And now Hawbury kept his watch, and looked and listened and waited, ever mindful of his own immediate neighborhood, and guarding carefully against any approach.  But his own place was in gloom, and no one would have thought of looking there, so that he was unobserved.

But all his watching gave him no assistance toward finding out any way of rescuing Ethel.  He saw the vigilant guard around the prisoners.  Once or twice he saw a movement among them, but it was soon over, and resulted in nothing.  Now he began to despond, and to speculate in his mind as to whether Ethel was in any danger or not.  He began to calculate the time that might be required to go for help with which to attack the brigands.  He wondered what reason Girasole might have to injure Ethel.  But whatever hope, he had that mercy might be shown her was counterbalanced by his own experience of Girasole’s cruelty, and his knowledge of his merciless character.

Suddenly he was roused by the rifle-shot and the confusion that followed.  He saw the party on the mound start to their feet.  He heard the shots that succeeded the first one.  He saw shadows darting to and fro.  Then the confusion grew worse, and all the sounds of battle arose—­the cries, the shrieks, and the stern words of command.

All this filled him with hope.  An attack was being made.  They might all be saved.  He could see that the brigands were being driven back, and that the assailants were pressing on.

Then he saw the party moving from the knoll.  It was already much lighter.  They advanced toward him.  He sank down and waited.  He had no fear now that this party would complete his burial.  He thought they were flying with the prisoners.  If so, the assailants would soon be here; he could join them, and lead them on to the rescue of Ethel.

He lay low with the lid over him.  He heard them close beside him.  Then there was the noise of rushing men, and Girasole’s voice arose.

He heard all that followed.

Then Ethel’s shriek sounded out, as she sprang toward the grave.

In an instant the occupant of the grave, seizing the lid, raised it up, and with a wild yell sprang forth.

The effect was tremendous.

The brigands thought the dead Antonio had come to life.  They did not stop to look, but with a howl of awful terror, and in an anguish of fright, they turned and ran for their lives!

Girasole saw him too, with equal horror, if not greater.  He saw Hawbury.  It was the man whom he had killed stone-dead with his own hand.  He was there before him—­or was it his ghost?  For an instant horror paralyzed him; and then, with a yell like a madman’s, he leaped back and fled after the others.

[Illustration:  “IN AN INSTANT THE OCCUPANT OF THE GRAVE SPRANG FORTH.]

CHAPTER XXXVI.

FLY!  FLY!