ce to plunge the knife in her breast! As well imagine a little bird
flying down to pierce itself on an uplifted bayonet. Ay, ay! women will
do strange things--and it is certain she loved Carmelo."

"You would help him to escape again if you could, no doubt?" I inquired
with a half smile.

The ready wit of the Sicilian instantly asserted itself.

"Not I, eccellenza," he replied, with an air of dignity and most
virtuous honesty. "No, no, not now. The law is the law, and I, Andrea
Luziani, am not one to break it. No, Carmelo must take his punishment;
it is for life they say--and hard as it seems, it is but just. When the
little Teresa was in the question, look you, what could I do? but
now--let the saints that choose help Carmelo, for I will not."

I laughed as I met the audacious flash of his eyes; I knew, despite his
protestations, that if Carmelo Neri ever did get clear of the galleys,
it would be an excellent thing for him if Luziani's vessel chanced to
be within reach.

"You have your brig the 'Laura' still?" I asked him.

"Yes, eccellenza, the Madonna be praised! And she has been newly rigged
and painted, and she is as trig and trim a craft as you can meet with
in all the wide blue waters of the Mediterranean."

"Now you see," I sad, impressively, "I have a friend, a relative, who
is in trouble: he wishes to get away from Naples quietly and in secret.
Will you help him? You shall be paid whatever you think proper to
demand."

The Sicilian looked puzzled. He puffed meditatively at his cigar and
remained silent.

"He is not pursued by the law," I continued, noting his hesitation. "He
is simply involved in a cruel difficulty brought upon him by his own
family--he seeks to escape from unjust persecution."

Andrea's brow cleared.

"Oh, if that is the case, eccellenza, I am at your service. But where
does your friend desire to go?"

I paused for a moment and considered.

"To Civita Vecchia," I said at last, "from that port he can obtain a
ship to take him to his further destination."

The captain's expressive face fell--he looked very dubious.

"To Civita Vecchia is a long way, a very long way," he said,
regretfully; "and it is the bad season, and there are cross currents
and contrary winds. With all the wish in the world to please you,
eccellenza, I dare not run the 'Laura' so far; but there is another
means--"

And interrupting himself he considered awhile in silence. I waited
patiently for him to sp