ards to the dark ceiling, leaving the
front of the laboratory almost in the dark. Pasquale listened and he
heard the sharp tapping of a hammer on stone. He understood at once that
Giovanni had shut himself in to search for something, and would
therefore be busy some time.

Without noise he crossed the garden to the entrance of the main furnace
room and went into the passage.

"Come out quickly!" he whispered, as his seaman's eyes made out
Marietta's figure in a gloom that would have been total darkness to a
landsman; and he took hold of the girl's arm to lead her away.

"Your brother is in the laboratory, and will not come out," he
whispered. "By this time Zorzi may be safe."

"Safe!" She spoke the word aloud, in her relief.

"Hush, for heaven's sake. The door is open. You can get home now without
being seen. Make no noise."

She followed him quickly. They had to cross the patch of dim light in
the garden, and she glanced at the closed window of the laboratory. It
had all happened as Zorzi had foreseen, and Giovanni was already
searching for the manuscript. The only thing she could not understand
was that Zorzi should have escaped the archers. Even as she crossed the
garden, the two man were passing the door, bearing Zorzi he knew not
where, but away from the nearest danger. A moment later she was on the
footway, hurrying towards the bridge. Pasquale stood watching her, to be
sure that she was safe, and he glanced up at the windows, too, fearing
lest some one might still be looking out.

But chance had saved Marietta this time. She carefully barred the side
door after she had gone in, and groped her way up the dark stairs. On
the landing there was light from below, and she paused for breath, her
bosom heaving as she leaned a moment on the balustrade. She passed one
hand over her brows, as if to bring herself back to present
consciousness, and then went quickly on.

"Safe," she repeated under her breath as she went, "safe, safe, safe!"

It was to give herself courage, for she could hardly believe it, though
she knew that Pasquale would not deceive her and must have some strong
good reason for what he said. There had not been time to question him.

All he knew himself was that a man whose face he could not see had
whispered to him that Zorzi was in no danger. But he had recognised the
other man who had gone up the footway first, in spite of his short cloak
and hood, and he felt well assured that Charalambos Ari