the
garden.

This garden, which was inclosed by walls, lay next to a good-sized piece
of hedged ground, into which the horses were turned--for Corsican horses
do not know what a stable means. They are generally turned loose into
a field, and left to themselves, to find pasture and shelter from cold
winds, as best they may.

Colomba opened the garden gate with the same precaution, entered the
inclosure, and whistling gently, soon attracted the horses, to whom she
had often brought bread and salt. As soon as the black horse came within
reach, she caught him firmly by the mane, and split his ear open with
her knife. The horse gave a violent leap, and tore off with that
shrill cry which sharp pain occasionally extorts from his kind. Quite
satisfied, Colomba was making her way back into the garden, when Orso
threw open his window and shouted, "Who goes there?" At the same time
she heard him cock his gun. Luckily for her the garden-door lay in the
blackest shadow, and was partly screened by a large fig-tree. She
very soon gathered, from the light she saw glancing up and down in her
brother's room, that he was trying to light his lamp. She lost no time
about closing the garden-door, and slipping along the wall, so that the
outline of her black garments was lost against the dark foliage of
the fruit-trees, and succeeded in getting back into the kitchen a few
moments before Orso entered it.

"What's the matter?" she inquired.

"I fancied I heard somebody opening the garden-door," said Orso.

"Impossible! The dog would have barked. But let us go and see!"

Orso went round the garden, and having made sure that the outer door
was safely secured, he was going back to his room, rather ashamed of his
false alarm.

"I am glad, brother," remarked Colomba, "that you are learning to be
prudent, as a man in your position ought to be."

"You are training me well," said Orso. "Good-night!"

By dawn the next morning Orso was up and ready to start. His style of
dress betrayed the desire for smartness felt by every man bound for the
presence of the lady he would fain please, combined with the caution
of a Corsican _in vendetta_. Over a blue coat, that sat closely to his
figure, he wore a small tin case full of cartridges, slung across his
shoulder by a green silk cord. His dagger lay in his side pocket, and
in his hand he carried his handsome Manton, ready loaded. While he was
hastily swallowing the cup of coffee Colomba had poured o