“So you will soon be gone, Miss Lydia?  I never expected your stay in this unhappy country would have been a long one.  And yet since you have come to me here, the thought that I must bid you farewell has grown a hundred times more bitter to me.  I am only a poor lieutenant.  I had no future—­and now I am an outlaw.  What a moment in which to tell you that I love you, Miss Lydia!  But no doubt this is my only chance of saying it.  And I think I feel less wretched now I have unburdened my heart to you.”

Miss Lydia turned away her head, as if the darkness were not dark enough to hide her blushes.

“Signor della Rebbia,” she said, and her voice shook, “should I have come here at all if——­” and as she spoke she laid the Egyptian talisman in Orso’s hand.  Then, with a mighty effort to recover her usual bantering tone—­“It’s very wrong of you, Signor Orso, to say such things!  You know very well that here, in the middle of the maquis, and with your bandits all about me, I should never dare to be angry with you.”

Orso made an attempt to kiss the hand that held out the talisman.  Miss Lydia drew it quickly back; he lost his balance, and fell on his wounded arm.  He could not stifle a moan of pain.

“Oh, dear, you’ve hurt yourself, and it was my fault!” she cried, as she raised him up.  “Forgive me!” They talked for some time longer, very low, and very close together.

Colomba, running hastily up, found them in the very same position in which she had left them.

“The soldiers!” she cried.  “Orso! try to get up and walk!  I’ll help you!”

“Leave me!” said Orso.  “Tell the bandits to escape.  What do I care if I am taken?  But take away Miss Lydia.  For God’s sake, don’t let anybody see her here!”

“I won’t leave you,” said Brandolaccio, who had come up on Colomba’s heels.

“The sergeant in charge is the lawyer’s godson.  He’ll shoot you instead of arresting you, and then he’ll say he didn’t do it on purpose.”

Orso tried to rise; he even took a few steps.  But he soon halted.  “I can’t walk,” he said.  “Fly, all of you!  Good-bye, Miss Nevil!  Give me your hand!  Farewell!”

“We won’t leave you!” cried the two girls.

“If you can’t walk,” said Brandolaccio, “I must carry you.  Come, sir, a little courage!  We shall have time to slip away by the ravine.  The Signor Padre will keep them busy.”

“No, leave me!” said Orso, lying down on the ground.  “Colomba, take Miss Nevil away!—­for God’s sake!”

“You’re strong, Signorina Colomba,” said Brandolaccio.  “Catch hold of his shoulders; I’ll take his feet.  That’s it!  Now, then march!”

In spite of his protests, they began to carry him rapidly along.  Miss Lydia was following them, in a terrible fright, when a gun was fired, and five or six other reports instantly responded.  Miss Lydia screamed and Brandolaccio swore an oath, but he doubled his pace, and Colomba, imitating him, tore through the thicket without paying the slightest heed to the branches that slashed her face and tore her dress.