t had he done
that they should kill him?"

And then Bruno, who was standing by with a wild lustre in his eyes, said
between his teeth, "Done? Done nothing but live under a Government of
murderers and assassins."

The room filled with people. Neighbours who had never before set foot in
the rooms came in without fear, for death was among them. They stood
silent for the most part, only handing round the table the little cocked
hat and the mace, with sighs and deep breathing. But some one speaking
to Rossi told him what had happened. It was at the Spanish Steps. The
delegate gave the word, and the Carabineers fired over the people's
heads. But they hit the child and made him cold. His little heart had
burst.

"And I was going to whip him," said Elena. "Not a minute before I was
talking about the rod, and not giving him his supper. O God! I can never
forgive myself."

And then the blessed tears came and she wept bitterly.

David Rossi put his arms about her, and her head fell on his breast. All
barriers were broken down, and she clung to him and cried.

Just then cries came from the piazza--"Hurrah for the Revolution!" and
"Down with the destroyers of the people!"--the woolly tones of voices
shouting in the snow. Somebody on the stairs explained that a young man
was going about waving a bloody handkerchief, and that the sight of it
was exasperating the people to frenzy. Women were marching through the
streets, and the entire city was on the point of insurrection.

In the dining-room the stricken ones still stood around the couch.
Presently there was a sound of singing outside. A great crowd was coming
into the piazza, singing the Garibaldi Hymn. Bruno heard it, and the
wild lustre in his eyes gave place to a look of savage joy. An awful
oath burst from his lips, and he ran out of the house. At the next
moment he was heard in the street, singing in a thundering voice:

"The tombs are uncovered,
The dead arise,
The martyrs are rising
Before our eyes."

The old Garibaldian threw up his head like a warhorse at the call of
battle, and his rickety limbs were going towards the door.

"Stay here, father," said Rossi, and the old man obeyed him.

Elena was quieter by this time. She was sitting by the child and
stroking his little icy hand.

David Rossi, who had hardly spoken, went into his bedroom. His lips were
tightly pressed together, his eyes were bloodshot, and his breath was
labouring hard in hi