prang on to the back of his mare. In the moment
of riding away, he glanced back to see whether his leader was in need of
help. The roan was close at hand, and in another instant all would have
been safe; but as the figure in the scarlet cassock stepped forward,
the Gadfly suddenly wavered and the hand with the pistol sank down.
The instant decided everything. Immediately he was surrounded and flung
violently to the ground, and the weapon was dashed out of his hand by a
blow from the flat of a soldier's sword. Marcone struck his mare's flank
with the stirrup; the hoofs of the cavalry horses were thundering up the
hill behind him; and it would have been worse than useless to stay and
be taken too. Turning in the saddle as he galloped away, to fire a last
shot in the teeth of the nearest pursuer, he saw the Gadfly, with blood
on his face, trampled under the feet of horses and soldiers and spies;
and heard the savage curses of the captors, the yells of triumph and
rage.

Montanelli did not notice what had happened; he had moved away from the
steps, and was trying to calm the terrified people. Presently, as he
stooped over the wounded spy, a startled movement of the crowd made him
look up. The soldiers were crossing the square, dragging their prisoner
after them by the rope with which his hands were tied. His face was
livid with pain and exhaustion, and he panted fearfully for breath; but
he looked round at the Cardinal, smiling with white lips, and whispered:

"I c-cong-gratulate your Eminence."

*****

Five days later Martini reached Forli. He had received from Gemma by
post a bundle of printed circulars, the signal agreed upon in case
of his being needed in any special emergency; and, remembering the
conversation on the terrace, he guessed the truth at once. All through
the journey he kept repeating to himself that there was no reason for
supposing anything to have happened to the Gadfly, and that it was
absurd to attach any importance to the childish superstitions of so
nervous and fanciful a person; but the more he reasoned with himself
against the idea, the more firmly did it take possession of his mind.

"I have guessed what it is: Rivarez is taken, of course?" he said, as he
came into Gemma's room.

"He was arrested last Thursday, at Brisighella. He defended himself
desperately and wounded the captain of the squadron and a spy."

"Armed resistance; that's bad!"

"It makes no difference; he was too deeply