There was now some delay, and Girasole gave some orders to his men.  The ladies waited with fearful apprehensions.  They listened eagerly to hear if there might not be some sounds of approaching help.  But no such sounds came to gladden their hearts.  Lady Dalrymple, also, still lay senseless; and Ethel, full of the direst anxiety about Hawbury, had to return to renew her efforts toward reviving her aunt.

Before long the brigands who had been in pursuit of the fugitives returned to the road.  They did not bring back either of them.  A dreadful question arose in the minds of the ladies as to the meaning of this.  Did it mean that the fugitives had escaped, or had been shot down in the woods by their wrathful pursuers?  It was impossible for them to find out.  Girasole went over to them and conversed with them apart.  The men all looked sullen; but whether that arose from disappointed vengeance or gratified ferocity it was impossible for them to discern.

[Illustration:  THE MELEE.]

The brigands now turned their attention to their own men.  Two of these had received bad but not dangerous wounds from the dagger of Dacres, and the scowls of pain and rage which they threw upon Hawbury and the other captives boded nothing but the most cruel fate to all of them.  Another, however, still lay there.  It was the one who had intercepted Dacres in his rush upon Girasole.  He lay motionless in a pool of blood.  They turned him over.  His white, rigid face, as it became exposed to view, exhibited the unmistakable mark of death, and a gash on his breast showed how his fate had met him.

The brigands uttered loud cries, and advanced toward Hawbury.  He sat regarding them with perfect indifference.  They raised their rifles, some clubbing them, others taking aim, swearing and gesticulating all the time like maniacs.

Hawbury, however, did not move a muscle of his face, nor did he show the slightest feeling of any kind.  He was covered with dust, and his clothes were torn and splashed with mud, and his hands were bound, and his mouth was gagged; but he preserved a coolness that astonished his enemies.  Had it not been for this coolness his brains might have been blown out—­in which case this narrative would never have been written; but there was something in his look which made the Italians pause, gave Girasole time to interfere, and thus preserved my story from ruin.

Girasole then came up and made his men stand back.  They obeyed sullenly.

Girasole removed the gag.

Then he stood and looked at Hawbury.  Hawbury sat and returned his look with his usual nonchalance, regarding the Italian with a cold, steady stare, which produced upon the latter its usual maddening effect.

“Milor will be ver glad to hear,” said he, with a mocking smile, “dat de mees will be take good care to.  Milor was attentif to de mees; but de mees haf been fiancee to me, an’ so I take dis occazione to mak her mine.  I sall love her, an’ se sall love me.  I haf save her life, an’ se haf been fiancee to me since den.”