r sides, and
even their summits, were here all covered with forests. On the
left he could see the bridge over which the road passed--the road
that led to safety. Could he but escape for a few moments from
the eyes of his jailers, he might be saved. And why not? Two
women, and some dirty children--why should he care for such guards
as these? One rush, one leap, and he would be free. Willingly
would he walk all the way to Salerno. Anything would be welcome
after such a captivity as this.

But Bob was doomed to disappointment; for just as he had made up
his mind to fly, just as he was looking all around to see if the
coast was clear, he saw, to his deep distress, the two brigands
approaching from the outhouse. They were carrying something which,
on nearer approach, turned out to be a sheep, which they had just
killed. Of course all thoughts of flight now departed, and Bob
could only deplore his own stupidity in allowing that one chance
of escape to pass away.

After this they began to boil portions of the sheep in a pot; and
soon the savory odor of a stew filled the room, and came to Bob's
nostrils. As he was half starving, the delicious odor excited the
utmost longing to taste it, and he at once began to feel rather
satisfied that he had not fled. He felt that a flight after dinner
would be far better. In due time the dinner was ready. It was a
stew,--mutton, with vegetables, cooked deliciously,--and Bob's
hunger was so great that if it had been worse cooked it would have
been a banquet. He had no fears of poison, no suspicions of drugging,
for the whole family prepared to partake' of the repast--the two
brigands, the old hag, the slatternly woman, and the dirty children.
The stew was poured out into a huge wooden platter; they used no
plates, but dipped with their fingers. The sight awakened a little
disgust in Bob, but he was too hungry to be squeamish, and he
succeeded in picking out various morsels which had not been touched
by the dirty hands of his companions.

During the repast Bob noticed that they all kept looking, from time
to time, at him, and their furtive glances met his eyes whenever
he turned them. The old woman sometimes seemed to devour him with
a greedy, hungry sort of gaze, that was very horrible. It was an
ogrish look, and Bob's appetite was somewhat checked by the horror
that he found in her eyes, and he was unable to have that free play
with the repast which he might otherwise have had.

After