It was close upon midnight, when the wife of Don Diego, while tending her sick husband, was startled by a noise from the adjoining room.  She immediately rang the bell, and was answered by the major domo, the only servant who had not retired to rest, being determined to await the return of Juan.  As he entered, the door leading to the ante-chamber was also quickly opened, and on the threshold appeared five masked men, who were evidently unprepared to find more than one inmate in the sick chamber.  Quick as thought the major-domo attempted to reach the bell-rope, that by a violent alarm he might awake the sleepers and obtain their aid, but quicker even than he was the leader of the masked band, who seized a pistol from his belt, and, with unerring aim, discharged it at the devoted servant.  There was a faint cry:  the old servant stretched out his hands for support, and then, with a heavy groan, fell to the floor, where death closed his eyes.

This unexpected catastrophe seemed to spur on the robbers to instant work.  While one man was posted at each door, the three others insisted upon being informed by Don Diego where he kept his money and valuables; but the sick old man had sank into so complete a lethargy by the dreadful event which had passed under his eye, that he was unable to answer them.  As rapidity of movement was, however, rendered peremptory to insure the safety of the band, the chief addressed the Donna for the same purpose, in answer to which, she evinced but little reluctance, and bade them to follow her.  The robbers at once declared their readiness, and, after passing along the corridor, entered the dining saloon, where the Donna pointed out a large box, which, she said, contained the plate.  Here another difficulty arose.  The box, which in reality contained the plate, was securely locked, and the key nowhere to be found.  Anxious to get at the rich booty, the leader, with an angry imprecation, put the muzzle of his heavy horse-pistol to the lock; a sharp report followed, and the lid thus unceremoniously opened offered no further obstacle to the rapacity of the invaders.  Donna Ignazia took advantage of the joyful excitement of the band, and left the room to descend into the lower story of the mansion, where her hurried summons at the chamber doors of the servants were readily responded to by them, as they had already been awoke by the double report in their master’s apartments.  The tempest, which had raged so fearfully, had meanwhile ceased; the torrents of rain were followed by a clear night; the fury of the elements appeared as though, in momentary rest, they would gather strength for a fresh outbreak—­nature’s wrath had given place to the wrath of man.