“Ah! like enough it was. To the devil with the rickety old thing! What good does it do there, I wonder?”
And the satisfied alarmist, following his less suspicions comrade, returned to the front. By the time they regained their respective posts, the prisoner had crept out of the dark ditch, and was skulking cautiously towards the cover—which he succeeded in reaching without further interrupting the tranquillity of their watch.
Chapter Forty Four.
Again in Prison.
About two weeks had elapsed since the Papal soldiers first quartered themselves in the village of Val di Orno.
The sun had sunk quietly down into the blue bosom of the Tyrrhenian Sea, and the villagers were most of them indoors. They were not desirous to encounter their military guests upon the streets by night, lest in the darkness the latter should mistake them for the enemy, and make free with any little pocket cash they might have, acquired during the tradings of the day.
The captain of the protecting force was at the time seated in the best sitting-room of the sindico’s house, making himself as agreeable as he could to the sindico’s daughter—the father himself being present.
The conversation, that had been carried on upon various themes, at length reverted to the brigands—as may be supposed, a stock topic in the village of Val di Orno. On this occasion it was special, relating to the captive Inglese; of whom, as a matter of course, Captain Count Guardiola had heard—having been officially furnished with the particulars of the affair on his first arrival in the town.