“Why did she disguise herself?”

“So as to pass without trouble.  She didn’t want to be delayed.  She wanted to see her friends as soon as possible.  If you had questioned her, you would no doubt have let her pass.”

“I would, no doubt, have done nothing of the kind.”

“I don’t see any objection,” said the priest.

“Objection?  She is a spy!”

“A spy?  Of what, pray?”

“She came to help her friend to escape.”

“To escape?  How could she possibly help her to escape?  Do you think it so easy to escape from this place?”

Girasole was silent.

“Do you think a young lady, who has never been out of the care of her friends before, could do much to assist a friend like herself in an escape?”

“She might.”

“But how?  This is not the street of a city.  That house is watched, I think.  There seem to be a few men in these woods, if I am not mistaken.  Could this young lady help her friend to elude all these guards?  Why, you know very well that she could not.”

“Yes; but then there is—­”

“Who?”

“Yourself.”

“Myself?”

“Yes.”

“What of me?”

“What do I know about your designs?”

“What designs could I have?  Do you think I could plan an escape?”

“Why not?”

“Why not?  What! living here close beside you? I be a traitor? I, with my life at your mercy at all times—­with my throat within such easy reach of any assassin who might choose to revenge my treachery?”

“We are not assassins,” said Girasole, angrily.

“And I am not a traitor,” rejoined the priest, mildly.

[Illustration:  UNDER GUARD.]

Girasole was silent, and stood in thought.  The men at the grave had heard every word of this conversation.  Once they laughed in scorn when the priest alluded to the absurdity of a young girl escaping.  It was too ridiculous.  Their sympathies were evidently with the priest.  The charge against him could not be maintained.

“Well,” said Girasole at length, “I don’t trust you.  You may be traitors, after all.  I will have you guarded, and if I find out any thing that looks like treason, by Heaven I will have your life, old man, even if you should be the Holy Father himself; and as to the lady—­well, I will find plenty of ways,” he added, with a sneer, “of inflicting on her a punishment commensurable with her crime.  Here, you men, come along with me,” he added, looking at the men by the grave.

“But we want to finish poor Antonio’s grave,” remonstrated one of the men.

“Bah! he’ll keep,” said Girasole, with a sneer.

“Can’t one of us stay?” asked the man.

“No, not one; I want you all.  If they are traitors, they are deep ones.  They must be guarded; and, mind you, if they escape, you shall suffer.”