“No, no, Tato!” cried the Duke, brokenly, as he wrung his hands in anguish.  “There is more money to be had, but I have only one child.  They shall not harm a hair of your head, my pretty one!”

Patsy wanted to yell “bravo!” but wisely refrained.  Her eyes were full of tears, though, and her resolution at ebb tide.

Fortunately the men had made haste.  They returned with surprising promptness, pushing the amazed prisoners before them.

Uncle John, as he emerged from the tunnel, looked around upon the tragic scene and gasped: 

“Well, I declare!”

Count Ferralti was more composed, if equally surprised.  He lifted his hat politely to Beth and Patsy, and smiled with great satisfaction.

“You are free,” said Il Duca, harshly.  “Go!”

They lost no time in getting the brigands between themselves and the mouth of the tunnel, and then Kenneth gently drew Tato to a place beside him and assisted her to clamber down the path.

“Good bye, little one,” he said, pleasantly; “you’re what we call a ‘brick’ in our country.  I like you, and I’m proud of you.”

Tato did not reply.  With streaming eyes she was examining her father’s shattered hand, and sobbing at sight of the blood that dripped upon the rocks at his feet.

“Get inside!” called Beth, sharply; “and close up that rock.  Lively, now!”

The “girl who could shoot” still sat toying with her revolver, and the mountaineers obeyed her injunction.  The rock promptly closed, and the group of Americans was left alone.

Then Beth came slowly down to where Patsy was hugging Uncle John in a wild frenzy of delight, and Count Ferralti was shaking Kenneth’s hand with a face eloquent of emotion.

“Come,” said she, her voice sounding faint and weary, “let us get away from here.  It was a pretty game, while it lasted, but I’ll feel safer when we are home again.  Where’s the money?”

“I’ve got it,” said Kenneth, holding up the package.

“What! didn’t you pay?” demanded Uncle John, astounded.

“Of course not, dear,” said Patsy, gleefully.  “Did you think your nieces would let you be robbed by a bunch of dagoes?”

Ferralti caught hold of Beth’s swaying form.

“Look after your cousin,” he said, sharply.  “I think she has fainted!”

CHAPTER XXVI

THE COUNT UNMASKS

“And now,” said Uncle John, as he sat in their cosy sitting-room, propped in an easy chair with his feet upon a stool, “it’s about time for you to give an account of yourselves, you young rascals.”

They had eaten a late but very satisfactory dinner at the Castello-a-Mare, where the return of the missing ones was hailed with joy by the proprietor and his assistants.  Even the little bewhiskered head-waiter, who resembled a jack-in-the-box more than he did a man, strove to celebrate the occasion by putting every good thing the house afforded before the returned guests.  For, although they dared not interfere to protect the victims of the terrible Il Duca, the hotel people fully recognized the fact that brigandage was not a good advertisement for Taormina, and hoped the “little incident” would not become generally known.