Mrs. Willoughby flung her arms about her sister, and clasped her in a convulsive embrace.

“Well, Kitty darling,” said Minnie, “don’t cry, or you’ll make me cry too.  It’s just what we might have expected, you know.  He’s been as unkind as he could be about the chair, and of course he’ll do all he can to tease me.  Don’t cry, dear.  You must go, I suppose, since that horrid man talks and scolds so about it; only be sure to be back early; but how I am ever to pass the night here all alone and standing up, I’m sure I don’t know.”

“Alone?  Oh no,” said Girasole.  “Charming mees, you sall not be alone; I haf guard for dat.  I haf sent for a maid.”

“But I don’t want any of your horrid old maids.  I want my own maid, or none at all.”

“Se sall be your own maid.  I haf sent for her.”

“What, my own maid?—­Dowlas?”

“I am ver sorry, but it is not dat one.  It is anoder—­an Italian.”

“Well, I think that is very unkind, when you know I can’t speak a word of the language.  But you always do all you can to tease me.  I wish I had never seen you.”

Girasole looked hurt.

“Charming mees,” said he, “I will lay down my life for you.”

“But I don’t want you to lay down your life.  I want Dowlas.”

“And you sall haf Dowlas to-morra.  An’ to-night you sall haf de Italian maid.”

“Well, I suppose I must,” said Minnie, resignedly.

“Miladi,” said Girasole, turning to Mrs. Willoughby, “I am ver sorry for dis leetle accommodazion.  De room where you mus go is de one where I haf put de man dat try to safe you.  He is tied fast.  You mus promis you will not loose him.  Haf you a knife?”

“No,” said Mrs. Willoughby, in a scarce audible tone.

“Do not mourn.  You sall be able to talk to de prisonaire and get consolazion.  But come.”

With these words Girasole led the way out into the hall, and into the front-room on the opposite side.  He carried the lamp in his hand.  Mrs. Willoughby saw a figure lying at the other end of the room on the floor.  His face was turned toward them, but in the darkness she could not see it plainly.  Some straw was heaped up in the corner next her.

“Dere,” said Girasole, “is your bed.  I am sorra.  Do not be trouble.”

With this he went away.

Mrs. Willoughby flung herself on her knees, and bowed her head and wept convulsively.  She heard the heavy step of Girasole as he went down stairs.  Her first impulse was to rush back to her sister.  But she dreaded discovery, and felt that disobedience would only make her fate harder.

CHAPTER XXIX.

FOUND AT LAST.

In a few moments Girasole came back and entered Minnie’s room.  He was followed by a woman who was dressed in the garb of an Italian peasant girl.  Over her head she wore a hood to protect her from the night air, the limp folds of which hung over her face.  Minnie looked carelessly at this woman and then at Girasole.