made, and was undoubtedly intended as a coffin for the corpse
of the brigand. The men put the coffin down against the wall and
retired. After a few minutes they returned again with the coffin lid.
They then lifted the dead body into the coffin, and one of them put
the lid in its place and secured it with half a dozen screws. After
this Hawbury was once more left alone. He found this far more
tolerable, for now he had no longer before his very eyes the abhorrent
sight of the dead body. Hidden in its coffin, it no longer gave
offense to his sensibilities. Once more, therefore, Hawbury turned his
thoughts toward projects of escape, and discussed in his mind the
probabilities for and against.

The day had been long, and longer still did it seem to the captive as
hour after hour passed slowly by. He could not look at his watch,
which his captors had spared; but from the shadows as they fell
through the windows, and from the general appearance of the sky, he
knew that the close of the day was not far off. He began to wonder
that he was left so long alone and in suspense, and to feel impatient
to know the worst as to his fate. Why did not some of them come to
tell him? Where was Girasole? Was he the chief? Were the brigands
debating about his fate, or were they thus leaving him in suspense so
as to make him despondent and submissive to their terms? From all that
he had ever heard of brigands and their ways, the latter seemed not
unlikely; and this thought made him see the necessity of guarding
himself against being too impatient for freedom, and too compliant
with any demands of theirs.

From these thoughts he was at last roused by footsteps which ascended
the stairs. He turned and looked toward the door. A man entered.

It was Girasole.

He entered slowly, with folded arms, and coming about half-way, he
stood and surveyed the prisoner in silence. Hawbury, with a sudden
effort, brought himself up to a sitting posture, and calmly surveyed
the Italian.

"Well," asked Hawbury, "I should like to know how long you intend to
keep up this sort of thing? What are you going to do about it? Name
your price, man, and we'll discuss it, and settle upon something
reasonable."

"My price?" repeated Girasole, with peculiar emphasis.

"Yes. Of course I understand you fellows. It's your trade, you know.
You've caught me, and, of course, you'll try to make the best of me,
and all that sort of thing. So don't keep me waiting."

"Ingli