without noise."

"Dearest Valeria!"

"Hush! Yes."

"Hand me that cane--it is my fishing-rod, you know--through this hole;
you can leave the sketch-book and paint-box under the tree that the
donkey fell against; I will call for them some day soon. And, Valeria,
don't you think we could make our lips meet through this beastly hole?"

"Impossible. There's my hand; heavens! Croppo would murder me if he
knew. Now keep quiet till I give the signal. Oh, do let go my hand!"

"Remember, Valeria, _bellissima, carissima_, whatever happens, that I
love you."

But I don't think she heard this, and I went and sat on the onions,
because I could see the hole better and the smell of them kept me awake.

It was at least two hours after this that the faint light appeared at
the hole in the wall and a hand was pushed through. I rushed at the
finger-tips.

"Here's your fishing-rod," she said, when I had released them and she
had passed me my air-gun. "Now be very careful how you tread. There is
one asleep across the door, but you can open it about two feet. Then
step over him; then make for a gleam of moonlight that comes through the
crack of the front door, open it very gently, and slip out. _Addio, caro
Inglese_; mind you wait till you hear me snoring."

Then she lingered, and I heard a sigh.

"What is it, sweet Valeria?" and I covered her hand with kisses.

"I wish Croppo had blue eyes like you."

This was murmured so softly that I may have been mistaken, but I'm
nearly sure that was what she said; then she drew softly away, and two
minutes afterward I heard her snoring. As the first sound issued from
her lovely nostrils I stealthily approached the door, gently pushed
it open, stealthily stepped over a space which I trusted cleared the
recumbent figure that I could not see, cleared him, stole gently on for
the streak of moonlight, trod squarely on something that seemed like an
outstretched hand, for it gave under my pressure and produced a yell,
felt that I must now rush for my life, dashed the door open, and down
the path with four yelling ruffians at my heels. I was a pretty good
runner, but the moon was behind a cloud and the way was rocky; moreover,
there must have been a short cut I did not know, for one of my pursuers
gained upon me with unaccountable rapidity--he appeared suddenly within
ten yards of my heels. The others were at least a hundred yards behind.
I had nothing for it but to turn round, let him almost run