“So my father and I determined to get even with you, as much through revenge as cupidity.  We were obliged to desert the valley at once, because we were getting so rich that the government officials became uneasy and warned us to go or be arrested.  So we consulted together and decided upon our little plot, which was so simple that it has worked perfectly.  We came to you with our sad story, and you thought we had reformed, and kindly adopted me as one of your party.  It was so easy that I almost laughed in your foolish faces.  But I didn’t, for I can act.  I played the child very nicely, I think, and you quite forgot I was a brigand’s daughter, with the wild, free blood of many brave outlaws coursing in my veins.  Ah, I am more proud of that than of my acting.

“Innocent as I seemed, I watched you all carefully, and knew from almost the first hour where the money had been put.  I stole the key to Uncle John’s trunk on the train, while we were going from Taormina to Syracuse; but I did not take the money from it because I had no better place to keep it, and the only danger was that he would force the lock some day.  But Ferralti’s money—­I call him Ferralti because it is a prettier name than Weldon—­bothered me for a long time.  At the first he would not let that little satchel out of his sight, and when he finally did he had removed the money to some other place.  I searched his room many times, but could not find his hiding place until last night.  While he was at dinner I discovered the bills in one of the drawers of his dresser.

“But for this difficulty I should have left your charming society before, as my father has been secretly waiting for me for three days.  Having located Ferralti’s money I waited until this morning and when you had all left me I signalled to my father from my window and prepared to disappear.  It took but a few minutes to get the money from Uncle John’s trunk and Arthur’s trouser-leg.  Much obliged for it, I’m sure.  Then I packed up all my pretty dresses in my new trunk—­for part of our plot was to use your good taste in fitting me out properly—­and now I am writing this loving epistle before I leave.

“We shall go to Paris or Vienna or Cairo or London—­guess which!  We shall have other names—­very beautiful ones—­and be rich and dignified and respected.  When I grow older I think I shall marry a prince and become a princess; but that will not interest you much, for you will not know that the great princess is your own little Tato.

“Tell Uncle John I have left the key to his trunk on the mantel, behind the picture of the madonna.  I stuffed papers into Arthur’s trouser leg to deceive him if he came back before I had a chance to escape.  But I hoped you would discover nothing until you read this letter, for I wanted to surprise you.  Have I?  Then I am content.  You tricked me once; but I have tricked you at the last, and the final triumph is mine.

“In spite of all, Patsy dear, I love you; for you are sweet and good, and although I would not be like you for the world I can appreciate your excellent qualities.  Remember this when your anger is gone.  I won’t be able to visit you in America, but I shall always think of you in a more kindly way than I fear you will think of the Sicilian tomboy, TATO.”