The subterranean prison into which Aslitta had been thrown was dark as pitch, and it was a long time before his eyes became accustomed to the darkness and he could make out his surroundings. He remembered that he had descended many steps, and he supposed that his cell was in the casemates of the citadel.

He soon discovered that the cell was very narrow but high; about ten feet above his head he found an opening, secured by iron bars. All attempts to reach this proved futile, and he could secure no foothold on the slippery walls.

What should he do? At any moment the door might be opened, and his captors enter and lead him to the torture-chamber, or, perhaps, to his doom. He did not fear death itself—but what would become of Luciola in case he died? The last meeting of the patriots was to take place this very evening. As it was, there were but a few of these in comparison to the number of their oppressors, and if but one remained away the good work might be seriously hampered.

He paced the floor deeply absorbed in thought, when suddenly he stumbled and fell, as it appeared, into a vast empty space. Instinctively extending his arms, he caught hold of one of the projecting ledges, and so hung suspended in mid-air.

What was to be done? Aslitta strove to secure a foothold, but the relation of his accident to his imprisonment soon dawned upon him.

In the centre of the floor he had discovered an opening, which evidently was the passage leading to a well, or perhaps, as he thought, to one of the unused drains, such as there are many in the old castles. A low stone fence surrounded the opening, and it was this over which he had stumbled. Aslitta reflected for a moment—perhaps it was once covered with a stone, which, slipping out of place, dropped below. The opening was not very wide, and it was only after a great effort that he succeeded in jumping over the rail.

If he could only have seen whether there was water in the well which might aid him in his escape. What would he not have given for a match? But that was out of the question.

Suddenly he stopped short; it appeared as though he heard a noise proceed from the well. He listened, but again everything was quiet. He bent over the opening, and now he could distinctly hear a sound. It was a human voice—it was a curse he had heard uttered.

Placing his hands about his mouth he cried out:

"Is anybody here?"

No answer came. The prisoner waited and then called out once more.

Again no answer came.

Presently he heard a voice cry out, "You are a prisoner; are you not?"

"Yes, I am. Whoever you may be, have no fear; I am not your enemy," returned the voice of Aslitta.

"I am down in the water half drowned."

"Peculiar," thought Aslitta; "I ought to know that voice, it sounds so familiar;" and in a loud tone he asked, "Who are you?"

Yet no answer came; evidently the voice in the well doubted his sincerity. To his good fortune he found a match which he lighted. With a suppressed cry he shrank back; he recognized the uniform of the Austrian officer.

Before he could recover his surprise, he heard words in pure Italian proceeding from the well.

"Keep me up! I am sinking deeper and deeper."

Now there was no reason for doubt; were he friend or enemy he would save him. Quickly unfastening his scarf, he held one end firmly while he threw the other over into the well.

"Catch hold of the scarf," he called down, "the stuff is firm and will bear you."

Immediately thereafter he felt that his order had been obeyed—the heavy silk became taut.

"Pull up," a voice now cried from below, "I will hold tight."

Aslitta was young and powerful, but he had to exert himself terribly to pull up the heavy load and lift it over the rim of the well.

"Thank Heaven," the words reached his ear, "for the present we are saved. Ah, what would my poor Aurora say if she knew this?"

Aurora! This name seemed like a revelation to Aslitta, and, in glad surprise, he exclaimed:

"Bartolomeo—is it you?"

"Why, of course; but with whom have I the honor—It is as dark here as in a sack."

"I am Giorgio Aslitta."

"Heaven be praised that I have found you. I was looking for you."

"Indeed? Where, in truth, do you come from?"

"Oh, that would take us too far to-day. I fell into the clutches of that cursed San Pietro and escaped from him only through a miracle. Well, for that he's now got his deserts."

"Is he dead?"

"Oh, no. That sort of vermin has a very tough life, but he's locked up for the present, and therefore we must hurry up to clear out."

"I'm with you, only tell me how and in which way, and, besides, I would like to know how you obtained that Croatian uniform."

"Oh, that was a rare joke! It was San Pietro's uniform which I took from him. I will tell you the particulars later on—or do you mistrust me?"

"No, Bartolomeo, I know you as a good patriot."

"Thanks for this word. I come, besides, direct from the torture-chamber. After I had escaped from my torturer I was standing in a damp, narrow, totally dark passage. By groping along I reached a descending staircase; I slowly walked on and only stopped when I felt the moisture under my feet. But what could I do? I cautiously groped ahead, and soon my shoes were filled with water. It shortly afterward rose to my calves; and then, oh joy! I could again rise to my full height. The steps were at an end and I stood in a capacious vault, as I could perceive by the light of a match. At the same time I felt a strong draught, and then I heard your question whether anybody was down there. I answered for luck—whether I was captured or drowned in the gradually rising water would, in the end, amount to the same thing."

"But why were you arrested?"

"Later on you shall hear all."

"Can you not at least tell me whether Luciola has been saved?"

"Yes, she is in safety in the Count of Monte-Cristo's house."

"Heaven be praised! Now I can die calmly," whispered Aslitta.

"Nonsense! who is speaking of dying? Think of our rescue. It is not safe to remain here, and the sooner we get out of this hole the better. Where is this cell?"

"Ah, if I knew that! I have no matches, and, therefore, could not very well fix where I was."

"Good; we will find out."

Bartolomeo drew a match from his pocket, and soon a bright light illuminated the cell, without, however, revealing a consoling prospect.

"Humph!" growled the major, "it was, after all, better down there."

"But there, also, you did not find an exit."

"True; but I was, perhaps, awkward. You may do better. Let us descend."

"As if that was so easy. If one holds the scarf, the other can descend, and that's the end of the chapter," said Aslitta, calmly.

"Well, one's enough," thought the major, after a few moments' deliberation.

"How so?"

"Well, I don't amount to much, and if I go under, my poor wife will be taken care of. You will give Aurora a small annuity, will you not, marquis, should she fall in need, and you will tell her that I died for my country? You, on the other hand, must preserve yourself. What would become of Italy without you? Come, I will hold the scarf, and you can descend by it. The more I consider it, the surer I am that there's a canal down there, by means of which we can get into the moat of the fortress. Well, won't you do it?"

"No," replied Aslitta, with emotion. "I would be a scoundrel to save myself at your expense."

"But there's no other way. Were I in your place I would not hesitate an instant. Think of your friends; you are to lead them, and if you are missing, they are lost."

Tears rose to Aslitta's eyes, but he resisted no longer, and, cordially shaking the major's hand, he said: "Friend, I accept your sacrifice, and if I find an exit, I will save you."

It seemed to Bartolomeo as if Aslitta's clasp was the most precious thing he had gained, and he was almost overcome with emotion. But he quickly recovered when he heard footsteps close at hand, and urged Aslitta to leave.

The young man embraced the major.

"Thanks, in the name of Italy!" he ardently exclaimed. Then, tying the scarf around his waist, he swung himself from the rim of the well.

Bartolomeo held the other end of the scarf with all his might. Aslitta must now have reached the bottom. At the moment when the major let go of the silken stuff, a key was turned in the lock and the door opened. The major had crouched on the floor; but, as he threw a glance at those who entered, he almost uttered a loud ejaculation, for before him stood—Benedetto. "I thought so," muttered Bartolomeo, in a rage; "some cursed chance has rescued him. Such a scoundrel's soul is too bad for the devil himself."

"Get up, vagabond," roughly exclaimed Benedetto.

He had looked up Aslitta to avenge Bartolomeo's escape on him, and he was in a very bad humor.

As the major did not stir, Benedetto uttered an oath and cried:

"Are you deaf, Aslitta?"

He then snatched a torch from one of the soldiers who accompanied him and looked around. As if struck by lightning he started when a well-known voice tauntingly said:

"Good-day, Andrea Cavalcanti."

"You and always you!" cried the bandit furiously. "Where is the other one?"

The major shrugged his shoulders, while the soldiers looked in every corner and Benedetto angrily gnawed his under lip.

"He has probably escaped through the well," said one of the soldiers at last.

"Oh, then we have him sure," laughed another.

"Light here," ordered Benedetto, bending over the opening. The soldier obeyed as directed and Bartolomeo felt his heart cease beating.

"We have him sure," one of the soldiers had said. Was the well a trap? A strange sound was now heard. The major sank on his knees. He recognized the noise. The water was slowly rising in the well and soon stood hand-high under the stone curbing.

"Where does the water come from?" asked Benedetto, stepping back.

"About a quarter of an hour ago," replied one of the soldiers, "the commander gave the order to open the sluices of Santa Maria. Canals run from the aqueduct under the citadel, and that's why I said before we had our prisoner sure. He is drowned."

"Speak, wretch!" said San Pietro, turning to the major. "Did Aslitta escape through the well?"

But Bartolomeo made no reply. A dull sob escaped his lips, and his eyes, filled with hot tears, fixed themselves, in horror, on the silk scarf which the rising flood wafted to and fro.

"One has escaped," cried Benedetto, from between his gritted teeth, "but the other shall suffer for it. Take the prisoner with you," he added, addressing the soldiers; "to-morrow at daybreak he shall be shot."

He walked toward the door. Bartolomeo slowly rose to his feet and muttered only a single word:

"Villain!"