It was now lighter than it had been, and dawn was not far off.  The features of Girasole were plainly distinguishable.  They were convulsed with the most furious passion, which was not caused so much by the rage of conflict as by the sight of the prisoners.  He had suspected treachery on their part, and had spared them for a time only so as to see whether his suspicions were true or not.  But now this sudden assault by night, conducted so skillfully, and by such a powerful force, pointed clearly to treachery, as he saw it, and the ones who to him seemed most prominent in guilt were the priest and Ethel.

His suspicions were quite reasonable under the circumstances.  Here was a priest whom he regarded as his natural enemy.  These brigands identified themselves with republicans and Garibaldians whenever it suited their purposes to do so, and consequently, as such, they were under the condemnation of the Pope; and any priest might think he was doing the Pope good service by betraying those who were his enemies.  As to this priest, every thing was against him.  He lived close by; every step of the country was no doubt familiar to him; he had come to the camp under very suspicious circumstances, bringing with him a stranger in disguise.  He had given plausible answers to the cross-questioning of Girasole; but those were empty words, which went for nothing in the presence of the living facts that now stood before him in the presence of the enemy.

These thoughts had all occurred to Girasole, and the sight of the two prisoners kindled his rage to madness.  It was the deadliest purpose of vengeance that gleamed in his eyes as he looked upon them, and they knew it.  He gave one glance, and then turned to his men.

“On! on!” he cried; “I will join you in an instant; and you,” he said to the guards, “wait a moment.”

The brigands rushed on with shouts to assist their comrades in the fight, while the other four waited.

All this time the fight had not ceased.  The air was filled with the reports of rifle-shots, the shouts of men, the yells of the wounded.  The flashes seemed to be gradually drawing nearer, as though the assailants were still driving the brigands.  But their progress was slow, for the fighting was carried on among the trees, and the brigands resisted stubbornly, retreating from cover to cover, and stopping every moment to make a fresh stand.  But the assailants had gained much ground, and were already close by the borders of the lake, and advancing along toward the old stone house.

The robbers had not succeeded in binding their prisoners.  The priest and Ethel both stood where they had encountered Girasole, and the ropes fell from the robbers’ hands at the new interruption.  The grave with its mound was only a few feet away.

Girasole had a pistol in his left hand and a sword in his right.  He sheathed his sword and drew another pistol, keeping his eyes fixed steadily all the while upon his victims.