accomplish it—­if you love me.  Should my old friend Silas Watson be now with you, as I expect him to be, he will assist you to do my bidding, for he will be able to realize, better than I can now explain, how important it is to me.

“Also I beg you to do a like service for Count Ferralti, who is entrusting his personal commission, to Louise.  He also must conclude an important purchase before he can return to Taormina.

“More than this I am not permitted to say in this letter.  Confide in no stranger, or official of any sort, and act as secretly and quietly as possible.  I hope soon to be with you.

     “Very affectionately, UNCLE JOHN.”

“What does it all mean?” asked Patsy, bewildered, when Beth had finished reading.

“Why, it is clear enough, I’m sure,” said Kenneth.  “Uncle John is imprisoned by brigands, and the money he requires is his ransom.  We must get it as soon as possible, you know, and luckily he is so rich that he won’t miss this little draft at all.”

Beth sat silent, angrily staring at the letter.

“I suppose,” said Patsy, hesitating, “the robbers will do the dear uncle some mischief, if he doesn’t pay.”

“Just knock him on the head, that’s all,” said the boy.  “But there’s no need to worry.  We can get the money easily.”

Suddenly Beth jumped up.

“Where’s that girl?” she demanded, sharply.

“What girl?”

“Tato.”

“Tato, my dear coz, is a boy,” answered Kenneth; “and he disappeared ages ago.”

“You must be blind,” said Beth, scornfully, “not to recognize a girl when you see one.  A boy, indeed!”

“Why, he dressed like a boy,” replied Kenneth, hesitatingly.

“So much the more disgraceful,” sniffed Beth.  “She belongs to those brigands, I suppose.”

“Looks something like Victor Valdi,” said Patsy, thoughtfully.

“Il Duca?  Of course!  I see it myself, now.  Patricia, it is that wicked duke who has captured Uncle John.”

“I had guessed that,” declared Patsy, smiling.

“He must be a handsome rascal,” observed Kenneth, “for the child is pretty as a picture.”

“He isn’t handsome at all,” replied Beth; “but there is a look about the child’s eyes that reminds me of him.”

“That’s it, exactly,” agreed Patsy.

Louise now approached them with a white, frightened face.

“Isn’t it dreadful!” she moaned.  “They are going to kill Ferralti unless he gives them thirty thousand dollars.”

“And I don’t believe he can raise thirty cents,” said Patsy, calmly.

“Oh, yes, he can,” answered Louise, beginning to cry.  “Hi—­his—­father is d—­dead, and has left him—­a—­fortune.”

“Don’t blubber, Lou,” said the boy, chidingly; “in that case your dago friend is as well off as need be.  But I suppose you’re afraid the no-account Count won’t figure his life is worth thirty thousand dollars.  It does seem like an awful price to pay for a foreigner.”