well. I
keep thinking of that devil of a double-shot of yours--and with only one
hand, too! Oh! that never could happen twice over!"

"Is it the gun you fancy? I bought it for you. But see you don't use it
more than you are obliged."

"Oh, I won't promise to make as good use of it as you. But make your
mind easy. When any other man has it, you may be certain it's all over
with Brando Savelli."

"And you, Castriconi--what am I to give you?"

"Since you really insist on giving me some tangible keepsake, I'll
simply ask you to send me the smallest Horace you can get. It will amuse
me, and prevent me from forgetting all my Latin. There's a little woman
who sells cigars on the jetty at Bastia. If you give it to her, she'll
see I get it."

"You shall have an Elzevir, my erudite friend. There just happens to
be one among some books I was going to take away with me. Well, good
friends, we must part! Give me your hands. If you should ever think of
Sardinia write to me. Signor N., the notary, will give you my address on
the mainland."

"To-morrow, lieutenant," said Brando, "when you get out in the harbour,
look up to this spot on the mountain-side. We shall be here, and we'll
wave our handkerchiefs to you."

And so they parted. Orso and his sister took their way back to Cardo,
and the bandits departed up the mountain.

CHAPTER XXI

One lovely April morning, Sir Thomas Nevil, his daughter, a newly made
bride--Orso, and Colomba, drove out of Pisa to see a lately discovered
Etruscan vault to which all strangers who came to that part of the
country paid a visit.

Orso and his wife went down into the ancient building, pulled out their
pencils, and began to sketch the mural paintings. But the colonel and
Colomba, who neither of them cared much for archaeology, left them to
themselves, and walked about in the neighbourhood.

"My dear Colomba," said the colonel, "we shall never get back to Pisa in
time for lunch. Aren't you hungry? There are Orso and his wife buried
in their antiquities; when once they begin sketching together, it lasts
forever!"

"Yes," remarked Colomba. "And yet they never bring the smallest sketch
home with them."

"I think," proceeded the colonel, "our best plan would be to make our
way to that little farm-house yonder. We should find bread there, and
perhaps some _aleatico_. Who knows, we might even find strawberries and
cream! And then we should be able to wait patiently for our artists."

"