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They had walked, or rather run, some five hundred paces in this fashion when Brandolaccio vowed he could go no further, and dropped on the ground, regardless of all Colomba's exhortations and reproaches. "Where is Miss Nevil?" was Orso's one inquiry.
"It is a good thing," they said, "that Barricini's sons are not back yet, for they are not so patient as the lawyer, and very likely they would not have let their enemy set his foot on their ground without making him pay for his bravado." "Remember what I am telling you, neighbour," said an old man, the village oracle. "I watched Colomba's face to-day. She had some idea in her head.
Come on! I defy you! I am alone! My brother is far away! Come! kill me, kill my guests! It would be worthy of you! . . . But you dare not, cowards that you are! You know we avenge our wrongs! Away with you! Go, weep like women, and be thankful we do not ask you for more blood!" There was something terrible and imposing in Colomba's voice and mien.
It did not take the bandit more than an instant to rush up to the creature, catch hold of his mane, and with Colomba's assistance, bridle him with a bit of knotted rope. "Now we must warn the Padre," he said. He whistled twice; another distant whistle answered the signal, and the loud voice of the Manton gun was hushed. Then Brandolaccio sprang on the horse's back.
What do I care if I am taken? But take away Miss Lydia. For God's sake, don't let anybody see her here!" "I won't leave you," said Brandolaccio, who had come up on Colomba's heels. "The sergeant in charge is the lawyer's godson. He'll shoot you instead of arresting you, and then he'll say he didn't do it on purpose." Orso tried to rise; he even took a few steps. But he soon halted.
Meanwhile, very shortly after Orso's departure, Colomba's spies had warned her that the Barricini were out on the warpath, and from that moment she was racked by the most intense anxiety.
And when Miss Lydia hesitated, she caught her hand and forced her to sit down so close to Orso that her dress touched him, and her hand, still in Colomba's grasp, lay on the wounded man's shoulder. "Now he's very comfortable!" said Colomba cheerily. "Isn't it good to lie out in the maquis on such a lovely night? Eh, Orso?" "How you must be suffering!" exclaimed Miss Lydia.
But she admired him for it all the more, and if that celebrated right and left was not so splendid a feat in her sight as in Brandolaccio's or Colomba's, still she was convinced few heroes of romance could ever had behaved with such intrepidity and coolness, in so dangerous a pinch. Her room was that usually occupied by Colomba.
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