His remonstrances were in vain.
Damn conditions, roughly replied the man occupied in getting ready the rope; we know nothin bout them. Our business is to bind ye; thems the orders of the captin.
And so saying, he proceeded to carry them out.
It looked hopeless enough; but still there might be a chance in an appeal to the feelings of a countryman. The captive determined on making trial of it.
You are an Englishman? he said in his most conciliatory tone.
Ive beed one, gruffly answered the bandit.
I hope you still are.
Ideed, do ye? What matters that to you?
I am one myself.
Who the devil says you aint? Dye take me for a fool not to see it in yer face, and hear it in the cursed lingo that Id hope never to lissen to again?
Come, my good fellow; its not often that an Englishman
Stash yer palaver, dang yer! an dont good fellow me! Spread yer wrists now, an get em ready for the rope. Just because youre English Ill tie em all the tighter daang me if I dont!
Perceiving that remonstrance was thrown away upon the renegade ruffian, and that resistance would only lead to ill-treatment, the young Englishman extended his hands to be tied. The bandit seized hold of him by both wrists, and commenced twisting them so as to turn them back to back. The moment his eyes rested on the left hand upon the little finger showing a red longitudinal scar he dropped both as if they had been bars of hot iron, at the same time starting backwards with a cry. It was a cry that betokened recognition, mingled with malignant joy!
The surprise which this occasioned to the captive was followed by another springing from
a different cause. He, too, had effected a recognition. In the brutal brigand before him, he identified the ex-gamekeeper, poacher, and murderer Doggy Dick!
Ho! ho! cried the latter, dancing over the ground like one who had gone frantic from receiving news of some unexpected fortune. Ho! ho! You it be, Muster Henry Hardin! Who would a expected to find you here among the mountains o Italy istead o the Chiltern Hills, where ye were so snug an comfortable! An wi such a poor coat upon yer back! Why, what ha become o the old General, an his big property the park, the farms, the woods, the covers, and the pheasants? Ah! the pheasants! You remember them, dont ye? And so do I too. So do Doggy Dick daangd well!
As the renegade said this, a grin of diabolical significance made itself perceptible on his otherwise inexpressive features. Henry Harding perceived it, but made no remark. He knew that words would be of no use.
I dar say Nigel, that sweet half-brother o yours, has got em all the park, and the farms, and the woods, and the covers, and the pheasants. Ah! and Id take my affedavy o t hes got that showy gal she you were so sweet upon, Muster Henry. She warnt likely to cotton to a man wi such a coat on his back as you have on yourn. Why, it look like it had come out o a pawn-shop!
By this time the blood of the Hardings had got up to boiling point. Despite his stupidity, Doggy Dick perceived it. He saw that he had gone too far in his provocation, and regretted having done so, before making fast the hands of him he had provoked. He would have retreated, but it was too late. Before he could turn, Henry Hardings left hand was upon his throat, the scarred finger pressing upon his larynx, and with the right he received a blow on his skull that felled him to the ground, like an ox under the stroke of a pole-axe.
In an instant the young Englishman was surrounded by the bandits and their wine-bibbing associates. Half-a-score flung themselves simultaneously upon him. He was soon overpowered, bound hand and foot, and then beaten in his bonds some of the village damsels clapping their hands, and by their cries applauding the conquest of brute strength over injured innocence.
Chapter Eighteen A Sympathiser
The woman who sympathised with the young Englishman was still only a girl; and although a daughter of the sindico , or chief magistrate, of the place, she could do nothing to rescue him from his persecutors. Even the intermittent authority exercised by her father would have been unavailing; and her sympathy for the stranger only existed in the secret recesses of her heart.
Standing in a balcony of what appeared the best house in the village, she presented a picture that may be seen only in a town of the Roman Campagna a combination of those antique classic graces which we associate with the days of Lucretia. Beauty of the most striking type, innocence of aspect that betokened the most perfect purity, and below, a street crowded with striding Tarquins!
She looked like a solitary lamb in the midst of a conglomeration of wolves, feebly shepherded by her father and the village priest by the Law and the Church, both on the last legs of a decadent authority.
It was a singular picture to contemplate; nor had it escaped the notice of the young Englishman.
The girl had been observed in the balcony ever since his arrival; and as her position was not very far from the place where the brigands had permitted him to take a seat, he had a fair view of her, and could note her every action. He could see that she was not accosted like the commoner maidens of the village; but, for all this, bold glances were occasionally given to her, and brutal jests uttered within her hearing. She had looked towards the captive, and he at her, until more than once their eyes had met; and he fancied that in hers he could read signs of a sympathetic nature. It may have been but pity for his forlorn situation, but it was pity that expressed itself in a most pleasing way.