The Finger of Fate: A Romance

“Eh giusta! I like your spirit, signorina. It pleases me, almost as much as your personal appearance. Still it wants taming – just a little. Twenty-four hours in my company will accomplish that; perhaps less. But I give you the full allowance of twenty-four. If at the end of that time you do not consent to have our nuptials celebrated by the curato– there is one convenient – why, then we must get married without him. You understand that?”

“Madonna mia!”

“No use calling upon her. She cannot save you, immaculate as she is said to have been; nor any one else. No rescuing hand can reach you here – not even the hand of his Holiness. Among these mountains, the chieftain Corvino is master, as Lucetta Torreani shall be mistress.”

Before the boast had fairly parted from his lips, a sound from without caused the brigand to start – changing, as if by electricity, his air of triumph to one of alarm.

“Chi senti?” he muttered, gliding towards the door, and placing himself in an attitude to listen.

The howling of the Apennine wolf – “wah, wah, oouah!” – responded to by some one coming along the scorza. Almost at the same time, it was uttered on the other side – by the sentinel set towards the south, and soon after answered in that direction.

What could be the meaning of this? Which of the band had been abroad? He could think only of Tommaso, whom he had that morning despatched on a particular errand. There could not be two Tommasos coming home – simultaneously from the north and from the south!

He was not allowed much time for conjecture. Almost on the instant of his taking his stand in the doorway a struggle was heard on both sides of the house, followed by shots and shouts, amid which he could distinguish the voices of his own sentries, loudly vociferating the cry, “Tradimento!”

Chapter Fifty Four

A Terrible Tableau

And treason it was – treason and surprise – almost instantaneously followed by the capture of the whole band of brigands!

First the pagliatta huts were surrounded, and then the house of the chief himself. There was a crowd of men, upon whose persons, despite the darkness, could be seen the bright glitter of arms. There was light enough from the stars and the chamber he had lately quitted to show Corvino that his quarters were completely enfiladed by dark shadowy forms, each holding in his hand a gun, pistol, or sword.

At the same instant was the strife going on among the pagliatta– stray shots and groans, mingled with, profane exclamations that came from the mouths of men dragged suddenly out of their beds, and scarce conscious of the cause of their quick awakening. It was a strife soon brought to its close – even before their chief could take part in it.

During a long career of crime, it was the first time Corvino had ever suffered surprise – the first for him to feel something like despair. And at the very moment, too, when he was indulging in a delightful dream of triumph!

Who could have brought this calamity upon him? Who was the traitor? There must have been treason, else how could his sentinels have been cheated? Who could have had acquaintance with the secret wolf-signal?

There was no time for him to reflect. Thoughts of vengeance must be postponed. It was a question of self-preservation; for the brigand chief found himself reduced to this.

His first impulse was to rush out, and take part in the fight raging between his band and those who had so mysteriously assailed it. But the conflict was scarce entered upon before it was over. It was less a strife than a capture; a seizing of men in their shirts, who surrendered without striking a blow. Even the thundering voice of their chief could not arouse his yawning partisans to the spirit required for a struggle.

It was but an ordinary instinct that impelled him to shut the door, and rush back to the room he had quitted, determined to defend himself to the death.

His first thought was putting out the light. His second, how could the darkness avail him? Sooner or later other lights would be procured – candles or torches; or, if not, his assailants need only wait till morning – now near at hand. It could only be a suspension of his fate – at best, a respite of two or three hours. All at once came an idea, offering a chance, not for triumph, but safety. There was a way by which he might still save his life. Let the light burn! Let his assailants see inside the house! Let them look upon the tableau that had just suggested itself to his imagination!

Quick as thought that tableau was formed, in the centre of the room already illuminated. It consisted of two figures – himself and Lucetta Torreani.

The young girl was in front; the brigand, as a background, behind her. His left arm encircled her waist, with his hand clutching a stiletto, whose point was turned towards her heart! His right arm, still resting in the sling, was powerless to hold her. But he had contrived a strange way of keeping her in her place. His teeth were seen closed upon a coil of her hair!

Outside were the spectators of this singular picture, excited, angry, two of them almost mad. One was the brother of her who formed the female figure in it – the other Henry Harding. Either would have rushed through the window, but the bars forbade them; and although both carried guns and pistols, they dared not discharge them. They stood with a score of others, almost within touching distance of the outlaw; and yet dared not stretch forth a hand, either for his capture or destruction. They were compelled to listen to the parley, which at that moment he had commenced making.

“Signori,” he said, taking his teeth out of the young girl’s hair, but still keeping the plait close to his lips, “I’m not going to make a long speech. I see you’re impatient, and might not care to listen to it. You want my blood; you are thirsting for it. I am in your power, and you can take it. But if I am to die, so shall Lucetta Torreani. Yes; she dies along with me. Stir but a finger, any one of you; either draw a trigger, or make a movement to come inside, and that moment my poniard pierces her breast!”

The spectators stood silent, their breathing suppressed, and their eyes angrily gleaming upon the speaker.

“Don’t mistake what I’ve said for an idle threat,” he continued. “’Tis no time for talking nonsense. I know that my life is forfeit to the laws, and that you would show me about as much mercy as you would a trapped wolf. Be it so; but in killing your wolf, you won’t save your lamb. No! Sangue di Madonna! She shall suffer along with me. If I can’t have her in life, I shall in death!”

The expression upon the brute’s face, as he gave utterance to the threat, was revolting in its very earnestness. No one, who saw it, doubted his intention to do as he said. In fact, a movement at that instant made by him caused a vivid apprehension that he was about to carry out his threat; and the spectators stood transfixed, as if the blood had become frozen in their veins. But no; he was only preparing for further parley.

“What do you want us to do?” inquired Rossi, the leader of the victorious Revolutionists. “I suppose you know who we are. You see we are not the soldiers of the Pope?”

“Cospetto!” exclaimed the bandit, with a scornful toss of the head, “a child could have told that. I had no fear of seeing the brave bersaglieri of his Holiness here. They don’t relish the air of these remote mountains! That’s how you’ve been able to surprise us. Enough, signori. I know who you are; and now for my proposal.”

“Well, what is it?” demanded several of the spectators, chafing with impatience at the continued talk, and indignant at seeing the young lady still trembling in the bandit’s embrace. “Let us hear what you have to propose.”

“Absolute freedom for myself, and such of my men as you have captured. Those you have killed may remain with you; and I hope you will give them Christian burial. And if any have escaped, they can take their chances; I don’t stipulate for them. For myself and comrades, who are your prisoners, I demand release, and a promise that we shall not be pursued. Do you agree to it?”

The leaders outside turned to one another, and commenced discussing the proposal. It was painful to think of accepting such terms, letting the red-handed criminals escape. They had long been the terror of the district, committing outrages of every conceivable kind. Now that they were captured, and could be rooted out, it would be a shame, a disgrace to the Revolutionists – whose natural enemies the bandits had always been – to let them go free again, afterwards to recommence their depredations. Thus spoke several of the party.

On the other side, there was the danger in which stood the young lady – the absolute certainty that she would be sacrificed.

It is needless to say that Luigi Torreani, Henry Harding, and several others, urged the acceptance of the proposal, as also the chief Rossi.

“And if we comply with your demands, what then?” asked the latter.

“What then! Why, the signorina shall be given up. That is all you want, I suppose?”

“Are you ready to give her up now?”

“Oh no!” returned the brigand with a scornful laugh; “that would be delivering up the goods before they are paid for. We bandits don’t make such loose bargains.”

“Then what do you require us to do?”

“You must withdraw your men to the top of the ridge, where the pass leads out northward. Mine, set free, shall go up to that on the south. We can then see one another. You, signor, can yourself remain here with me, and receive the captive. You have nothing to fear, seeing that I have but one hand, and that a lame one. On your part I must have a promise that there shall be no treason.”

“I am willing to give it,” responded Rossi, the signor addressed, and who felt he was speaking the sentiment of his followers. “It must be in the form of an oath.”

“Agreed. I am ready to take it, now.”

“No; not till we have daylight. We must postpone it till the morning. It is near, and you won’t have long to wait.”

This was true enough. The scheme could not be carried out in the darkness, without risking treason on one side or the other. Both parties could perceive this.

“Meanwhile,” continued the bandit, “I must put out the light inside here, else you may contemplate stealing a march on me by trying to get in from behind. I don’t intend to let you surround me; and in the darkness I shall be safe. So, buono notte, signori!”

A fresh thrill of apprehension ran through the veins of the spectators. More especially was this felt by Luigi Torreani and his English friend. The thought of the young girl being left alone in the darkness – alone with the brutal ruffian, even though they were themselves close by – filled them with horrible fears. Once more they were racking their brains for some plan to prevent such a perilous compromise. But they could not think of any that did not also compromise the safety of Lucetta. They had their guns cocked, ready to shoot Corvino down, had a chance presented itself. But there came none; his body was screened by that of the girl – a shot ill-aimed, and she only might receive it.

Half frantic, they saw the bandit stoop towards the lamp, with the intention of extinguishing it. Before he could succeed, a third personage appeared upon the scene – a form that darted quickly through the door behind.

It was a woman of wild aspect, in whose hand could be seen a stiletto glittering under the dim light. With a spring like that of an enraged tigress, she placed herself close behind the bandit; and, uttering a quick angry cry, plunged the poniard into his side.

Relaxing his grasp upon the girl, he turned round to defend himself; but almost on the instant staggered back against the wall.

His captive, finding herself released, glided instinctively towards the window. But it was not the intention of the murderess she should escape; and with the bloody poignard still grasped in her hand, she sprang quickly after.

Fortunately her intended victim had got close up to the bars, and was protected by a score of gun-barrels and sword-blades thrust through – among them the sword that had been snatched from Guardiola.