rl will not weep for thee!
. . . Wherefore should she moan? . . . Thou has fallen asleep, full of
years, . . in the midst of thine own kin . . . ready to appear . . .
in the presence of the Almighty. . . . The orphan weeps for her father
. . . overtaken by vile murderers, . . struck from behind. . . . For her
father, whose blood lies red . . . beneath the heaped-up green leaves.
. . . But she has gathered up this blood, . . this innocent and noble
blood! . . . She has poured it out over Pietranera . . . that it may
become a deadly poison. . . . And the mark shall be on Pietranera
. . . until the blood of the guilty . . . shall have wiped out the blood
of the innocent man!"

As Colomba pronounced the last words, she dropped into a chair, drew her
_mezzaro_ over her face, and was heard sobbing beneath it. The weeping
women crowded round the _improvisatrice_; several of the men were
casting savage glances at the mayor and his sons; some of the elders
began to protest against the scandal to which their presence had given
rise. The dead man's son pushed his way through the throng, and was
about to beg the mayor to clear out with all possible speed. But this
functionary had not waited for the suggestion. He was on his way to the
door, and his two sons were already in the street. The prefect said a
few words of condolence to young Pietri, and followed them out, almost
immediately. Orso went to his sister's side, took her arm, and drew her
out of the room.

"Go with them," said young Pietri to some of his friends. "Take care no
harm comes to them!"

Hastily two or three young men slipped their stilettos up the left
sleeves of their jackets and escorted Orso and his sister to their own
door.

CHAPTER XIII

Panting, exhausted, Colomba was utterly incapable of uttering a single
word. Her head rested on her brother's shoulder, and she clasped one
of his hands tightly between her own. Orso, though secretly somewhat
annoyed by her peroration, was too much alarmed to reprove her, even
in the mildest fashion. He was silently waiting till the nervous attack
from which she seemed to be suffering should have passed, when there
was a knock at the door, and Saveria, very much flustered, announced the
prefect. At the words, Colomba rose, as though ashamed of her weakness,
and stood leaning on a chair, which shook visibly beneath her hand.

The prefect began with some commonplace apology for the unseasonable
hour of his visit, con