In the doorway near him Porter lounged, drawing a picture of Padre Filippo, who, in turn, was writing on his knees, his fine penmanship covering page after page—­all about the miracles of the Americano, and addressed to the archbishop.

But his Eminence needed no letters from Padre Filippo to announce miracles, since a miracle had happened in his own house—­a marvel that had made Marianna cross her hands in speechless wonder.  The new lamp burned on the table, the green reading shade reflected almost as much light on the page as the sun itself, and His Eminence might now read any book he pleased.  The archbishop thoughtfully stroked the cat that lay curled on his lap.

“It is not in this world,” he mused, “that we shall journey, thou and I, to the land of the Americanos, the miracle workers; but assuredly the Santa Vergine sent the young Signore Americano to bless our people with his miracles—­even as he has sent this one to thee and me.”

But beyond the bright radius of the good archbishop’s lamp a figure waited and watched in the darkness—­the figure of a man with a sinister face and across it a mouth that looked like a seam.

CHAPTER XXII

BEFORE DAYLIGHT

In the purple dawn of a morning two or three days later, Derby emerged from the house of Donna Marcella, saddled his horse and for the first time without his attendant carabinieri, started for the mines.  The faint light showed him only a blurred and indistinct landscape; and in the crisp stillness the leather of his saddle creaked a monotonous accompaniment to the horse’s hoofs, which struck the road with clean-cut staccato sharpness.

Meanwhile, in the big best room on the ground floor of Donna Marcella’s house, Porter slept.  A man’s step outside and the fingering of a shutter-latch disturbed him not at all; even when there came a nervous tap on the window frame, Porter slept on.  A moment of silence followed, and then a voice breathed stridently, “Signore!” Porter stirred in his sleep.  A man’s head and shoulders appeared over the sill of the open window. “Signore!  Signore l’Americano!” The tone was louder and very urgent.  Porter awoke with a start and seized his revolver. “Pax, pax!” came the voice as the man dropped out of sight.

“Signore, Signore. It is a friend who would speak to the Signore l’Americano!” The syllables were whispered with ringing distinctness.  Porter jumped out of bed, revolver in hand.  Close to the window, he demanded who was there.

“It is a matter of life and death!  May I show myself?”

“Certainly!” said Porter.  “For heaven’s sake, stand up and let me have a look at you!  And give an account of why you are getting a Christian out of his bed at this unearthly hour!” In the glimmering dawn he could see the outline of the man’s figure, but he could not recognize him.