enge the wrong to our race."

"More proof that you are imbecile," said the Duke, calmly. "He shall not
die. He is nothing to us except a mine from whence to get gold."

"He is my grandson. I have a right to kill him."

"He is my nephew. He shall live."

"Do you defy me?"

"With certainty. I defy you. The new world permits no crazy nonna to
rule a family. That is my privilege. If you persist, it is you who shall
go to the pit. If you have reason, you shall remain in your garden in
peace. Come, Tato; we will retire."

He arose and took the child's hand. The old woman sat staring at them in
silence, but with an evil glint in her glistening eyes.

Uncle John turned around and softly made his retreat from the garden.
His face wore a startled and horrified expression and on his forehead
stood great beads of sweat that the sultriness of the day did not
account for.

But he thought better of Il Duca.

CHAPTER XXI

THE PIT

They met an hour later at luncheon, all but the Duchessa, who sulked in
her garden. Tato was bright and smiling, filled with a suppressed joy
which bubbled up in spite of the little one's effort to be dignified and
sedate. When her hand stole under the table to find and press that of
her father, Uncle John beamed upon her approvingly; for he knew what had
occurred and could sympathize with her delight.

The Duke, however, was more sombre than usual. He had defied his mother,
successfully, so far; but he feared the terrible old woman more than did
Tato, because he knew more of her history and of the bold and wicked
deeds she had perpetrated in years gone by. Only once had a proposed
victim escaped her, and that was when her own daughter Bianca had fallen
in love with an American held for ransom and spirited him away from the
valley through knowledge of the secret passage. It was well Bianca had
fled with her lover; otherwise her mother would surely have killed her.
But afterward, when the girl returned to die in the old home, all was
forgiven, and only the hatred of her foreign husband, whose cruelty had
driven her back to Sicily, remained to rankle in the old Duchessa's
wicked heart.

No one knew her evil nature better than her son. He entertained a
suspicion that he had not conquered her by his recent opposition to her
will. Indeed, he would never have dared to brave her anger except for
Tato's sake. Tato was his idol, and in her defense the cowardly brigand
had for the moment become