Outside it is now so dark that, spite of danger, he has to pause and feel his way downward, or he might dash his precious burden against the walls.  In that pause a piercing cry from above strikes upon his ear, but in the crackling of the increasing flames and a fresh torrent of smoke and burning sparks that burst out from the room, Adamo’s brain—­always of the dullest—­is deadened.  He forgets that cry.  All his thought is to save his mistress.  Even Pipa and Angelo and little Gigi are forgotten.

Ere he reaches the level of the first story, the alarm-bell over his head clangs out a goodly peal.  A bound of joy within his honest heart gives him fresh courage.

“It is the Madonna!  When I touched her image, I knew that she would help me.  Pipa has heard me.  Pipa has pulled the bell.  She is safe!  And Angelo—­and little Gigi, safe! safe!  Brave Pipa!  How I love her!”

Before a watch could tick twenty seconds, and while Adamo’s foot was still on the last round of the winding stair, the church-bells of Corellia clash out in answer to the alarm-bell.

Now Adamo has reached the outer door.  He stands beneath the stars.  His face and hands are black, his hair is singed; his woolen clothes are hot and burn upon him.  The cool night air makes his skin smart with pain.  Already Pipa’s arms are round him.  Angelo, too, has caught him by the legs, then leaps into the air with a wild hoot.  Bewildered Pipa cannot speak.  No more can Adamo; but Pipa’s clinging arms say more than words.  Tenderly Adamo lays the marchesa down beside the fountain.  He totters on a step or two, feeling suddenly giddy and strangely weak.  He stands still.  The strain had been too much for the simple soul, who led a quiet life with Pipa and the children.  Tears rise in his big black eyes.  Greatly ashamed, and wondering what has come to him, he sinks upon the ground.  Pipa, watching him, again flings her arms about him; but Adamo gave her a glance so fierce, as he points to the marchesa lying helpless upon the ground, it sent her quickly from him.  With a smothered sob Pipa turns away to help her.

(Ah! cruel Pipa, and is your heart so full that you have forgotten Enrica, left helpless in the tower?—­Yet so it was.  Enrica is forgotten.  Cruel, cruel Pipa!  And stupid Adamo, whose head turns round so fast he must hold on by a tree not to fall again.)

Silvestro and Fra Pacifico now rushed out of the darkness; Fra Pacifico aroused out of his first sleep.  He had not seen the marchesa since her arrival.  He did not know whether Enrica had come with her from Lucca or not.  Seeing Pipa busy about the fountain, the women, thought Fra Pacifico, were safe; so Fra Pacifico strode off on his strong legs to see what could be done to quench the fire, and save, if possible, the more combustible villa.  Surely the villa must be consumed!  The smoke now darkened the heavens.  The flames belted the thick tower-walls as with a burning girdle.  Showers of sparks and flames rose out from each aperture with sudden bursts, revealing every detail on the gray old walls; moss and lichen, a trail of ivy that had forced itself upward, long grass that floated in the hot air; a crevice under the battlements where a bird had built its nest.  Then a swirl of smoke swooped down and smothered all, while overhead the mighty company of constellations looked calmly down in their cold brightness!