Henry Harding once more started from his chair, and stood irresolute, still holding the pen in his hand. He had written the letter as dictated, and, while occupied in translating it into his native tongue, he had given but little heed to its true signification. But now he was called upon to append his name to this piteous appeal to his father. With the remembrance still vivid in his mind of the defiant epistle he had last penned to him, he felt something more than reluctance he felt shame, and almost a determination to refuse.
Sign your name! commanded the brigand, half rising from his seat. Sign it, I say!
The young Englishman
still hesitated.
Lay down the pen again, without putting your firma to that letter, and, by the Holy Virgin, before the ink become dry, your blood will redden the floor at your feet. Cospetto ! to be crossed by a poor devil of a pittore a cur of an Inglese !
O signor, interposed the brigands wife, who up to that moment had not spoken a word, do as he bids you, buono cavaliére ! It is only his way with every one who strays here from the great city. Sign it caro , and all will be well. You will be free again, and can return to your friends.
While delivering this appeal, Popetta had risen up from her chair, and laid her hand upon the Englishmans shoulder. The tone in which she spoke, with a certain expression detectable in her fiery eyes, did not seem altogether to please her sposo , who, rushing round the table, seized hold of the woman and swung her to the farthest corner of the room.
Stay there! he shouted, and dont interfere with whats no concern of yours.
Then suddenly turning upon his prisoner, and drawing a pistol from his belt, he once more vociferated, Sign!
The obstinacy that would have resisted such an appeal could be only true foolhardiness a reckless indifference to life. There could be no mistaking the intent of the robber, for the click of his cocked pistol sounded sharp in the captives ear. For an instant the young Englishman, whose hands were for the time untied, thought of flinging himself upon his fierce antagonist and trying the chances of a struggle. But then outside there was Doggy Dick, with a score of others, ready to shoot him down in his first effort to escape. It was sheer madness to think of it. There was no alternative but to sign at least none except dying upon the spot. The young artist was not inclined for this; and, stooping over the table, he added to what he had already written, the name Henry Harding.
Doggy Dick, styled Signor Ricardo, was called in and asked if he could read.
I beant much o a scholard, replied the renegade, but I dar say I can make out that bit o scribble.
The letter was slowly spelt over and pronounced All right. It was then enveloped and directed, Doggy Dick giving the correct address. After which, the next duty this Amphitryon was called upon to perform was the retying of his captive, and transporting him back to his cell.
That same night the epistle, that had come so near costing Henry Harding his life, was despatched by the peasant messenger to Rome, thence to be forwarded by a postman of a different character and kind.
Chapter Twenty One Under the Cedar
As a tourist straying among the Chiltern Hills with me almost an annual habit I could perceive no change in their aspect. Nor did I find that much change had taken place in the society introduced in the early chapters of our story.
I met Miss Mainwaring at a private ball, that concluded an out-door archery meeting. She was still the reigning belle of the neighbourhood, though there were two or three young sprouts that promised soon to dispossess her. There was less talk of her becoming a bride than had been twelve months before; though she was followed by a train of admirers that appeared to have suffered but slight diminution Henry Harding being the only one missing from the muster. I heard that his place had been supplied by his brother Nigel; though this was only whispered to me in conjecture by one that was present at the gathering, where was also Nigel Harding himself. Knowing somewhat of the nature of this young gentleman, I did not believe it true, but, strange enough, before leaving the ground I had convincing evidence that it was so.
These summer fêtes, when extended into the night, afford wonderful opportunities for flirtation far more than the winter ball-room. The promenade which occurs during the intervals of the dance may be extended out of doors, along the gravelled walks, or over the soft grassy turf of the shrubbery. It is pleasant thus to escape from the heated air of the drawing-room improvised for the night into a ball-room especially pleasant when you take along with you your partner of the dance.
Strolling thus with one of the aforementioned maidens, I had halted by the side of a grand Deodara , whose drooping branches, palmately spread, swept the grass
at our feet, forming around the trunk of the tree a tentlike canopy by day, by night a shadow of amorphous darkness. All at once a thought seemed to strike my companion.