In the Robber's Hold.—The Brigand's Bride.—Sudden, amazing, overwhelming, bewildering, tremendous, astounding, overpowering, and crushing Discovery.—The Situation.—Everybody confounded.—The Crowd at Sorrento.—The Landlord's Prayers.—The Virago calls for Vengeance.

The brigand put his gun down upon the sofa, and motioned to David to take a seat. He then left the room, and David heard his voice calling,—

"Laura! Laura!"

A light footstep sounded in the next room, and the brigand returned, followed by a woman.

This woman's appearance astonished David. She was a lady. She was young, beautiful, bright as a vision, dressed simply, but in the modern fashion altogether. She had a very sweet face, and a bewitching smile, and as she entered she looked at David in some surprise.

Then this great, big, bluff, bearded, broad-shouldered, beetle-browed, brusque bully of a brigand; this fierce, ferocious, bloodthirsty, relentless, ruthless ruffian; this hard-hearted, implacable, inexorable villain; this cruel, vengeful, vindictive, griping, grasping, scowling fiend; this demoniac miscreant, without pity, and without remorse, opened his month.

And this is what he said, in first-rate ENGLISH!—"See here, Laura; I've picked up a poor wretch of a Bohemian—can't speak a word of any language, and had to explain by signs. Well, you know I'm great on gestures; so I worked his story out of him. It seems he came to Naples with his father, mother, and two sisters, and they all went on horseback up Vesuvius. Well, somehow they were captured by brigands, and were carried off; but the father, who, I believe, is a medical man, managed to drug the food of the scoundrels, and carried off his family. Well, they got to the shore, found a boat, and set out for Naples. After sailing a little distance, a squall struck the boat, and it upset. All were drowned except this poor lad, who managed to cling to the boat, and drifted, or was blown, ashore here on the cove, just down there, last night. He was senseless all night, and only came to himself a little while ago, and I picked him up just as he was reviving. He says he is alone in the world, and has appealed to me to help him. Poor lad! my heart fairly aches for him. He says he hasn't got a penny of money, and implores me to help him. Of course I've tried to comfort him; for I've told him that he may make my house his home, and I've promised to give him whatever money he wants, and move heaven and earth to get him back to his friends, if he has any."

During this astounding speech the lady had stolen over to David, and sitting by his side, she placed a soft hand tenderly on his head. As the story was being told, her eyes filled with tears, and leaning forward, she kissed the poor boy's pale brow. When it ended she murmured in English, that was even better than that of the "brigand,"—"Poor boy! poor boy! O, Walter, dearest, how I do wish I could speak Bohemian, so as to tell him how sorry I feel!"

And what of David?

What did David think—feel—say?

Nothing. Not a word!

David was paralyzed. He was stunned. He gasped for breath.

And so this was his brigand—the brutal, the beetle-browed, the cruel, the bloody-minded, the inexorable, the demoniac, and all the rest of it! He gasped for breath, as I think I have already remarked; and as the ex-brigand went on with his narrative, David listened in a dazed way, and began to understand that the language of gestures has its little uncertainties. But when the lady kissed him, and when her sweet voice spoke those tender words of pity, he could stand it no longer. His voice came to him. He burst forth,—

"O, how I thank you! O, how good you are! O, what a fool I am!"

And he could say no more.

Not a word more, on my honor.

It was now the turn of the others to be surprised.

The lady started back in wonder, and looked at David, and then at her husband. The ex-brigand started back also, and stared at David in utter bewilderment.

"What!" he roared, in a deep, thunderous bass voice. "Say that again."

"O, I'm an American—and I'm such a fool!" said David. "Why didn't
I tell you so?"

"An American!" roared the ex-brigand. "An American!"

Upon this he burst into a perfect thunder-peal of laughter. The laughter came forth, peal after peal, in long and deafening explosions, till the house vibrated with the sound, and till at last the ex-brigand sank exhausted into the Glastonbury chair.

"An American!" he cried; "and think of me—ha, ha, ha!—asking you if you spoke every language in the world—ha, ha, ha!—but the right one—ha, ha, ha!—and speaking every language—ha, ha, ha!—but my own—ha, ha, ha! And to think of us two Americans—ha, ha, ha!—after trying Italian—ha, ha, ha I—and French, and Spanish, and German—ha, ha, ha!—rushing into gestures!—ha, ha, ha!—gestures!—only think, Laura—ha, ha, ha! He and I—ha, ha, ha!—spending an hour in making signs to each other—ha, ha, ha!—but 'pon my life it's too bad in me to be howling out in this fashion, my poor lad, when you're in the midst of such deep affliction. I swear I'm sorry. I forget myself."

"But I'm not in any affliction at all," said David.

"What! What's that?" cried the ex-brigand. "Didn't you lose your father?"

"No."

"But your father, and mother, and the rest of them—"

"No," said David. "You didn't quite understand what I wanted to say." And he then proceeded to tell his story in plain English. He was listened to with deep attention; but as his story turned out to be so different from the first report of the ex-brigand, the lady stole an arch look at her husband, and her eyes fairly danced with fun and merriment. But the ex-brigand bore it admirably; and as David ended, and showed himself to be in no such deep affliction as had been supposed, he once more burst forth in a fresh peal of riotous laughter.

Upon this David ventured to hint at his own late fears, and on being questioned by the lady he confessed frankly what had been the interpretation that he put upon the signs of the ex-brigand.

"Well," said that worthy, "I'm not a brigand at all. I'm an artist."

"I'm sure I don't wonder, Walter," said the lady. "You dress yourself up in such an absurd fashion—and I've always told you that this room looks like a bandit's den."

"No, no, Laura; say an artist's studio. How could I get along without my furniture. As for my dress, it's quite in keeping with the place and the people. It's picturesque, and that's all an artist is bound to consider."

Further explanations followed, in the course of which it appeared that this ex-brigand was Mr. Walter Ludlow, an American artist, who, for the time being, was living here with his bride. They had been married three months. The island was Capri. They were enjoying love in a cottage, which cottage was furnished in an artistic, rather than a fashionable way. They lived here quite free from restraint, and the artist occupied the time partly with his art, and partly with general enjoyment. Neither of them felt at all inclined to leave Capri for some time to come, but thought it the pleasantest place in the world.

Ludlow happened that day to be cleaning his gun, with the intention of going on a shooting excursion. The noise which had been made in the wood by David had startled him, and he had gone to see what it was, with the idea that some cattle had strayed along the shore, and were coming into the fields and gardens.

When Ludlow explained his gestures to David, and the latter confessed what interpretation he had put on them, further laughter was elicited from the fun-loving artist, in which his wife joined, and David also. Ludlow, as soon as he was in a condition to speak, proceeded to explain what he really meant. His gestures were all intended by him to express the following ideas:—

1. I'm an American.
2. I don't live here—I only lodge.
3. I'm an artist.
4. I'm very sorry for you, and I'll take care of you.
5. I'm going out shooting soon.
6. Don't fret. I'll take care of you, and the boat too,
as long as you like.
7. I live in that house up there, and you can stay there
till you hear from your friends.

But Mrs. Ludlow now retreated, and before long she had a table set for their young guest, at which David took his seat, and ate with an appetite that had been sharpened by his long fast. While at the table Ludlow questioned him more particularly about his friends, and where he had left them.

"Well, David, my lad," said the artist, at length, "I should like very much to have you stay with us for a time; and if you could, I feel confident that I could show you what would well repay you. Are you aware that on this island is one of the wonders of the world—the famous grotto? I should like to take you there—but I see how it is. As you say, your uncle will be wild with anxiety about you, and will have no peace till he hears from you. So I suppose the best thing I can do for you, is to restore you to him first of all, and then arrange for a visit from you all on some future occasion."

David thanked him very earnestly, and dwelt strongly upon the anxiety of Uncle Moses under the circumstances.

"Well, my lad," said Ludlow, "I think you'd best go off at once, and I mean to go with you. Unfortunately there is a head wind, just now, so that we cannot go to Castellamare without taking too long a time. The best way will be to go over to Sorrento from this place, and take a carriage, or horses, to Castellamare."

This proposal pleased David, greatly, and as Ludlow was ready to start, he rose to go. Mrs. Ludlow bade him good by, and pressed him affectionately to come back with his friends.

In a short time they were in the boat and afloat. Ludlow was a good sailor, and the wind was favorable for a passage to Sorrento. The distance was traversed quickly and pleasantly; and then, leaving the boat, they walked up into the town towards the hotel, to see about getting a conveyance to Castellamare.

As they approached the hotel they became aware of a great and unusual crowd in front of it. The crowd reminded David very forcibly of that one which had been raging there a few days before, and excited some trepidation in his breast. Involuntarily he hung back.

"What's the matter?" asked Ludlow.

"The mob," said David; "do—do you think it's safe to venture among them?"

"Safe? Pooh! why not?"

"They appear to be excited. Hark! how they shout."

"O, nonsense! These Italians are always shouting."

But David still hesitated, and finally told Ludlow about the trouble with the tassel, and the old woman, and the mob, and their escape.

At this story Ludlow laughed heartily, and then proceeded to reassure
David.

"Don't be alarmed," said he; "they won't remember you. If they did, I've got something that'll make them keep at a respectful distance;" and he touched his breast significantly. "A six-shooter, David, my boy, is a very convenient thing to carry about one in this country, and it is surprising how the native mind respects it. So come along, and we—that is, I and my six-shooter'll—take care of you. Don't be uneasy. They've got something else on their minds now."

With these words Ludlow walked on, and David followed, full of fear.

The crowd in front of the hotel was in a great state of rage and excitement. Some were banging at the door, others pounding against the window shutters, which had been closed by the terrified landlord; others were standing at a distance, and trying to find stones to throw. Fortunately there were no loose stones of any size, few being larger than a pebble, and therefore, as yet, no very great damage had been done. But the crowd was evidently capable of any amount of mischief. Every one was howling, and yelling; and in the midst of them was an old woman, whose shouts and shrill cries made her conspicuous in the scene. She was encouraging and stimulating a number of men who were carrying a beam to the house, which they evidently purposed to use as a battering-ram, so as to burst open the door.

The moment that David caught sight of this woman he shuddered, and falling behind Ludlow, caught at his hand, and tried to pull him back. Ludlow turned in surprise.

"It's the same woman," said David, in an agitated voice, "who chased me."

"Is it?" said Ludlow, with a smile. "O, well, you've got me with you now. So be a man.—cheer up, my boy. It's all right."

Saying this, Ludlow again walked forward, this time keeping his left hand on David's arm. David felt that it was not "all right," but he had to follow Ludlow, and so he followed him into the midst of the crowd. Working their way on through the people, they at last came near to the door, and found themselves close by the men who were carrying the beam. They had laid it on the ground, and were hesitating for a moment. Overhead Ludlow heard the voice of the landlord pleading with them in piteous tones.

"O, good citizens! O, dear citizens! Don't destroy my furniture! Don't ruin me! There is a mistake. On my honor, the strangers are innocent."

At this the old virago howled out some insane maledictions, and urged the crowd on. Some on the outskirts yelled, and the old hag, whirling around in the midst of her tirade, found herself face to face with David. The terrified lad shrank back, and tried to hide himself; but the old woman recognized him at once, and with a howl sprang at him.

Ludlow saw the movement.

He put himself in front of David, and, seizing the old woman's arm in a grasp like a vice, held her back, and asked her sternly, in Italian,—

"Accursed one! what do you mean?"

"O, citizens of Sorrento!" shrieked the hag. "O, pious citizens! Help! This is the accursed boy! This is the sacrilegious one! the blasphemer! the insulter of the Bambino! the—"

"Silence!" roared Ludlow, in a voice of thunder. "Men of Sorrento, is this the way you treat strangers? Does this mad thing govern the city?"

"The boy, the boy! the blasphemer! the sacrilegious! the accursed!" shrieked the hag. And at her yells some of the mob seemed inclined to respond. They were already ripe for mischief, and when the hag diverted their attention to David, they felt quite ready to take him in hand. So now a ring of dark faces was formed around Ludlow, and the yells of the hag directed them to seize David.

Ludlow pushed the hag from him, drew his revolver from his breast, and took two strides towards the house, which was close by, dragging David after him. Then he put his back against the wall, and holding the revolver in an apparently careless manner, with its muzzle turned towards the crowd, he once more opened his mouth.

"Men of Sorrento!" said he, "what foolery is this? The woman is mad. I have just come from Capri, with this boy. Many of you know me, for I am often here; and now, when I come, am I to be insulted by a madwoman? Are you—"

"Seize him! seize the boy! the boy! the blasphemer!" yelled the hag.

Ludlow placed his hand on David's head, and looked with a smile on the crowd nearest.

"Does her madness usually take this form, gentlemen?" he added; "does she usually show this animosity to little boys and children?"

At this question, which was asked in an easy and natural manner, the crowd looked abashed.

They began to think that the woman was crazy. Those to whom Ludlow had spoken were the very men who had brought the beam but a few minutes before. They now edged slowly away, and began to think that they had done a very silly thing.

"What's the trouble, signori?" asked Ludlow, in the same easy tone, of those who were nearest.

"Well, they say there are some people inside that desecrated the church—some boys—"

"What—boys?" said Ludlow, with a smile. "Who says so?"

The men shrugged their shoulders.

"She says so."

Ludlow thereupon shrugged his shoulders.

"Seize him! seize him! seize him!" yelled the hag, who all this time had kept up her insane outcry.

"Somebody had better seize her," said Ludlow, with a laugh. "Why, gentlemen, she will give your town a very bad name."

The crowd nearest had already undergone a revulsion of feeling. The assault of the old woman on two harmless strangers seemed too wanton to be tolerated. Ludlow's easy manner and calm language restored them fully to their senses, and the sight of his revolver effectually overawed the more excitable or reckless. They were also jealous of the good name of the town, and now began to be enraged with the old woman. A murmur passed through them. Curses were freely lavished upon her, and the threats which but a short time ago had been directed against the landlord and his guests, were now hurled at her. The hag, however, in her fury, was quite unconscious of all this, and continued to yell as before, endeavoring to hound them on against David. But the crowd was now disgusted with her and her yells.

"Stop your diabolical yells!" cried an angry voice. "Go home, and stay home, or you'll have a strait jacket put on you."

The hag stopped short, as though thunderstruck, and looked around with staring eyes. It was a young man who thus addressed her: he was grasping her arm and looking savagely at her. Evidently he was some relative, of whom she stood in awe, for with something like a gasp she seemed to shrink into herself, and then, gathering her clothes about her, slunk away through the crowd.

Ludlow had often been at Sorrento before, and saw some familiar faces among the people. These he accosted, and soon found out what the trouble was. Although some of these very men had been howling like maniacs a short time before, yet they now were as quiet, and gentle, and amiable as lambs. They sneered at the old hag, deplored. the excitement, and assured him that no harm had been done.

Soon the crowd dispersed, and the landlord, who had been watching the scene in deep anxiety, came down, opened the doors, and gave Ludlow and David a most eager, exuberant, and enthusiastic welcome.