at length arrived! You shall feel the
crushing weight of my vengeance! You shall answer to me for your
despicable, your unnatural crimes! Pasquale Solara, base wretch who sold
your own daughter to a fate worse than death, ignoble scoundrel who did
not respect the dictates of hospitality, I am Giovanni Massetti!"

As he spoke he leaped in front of the morose shepherd, barring his
passage with his body.

"Well, what if you are Giovanni Massetti!" replied old Pasquale, coldly
and defiantly. "I care not for you! Stand out of my path and let me pass
before I strike you to the earth as I would a mongrel, yelping cur!"

With these words he raised his staff menacingly over the young Italian.
The latter with the quickness and agility of a deer sprang at the staff,
grasped it and sent it whirling into the chestnut grove. Then he caught
old Solara by the throat and a terrible struggle at once began. The two
men closed with each other as if in a death-clutch, wrestling like a
couple of athletes. Massetti had not yet regained his full vigor, but
his rage lent him strength. On his side, Pasquale, though old, had
muscles of steel and a grasp like iron. He whirled his adversary round
and round, at times almost overturning him, but the Viscount struggled
manfully, occasionally wrenching the shepherd from his feet and lifting
him bodily in the air. The breath of both came forth in hot, quick,
labored gasps, while their faces were red with exertion. For a long
while the result was doubtful, the strife continuing fiercely without
any decided advantage on either side. Often the Viscount was borne
nearly to the ground but he invariably recovered, straightened himself
up and vigorously renewed the conflict. Not a word was uttered now. The
concentrated energies of the contestants were bent upon the strife,
depriving them of the power of speech. Finally by a rapid movement
Giovanni succeeded in tripping Solara, who fell with a crash, the young
Italian coming down upon his prostrate body with great force and for an
instant almost checking his respiration. Both were partially stunned by
the fall and lay motionless. Massetti was the first to regain possession
of his faculties. He half arose, placed his knees on old Pasquale's
breast and, drawing a pistol, cocked it.

"What are you going to do?" gasped the under man, his terror giving him
the power to speak.

"I am going to kill you, Pasquale Solara!" hissed the Viscount, between
his set teet