CHAPTER XXIII.

CAUGHT IN AMBUSH.

The ladies had been driving on, quite unconscious of the neighborhood of any danger, admiring the beauty of the scenery, and calling one another’s attention to the various objects of interest which from time to time became visible.  Thus engaged, they slowly ascended the incline already spoken of, and began to enter the forest.  They had not gone far when the road took a sudden turn, and here a startling spectacle burst upon their view.

The road on turning descended slightly into a hollow.  On the right arose a steep acclivity, covered with the dense forest.  On the other side the ground rose more gradually, and was covered over by a forest much less dense.  Some distance in front the road took another turn, and was lost to view among the trees.  About a hundred yards in front of them a tree had been felled, and lay across the way, barring their progress.

About twenty armed men stood before them close by the place where the turn was.  Among them was a man on horseback.  To their amazement, it was Girasole.

Before the ladies could recover from their astonishment two of the armed men advanced, and the driver at once stopped the carriage.

Girasole then came forward.

“Miladi,” said he, “I haf de honore of to invitar you to descend.”

“Pray what is the meaning of this?” inquired Lady Dalrymple, with much agitation.

“It means dat I war wrong.  Dere are brigand on dis road.”

Lady Dalrymple said not another word.

The Count approached, and politely offered his hand to assist the ladies out, but they rejected it, and got out themselves.  First Mrs. Willoughby, then Ethel, then Lady Dalrymple, then Minnie.  Three of the ladies were white with utter horror, and looked around in sickening fear upon the armed men; but Minnie showed not even the slightest particle of fear.

“How horrid!” she exclaimed.  “And now some one will come and save my life again.  It’s always the way.  I’m sure this isn’t my fault, Kitty darling.”

Before her sister could say any thing Girasole approached.

“Pardon, mees,” he said; “but I haf made dis recepzion for you.  You sall be well treat.  Do not fear.  I lay down my life.”

“Villain!” cried Lady Dalrymple.  “Arrest her at your peril.  Remember who she is.  She has friends powerful enough to avenge her if you dare to injure her.”

“You arra mistake,” said Girasole, politely.  “Se is mine, not yours.  I am her best fren.  Se is fiancee to me.  I save her life—­tell her my love—­make a proposezion.  Se accept me.  Se is my fiancee.  I was oppose by you.  What else sall I do?  I mus haf her.  Se is mine.  I am an Italiano nobile, an’ I love her.  Dere is no harm for any.  You mus see dat I haf de right.  But for me se would be dead.”

Lady Dalrymple was not usually excitable, but now her whole nature was aroused; her eyes flashed with indignation; her face turned red; she gasped for breath, and fell to the ground.  Ethel rushed to assist her, and two of the maids came up.  Lady Dalrymple lay senseless.