Henrietta struggled to speak.
The guide laughed heartily and went away with the bandit into one of the fastnesses of the surrounding hills.
The girl, lying on the weeds and grass, just beneath the tomb of this great Roman lady, did not know what was going to happen to her. She was certain that when it was quite dark that awful man would return.
Such, indeed, was his intention. He meant to hide the cruel foreigner until a mighty ransom was secured for her delivery, but he could not take her across the Campagna in her remarkable dress until the night had really come.
Poor Henrietta rolled about in anguish. These cords were cutting into her flesh. The Punishment Chair was the home of all luxury compared to this. She believed unless deliverance came—and why should deliverance come?—she would be stabbed with that awful dagger.
Meanwhile Maureen continued to be selfish. Her uncle wondered at her. Never before had he seen his little girl so determined to have her own way.
"I want, Uncle Pat," she said, "to see the great tomb of Cecilia Metella. Don't you know those lines in Childe Harold?"
"No, my child, but I don't like being out on the Campagna so late."
"I will repeat the lines," said Maureen. "We shall soon get there."
"But—but—Henrietta!" muttered the Rector.