and's methods.

It was now Ferralti's turn. He had just seated himself at the table and
taken the pen when they were startled by a shrill scream from the rear
of the house. It was followed by another, and another, in quick
succession.

It was Tato's voice, and the duke gave an answering cry and sprang from
the veranda to dart quickly around the corner of the house. Uncle John
followed him, nearly as fearful as the child's father.

Tommaso seized a short rifle that stood near and ran around the house in
the other direction, when Ferralti, who for a moment had seemed dazed by
the interruption, followed Tommaso rather than the others.

As they came to the rear they were amazed to see the old Duchessa, whom
they had known to be feeble and dependent upon her women, rush through
the garden hedge with the agility of a man, bearing in her arms the
struggling form of little Tato.

The child screamed pitifully, but the woman glared upon Tommaso and
Ferralti, as she passed them, with the ferocity of a tiger.

"She is mad!" cried Ferralti. "Quick, Tommaso; let us follow her."

The brigand bounded forward, with the young man scarce a pace behind
him. The woman, running with wonderful speed in spite of her burden,
began to ascend a narrow path leading up the face of a rugged cliff.

A yell of anguish from behind for a moment arrested Ferralti's rapid
pursuit. Glancing back he saw the Duke running frantically toward them,
at the same time waving his arms high above his head.

"The pit!" he shouted. "She is making for the pit. Stop her, for the
love of God!"

Ferralti understood, and dashed forward again at full speed. Tommaso
also understood, for his face was white and he muttered terrible oaths
as he pressed on. Yet run as they might, the mad duchessa was inspired
with a strength so superhuman that she kept well in advance.

But the narrow path ended half way up the cliff. It ended at a deep
chasm in the rocks, the edge of which was protected by a large flat
stone, like the curb of a well.

With a final leap the old woman gained this stone, and while the
dreadful pit yawned at her feet she turned, and with a demoniacal laugh
faced her pursuers, hugging the child close to her breast.

Tommaso and Ferralti, who were nearest, paused instinctively. It was now
impossible for them to prevent the tragedy about to be enacted. The
Duke, spurred on by fear, was yet twenty paces in their rear, and in a
moment he also stopped, cla