Had he not himself descended its ladders
into the mine's burning pits? Was not that why he was undersized and
weak of lungs? He bore scars that had seared even deeper than through
the flesh. He knew the huts, too: caves in which men lived like beasts.
It was all clear except the surroundings in which he found himself. The
haggard faces of his brother and his sister-in-law were familiar, yet
not as he remembered them. The withered bodies of the children seemed
not nearly so pathetic! Then, full of bewilderment, he heard his
sister-in-law singing. Singing! Could it be possible that a voice could
sing in the "Little Devil" settlement! Distinctly he heard another
sound, the voices of children at play.

Thinking all this must be merely the creation of his brain, he raised
himself on his elbow and made a careful survey of the room. There was no
doubt that he was in a good bed, covered by a thick new quilt, and the
walls were cleanly white-washed. The air held none of the foul and
strangling odors which never had been, and never could be, forgotten.
That his brother had moved and had become a well-to-do peasant of the
mountain slopes and vineyards was the only explanation possible. He
tried to get out of bed, but fell back dizzy, and his mind wandered off
again to the semi-conscious vagaries of illness.

In this state of mind, he had become used to a new presence--a very big,
very kind personality that hauntingly resembled the Americano--it was,
of course, one of those phantoms that appear before fevered
imaginations. He realized that, and now he made an effort to detach the
dream from the reality.

But even as he was trying to put his thoughts in order, the door
opened--and he vividly saw the figure of his vision followed by his
sister-in-law. Thinking that his mind was wandering, he lay quite still.
Then he heard a kindly voice saying, "I have brought soup for him with
me--in this jar. You have only to heat it."

Luigi felt a strong hand clasp his wrist and feel for his pulse. Then
came the full belief that this was no dream, but reality, and that it
was the Tyrant, the Americano himself, who laid hands on him. With a
frantic effort he sprang up and tried to close his fingers around his
enemy's throat! But firm, powerful hands gripped his shoulders and
forced him quietly down in his bed. Then he lost consciousness.

When he came to, he thought he had dreamed the whole occurrence. His
brother and Padre Filippo were sitti