The Duke, however, was more sombre than usual.  He had defied his mother, successfully, so far; but he feared the terrible old woman more than did Tato, because he knew more of her history and of the bold and wicked deeds she had perpetrated in years gone by.  Only once had a proposed victim escaped her, and that was when her own daughter Bianca had fallen in love with an American held for ransom and spirited him away from the valley through knowledge of the secret passage.  It was well Bianca had fled with her lover; otherwise her mother would surely have killed her.  But afterward, when the girl returned to die in the old home, all was forgiven, and only the hatred of her foreign husband, whose cruelty had driven her back to Sicily, remained to rankle in the old Duchessa’s wicked heart.

No one knew her evil nature better than her son.  He entertained a suspicion that he had not conquered her by his recent opposition to her will.  Indeed, he would never have dared to brave her anger except for Tato’s sake.  Tato was his idol, and in her defense the cowardly brigand had for the moment become bold.

Tato laughed and chatted with Uncle John all through the meal, even trying at times to cheer the doleful Ferralti, who was nearly as glum and unsociable as her father.  The servants and brigands at the lower end of the table looked upon the little one admiringly.  It was evident she was a general favorite.

On the porch, after luncheon, the Duke broached the subject of the ransoms again, still maintaining the fable of selling his antique jewelry.

“Sir,” said Uncle John, “I’m going to submit gracefully, but upon one condition.”

The Duke scowled.

“I allow no conditions,” he said.

“You’d better allow this one,” Uncle John replied, “because it will make it easier for all of us.  Of my own free will and accord I will make a present to Tato of fifty thousand dollars, and she shall have it for her dowry when she marries.”

Tato clapped her hands.

“How did you know I am a girl, when I wear boys’ clothes?” she asked.

Even the duke smiled, at that, but the next moment he shook his head solemnly.

“It will not do, signore,” he declared, answering Uncle John’s proposition.  “This is a business affair altogether.  You must purchase the ring, and at once.”

The little American sighed.  It had been his last hope.

“Very well,” he said; “have your own way.”

“You will send to your friends for the money?”

“Whenever you say, Duke.  You’ve got me in a hole, and I must wiggle out the best way I can.”

The brigand turned to Ferralti.

“And you, signore?” he asked.

“I do not know whether I can get the money you demand.”

“But you will make the attempt, as I shall direct?”

“Yes.”

“Then, signori, it is all finished.  In a brief time you will leave my hospitable roof.”