The soldiers saw that they were in an ambuscade—that the Revolution, long threatened, had at length come; and, without waiting for the sanction of Captain Guardiola or his subalterns, they flung their carbines to the ground, and declared themselves agreeable to a surrender.
In ten minutes after they were standing under the tricolour flag, and crying “Evviva ella Republica!” while their captain, swordless and looking very uncomfortable, was pacing a chamber floor in the albergo, to which but three days before he had consigned Henry Harding as a prisoner.
He was now himself a prisoner to the soldiers of the Republic.
Chapter Fifty.
The Abduction.
Half carrying, half dragging the girl with him, Corvino kept on through the mountain passes. When he thought himself safe from immediate pursuit, he stopped to await the coming up of his comrades. He had heard shots on the other side of the hill, and knew the soldiers were on the alert. But he had little fear of being overtaken by them. He calculated the time it would take them to ascend the slope. Before they could reach the summit his own men would have secured their captive and retreated down the ravine. Four to one—for he had witnessed the cowardly abandonment by the officer—there could be no fear of their failing. He had hurried ahead to gain a sufficient start, knowing that he would be impeded in the transporting of his new-made captive in the event of pursuit. Before leaving the ground he had shouted “Dagli! dagli!” but coupling it with a caution to take the prisoner alive, if possible. It was this that prevented the men from first making use of their pistols. By Henry Harding’s death they would sacrifice the riscatta they had been long counting upon.
After giving the order, Corvino had hurried off, taking his captive with him. The young girl made no resistance; she had swooned, and in an unconscious state was carried away.
On recovering her senses, she saw that she was no longer on Hermit’s Hill, but in a wild spot surrounded by trees and rocks, the brigand captain standing close beside her. She neither screamed nor attempted to escape. She saw it would be idle, as she was helplessly in the power of her captor. Her thoughts were still scattering and confused; she felt as if just waking from some disagreeable dream, with its scenes still vivid before her fancy. She remembered the approach of the shepherds, their rude address, the throwing aside their disguises, the cry “Corvino!” as it came from the lips of his late captive; the face of the brigand chief suddenly showing from under the capuce, and which she herself recognised; the seizure of all three; the struggle; a sword gleaming in the hand of Henry Harding; his rushing upon her captor; a shot fired by Corvino; the angry exclamations of the pseudo-shepherds; the glancing of their stilettos; the scampering of the scared sheep; the quick, confused tinkling of their bells; and finally Captain Guardiola fleeing from the spot. All these she remembered like the incidents of a disturbed dream. She remembered Corvino once more coming up to her; once more laying hold, and hurrying her from the spot. After that she became unconscious—her senses only returning to tell her she was alone with the brigand.