and as 
 for hesitation and doubt — " 
 
 " The firing has ceased ! " gasped Enrico ; "we 
 know not who are the victora" 
 
 " The right has conquered, be sure of tliat ' "
 
 VICTORY. 195 
 
 cried Horace, whose countenance, beaming with hope 
 and flushed with excitement, presented a strong 
 contrast to that of Eurico, livid even to ghastliness ! 
 The young bandit in his dripping garments looked 
 more like the corpse of a drowned man, than one 
 throuerh whose veins the warm blood of life was 
 coursing. 
 
 " Come on ! " again exclaimed the impatient 
 youth ; and almost dragging his companion forward, 
 Horace humed on for a few paces, and suddenly 
 confronted — Matteo ! 
 
 Defeat, disaster, despair, were stamped on the 
 dark lineaments of the chieftain, distinct as the 
 blood-marks on face and hand. It was the wounded 
 lion driven back into the shelter of his native jungle, 
 who hears behind him the bay of the blood-hounds, 
 the shout of the hunters on his track ! Matteo had 
 seen all his followers, save Marco, slain or taken, 
 and then, not till then, had he dashed aside oppos- 
 ing weapons and plunged into the depths of the 
 thicket. He had paused but once, and that was to 
 reload a pistol, less to provide for defence than to 
 assurq himself that he should never fall alive into 
 the hands of his foes. 
 
 Before this desperate man stood the English 
 stripling, his Italian companion at his side. No 
 thought of apparitions roused in Matteo superstitious
 
 11)6 TICTOaY. 
 
 dread ; he doubted not that iu mortal flesh and 
 blood he beheld a traitor and an escaping hostage, 
 a hostage for the son of whose ignominious death he 
 on that very night had heard ! A fierce joy flashed 
 in the blood-shot eyes of the bandit ; he had lost all 
 beside, but a dying man's vengeance yet might be 
 his. Matteo levelled his pistol and fii-ed ! the re- 
 port rang sharp through the wood, a victim lay 
 stretched on the ground, but that victim was not 
 Horace Cleveland. Raphael had reached the spot 
 at that crisis only in time to throw himself in front 
 of his friend, and receive in his own bosom the 
 bullet destined for another ! 
 
 With a wild cry Enrico nished forward and threw 
 himself on the ground by his brother. Absorbed bj 
 one overpowering dread, the wretched young man 
 was unconscious of all that was passing around 
 him ; he heard not, cared not for the desperate 
 struggle of Matteo with the soldiers, his wrestling 
 for liberty and life as a wild beast caught in the 
 toils, nor knew that the struggle ended at last in the 
 capture of the chief Enrico heard not, cared not 
 for the sobs of delight with which a mother em- 
 braced a rescued son, nor knew the deep sympathy 
 with which both Mrs. Cleveland and Horace now 
 bent over Raphael. Had an earthquake shaken the 
 forest, Enrico would scarcely have felt it. His
 
 TICTORY. 197 
 
 brother's head was supported on his breast ; the ex- 
 pression of the features was serene and painless, the 
 heavy eyelids closed, and the long dark lashes rest- 
 ing on the colourless cheek. 
 
 " Raphael ! my own, my only brother, look at me, 
 speak to me ! This is not, it cannot be death ! One 
 word, if it be of reproach — one look, were it even in 
 anger ! Tell me that I have not this night been 
 rescued fi'om the jaws of death, that I have not been 
 saved fi'om the whelming waters to be plunged in 
 darker depths of wretchedness ! " The young man 
 sobbed aloud in the anguish of his soul. His nerves 
 had been completely unstrung by the events of the 
 last few hours ; his mind was crushed by the con- 
 sciousness that it had been his guilt that had led to 
 the ruin of his brother. 
 
 " He bleeds but little ; he may, he will revive ! " 
 exclaimed Horace. " I vsdll bring water ! " and he 
 huiTied away towards the stream. Briny drops were 
 fast falling on the face of Raphael, but they seemed 
 to have no power to arouse him. 
 
 " O God, have mercy upon me ! God, spare 
 my brother ; let him not perish through my sin ! I 
 will submit to Tliy will in all things — I vdll not 
 murmur — I will not rebel — only spare this one pre- 
 cious life ! " It was the wrestling, agonizing prayer 
 bursting from a broken and contrite heart.
 
 19B VICTOKY. 
 
 " See ! his lips move ! " exclaimed Horace, who 
 had just sprinkled water over the face of the dying 
 man. 
 
 Faint sounds came forth, soft and melodious still, 
 from those tuneful lips so soon to be silenced in 
 death ; even Enrico hushed his wild gi-ief to listen. 
 Low but distinct were the words, " Joy cometh — 
 in the morning ! — see — it is brightening in the east 
 — darkness is passing away — and for ever ! " 
 
 " Raphael, do you know me ? " faltered Horace, 
 as he knelt beside the Rossignol, and pressed his icy 
 hand in his own. 
 
 Raphael did not answer the question ; the spirit 
 fluttering on the confines of a world of light seemed 
 already to feel the eternal sunshine on its wings ! 
 The large dark eyes slowly unclosed, but their gaze 
 was fixed upwards, as if they beheld the vision of 
 glories hidden from mortal eyes, 
 
 " It is over," he murmured — " all is over — the 
 struggle — the battle is past ! More than conqueror — 
 through Him — only through Him who loved me ! 
 Ah, Marino — thou art there to welcome me, the 
 palm in thy hand — the glory round thy brow. I 
 knew our parting would not be for long ! See the' 
 angel faces bending from the clouds — they are wait- 
 ing there to receive me — light is streaming from the 
 golden gate. Oh, stay me not — T mu.st go ! "
 
 VICTORY. 199 
 
 " If this be death," exclaimed Horace, " how 
 blessed a thing it is to die ! " 
 
 " He must not die and leave me!" gasped Enrico; 
 " Raphael, live, if it be but to guide me, to teach 
 me how to wrestle ^vith my sins, to lead me, even 
 me, to the Saviour ! " 
 
 Raphael turned his eyes upon his brother with a 
 sudden look of joyful recognition. 
 
 " Enrico, saved ! " he exclaimed. 
 
 " Yes, saved from destruction of body and soul, 
 saved to be — " 
 
 " My joy arid crown of rejoicing ! " cried the 
 dying man, the radiance of unearthly rapture light- 
 ing up his fading features. " Oh, my God, I thank 
 thee — I bless Thee — Thou hast given me my heart's 
 desire — Thou hast heard my prayer for my brother ! 
 Hark ! " he exclaimed, suddenly, " do you not hear 
 the shouts — the music — loud — louder ! It is the 
 song of triumph. The angels are beckoning me up- 
 wards — why cannot I rise and join them ! He is 
 there — my Leader — my King ! I have waited for 
 Him — sought Him — I have found Him ! AH the 
 mists are dissolving — the clouds are melting into 
 light — the chain that bound me to the earth is 
 loosening — He holds out a crown — a crown of life 
 — and I take it — to cast at His feet ! " 
 
 Horace covered his eyes ; his dream Avas fulfilled ;
 
 200 VICTORY. 
 
 the martyr-spirit bad spread its pinions ana soared 
 upwards, leaving a track of light behind ! 
 
 * * * * * 
 
 A full pardon for Enrico was ere long procured 
 from the king of Naples. It was granted partly on 
 account of the services of bis father, partly because 
 of the earnest pleadings of his English friends, who 
 thus sought to repay some portion of the deep debt 
 which they owed his brother. The death of Raphael 
 Goldoni had effected more than his life. His light, 
 which for a brief space had shone on earth to the 
 glory of his heavenly Father, had not been extin- 
 guished in darkness. Horace and Enrico had seen 
 his example casting a pure though feeble radiance 
 in the deep gloom of the robbers' cave ; but it had 
 a stronger, more abiding influence upon them when 
 they thought of him as one of the starry host, raised 
 to glitter for ever in the cloudless heaven above ! 
 Raphael had longed to win souls to Christ ; and 
 had sought them at the gi-eatest personal risk, in the 
 darkest haunt of evil. For such is the crown re- 
 served, for such is the promise given, " They that 
 be wise shall shine as the brightness of the Jirma- 
 ment ; and they that turn many to righteousness as 
 the stars for ever and ever ! "
 
 UNIVERSITY OF CALIFORNIA LIBRARY 
 
 Los Angeles 
 
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