"Whatever we do," said Frank, "it won't do to wait here. It's too late now."
"Perhaps he hasn't run off at all," said David, who always was inclined to believe the best of people. "Perhaps he has driven up the road, and intends to return."
Frank shook his head.
"No," cried he. "I believe the scoundrel has left us. We paid him half of his fare at Sorrento; the rest was to be paid at Naples; but he has thrown that up, in order to have the pleasure of being revenged on us. And where he's gone to now is a mystery to me."
"O, I dare say he's driven off to Naples."
"Perhaps so. But he may intend something more. I've heard that there are brigands about here."
"Brigands!"
"Yes. And I shouldn't wonder if he has gone off with the intention of bringing some of them here to pay their respects to us. He may have started off immediately after we left him; and, if so, he's had two hours already—time enough, as I think, to do a good deal of mischief."
"Brigands!" cried Uncle Moses, in a voice of horror. He stared wildly around, and then looked, with moistened eyes, upon the boys.
"O, boys," he sighed, "why did we ever ventoor out so far in this here I-talian land, or why did we ever come to Italy at all? Brigands! It's what I've allus dreaded, an allus expected, ever sence I fust sot foot on this benighted strand. I ben a feelin it in my bones all day. I felt it a comin over me yesterday, when the mob chased us; but now—our hour hev come!"