was a flagged terrace beneath. He yelled and cried at
the very top of his voice; he waved his cap, hoping that some one at a
distance might catch the signal; but all in vain. Wearied at last by all
his attempts to attract notice, he sat moodily down to think over his
position and devise what was to be done. Wild thoughts flashed at times
across him--that this was some deep-laid scheme to entrap him; that
he had been enticed here that he might meet his death without marks of
violence; that, somehow, his was a life of consequence enough to provoke
a crime. The Prince that he resembled had some share in it--or Marietta
had vowed a vengeance--or the Jesuit Fathers had sent an emissary to
despatch him. What were not the wild and terrible fancies that filled
his mind: all that he had read of cruel torturings, years' long
suffering, lives passed in dreary dungeons, floated mistily before
him, till reason at last gave way, and he lost himself in these sad
imaginings.

The ringing of a church bell, faint and far away as it sounded, recalled
him from his dreamings, and he remembered it was the 'Angelus,' when
long ago he used to fall into line, and walk along to the chapel of the
college. 'That, too, was imprisonment,' thought he, but how gladly would
he have welcomed it now! He leaned from the window to try and make out
whence the sounds came, but he could not find the spot. He fancied he
could detect something moving up the hillside, but a low olive scrub
shaded the path, and it was only as the branches stirred that he
conjectured some one was passing underneath. The copse, however,
extended but a short way, and Gerald gazed wistfully to see if anything
should emerge from where it finished. His anxiety was intense as he
waited; a feverish impatience thrilled through him, and he strained his
eyes until they ached.

At last a long shadow was projected-on the road; it was broken,
irregular, and straggling. It must be more than one--several--a
procession, perhaps, and yet not that--there was no uniformity in it. He
leaned out as far as he could venture. It was coming. Yes, there it was!
A donkey with heavy panniers at his side, driven by an old man; a woman
followed, and after her a girl's figure. Yes, he knew them and her now!
It was the Babbo! and there was Marietta herself, with bent-down head,
creeping sadly along, her arms crossed upon her breast, her whole air
unspeakably sad and melancholy. With a wild scream Gerald called