Donatus had wheeled toward the sounds, which ceased as suddenly as they began.
Behind the chief’s back Maro seized the girl, hissing into her ear:
“Foolish Flavia! Will you give yourself up to this brigand? Do not think he will let the Englishman have you. He means to keep you for himself.”
She stood like one turned to stone, unable to decide what should be done. In that moment she seemed so beset and entangled that there was no possible escape for her. She could not depart and leave Cavendish in that dark hole, yet if she remained she might be forced to become the bride of Donatus, the brigand.
Maro was likewise in a fearful state of mind. Suddenly he snatched out a pistol and threatened her with it.
“I had rather kill you with my own hand than leave you to either of them!” he hissed.
She clutched the pistol in his hand with both of her hands and sought to wrest it from him. In the struggle it was discharged.
Donatus, the Suliote, gave a great start and then his legs buckled beneath him and he fell prone to the ground.
Instantly Maro relaxed his hold on the pistol and sprang away. When the brigands who remained by the fire turned to look they saw their chief stretched on the ground, while the smoking pistol was clutched in the hands of the horror-stricken girl.
Instantly they were upon her. They wrested the weapon from her and pinned her arms at her side. One knelt beside the chief and made a hasty search for the wound.