have a
chance. Come with me quietly. I will send one of the workmen round the
hill with you. You must sleep at Trevi, and then get over the Serra as
best you can." He ran his arm through the bridle of his horse and walked
by his enemy's side.

"You will not give me up," moaned the wretched man. "For the love of
heaven do not betray me--I have come so far--I am so tired."

"The wolves may make a meal of you, for all I care," returned Giovanni.
"I will not. I give you my word that I will send you safely on, if you
will stop this whining and behave like a man."

At that moment Del Ferice was past taking offence, but for many a year
afterwards the rough words rankled in his heart. Giovanni was brutal for
once; he longed to wring the fellow's neck, or to give him up to Gouacho
and the Zouaves. The tones of Ugo's voice reminded him of injuries not so
old as to be yet forgotten. But he smothered his wrath and strode on,
having promised his wife to save the wretch, much against his will. It
was a quarter of an hour before they reached the works, the longest
quarter of an hour Del Ferice remembered in his whole life. Neither spoke
a word. Giovanni hailed a sturdy-looking fellow who was breaking stones
by the roadside.

"Get up, Carluccio," he said. "This good monk has lost his way. You must
take him round the mountain, above Ponza to Arcinazzo, and show him the
road to Trevi. It is a long way, but the road is good enough after
Ponza--it is shorter than to go round by Saracinesca, and the good friar
is in a hurry."

Carluccio started up with alacrity. He greatly preferred roaming about
the hills to breaking stones, provided he was paid for it. He picked up
his torn jacket and threw it over one shoulder, setting his battered hat
jauntily on his thick black curls.

"Give us a benediction, _padre mio_, and let us be off--_non e mica un
passo_--it is a good walk to Trevi."

Del Ferice hesitated. He hardly knew what to do or say, and even if he
had wished to speak he was scarcely able to control his voice. Giovanni
cut the situation short by turning on his heel and mounting his horse. A
moment later he was cantering up the road again, to the considerable
astonishment of the labourers, who were accustomed to see him spend at
least half an hour in examining the work done. But Giovanni was in no
humour to talk about roads. He had spent a horrible quarter of an hour,
between his desire to see Del Ferice punished and the promise h