“Yes, sir; two.”

“And about a dozen cousins, I suppose, all of whom would be delighted to murder me—­if they could.  Now, give that gentleman your dagger, and march, au pas gymnastique.”

With a very ill grace, Giuseppe Griscelli did as he was bid, and then, rising to his feet, he marched, not, however, at the pas gymnastique, but slowly and deliberately; and as he reached a bend in the path a few yards farther on, he turned round and cast at Mr. Fortescue the most diabolically ferocious glance I ever saw on a human countenance.

CHAPTER V.

THEREBY HANGS A TALE.

“You believe now, I hope,” said Mr. Fortescue, as we walked homeward.

“Believe what, sir?”

“That I have relentless enemies who seek my life.  When I first told you of this you did not believe me.  You thought I was the victim of an hallucination, else had I been more frank with you.”

“I am really very sorry.”

“Don’t protest!  I cannot blame you.  It is hard for people who have led uneventful lives and seen little of the seamy side of human nature to believe that under the veneer of civilization and the mask of convention, hatreds are still as fierce, men still as revengeful as ever they were in olden times....  I hope I did not make a mistake in sparing young Griscelli’s life.”

“Sparing his life!  How?”

“He sought my life, and I had a perfect right to take his.”

“That is not a very Christian sentiment, Mr. Fortescue.”

“I did not say it was.  Do you always repay good for evil and turn your check to the smiter, Mr. Bacon?”

“If you put it in that way, I fear I don’t.”

“Do you know anybody who does?”

After a moment’s reflection I was again compelled to answer in the negative.  I could not call to mind a single individual of my acquaintance who acted on the principle of returning good for evil.

“Well, then, if I am no better than other people, I am no worse.  Yet, after all, I think I did well to let him go.  Had I killed the brigand, there would have been a coroner’s inquest, and questions asked which might have been troublesome to answer, and he has brothers and cousins.  If I could destroy the entire brood!  Did you see the look he gave me as he went away?  It meant murder.  We have not seen the last of Giuseppe Griscelli, Mr. Bacon.”

“I am afraid we have not.  I never saw such an expression of intense hatred in my life!  Has he cause for it?”

“I dare say he thinks so.  I killed his father and his grand-father.”

This, uttered as indifferently as if it were a question of killing hares and foxes, was more than I could stand.  I am not strait-laced, but I draw the line at murder.

“You did what?” I exclaimed, as, horror-struck and indignant, I stopped in the path and looked him full in the face.