el. But whatever hope he had that mercy might be shown her
was counterbalanced by his own experience of Girasole's cruelty, and
his knowledge of his merciless character.

Suddenly he was roused by the rifle-shot and the confusion that
followed. He saw the party on the mound start to their feet. He heard
the shots that succeeded the first one. He saw shadows darting to and
fro. Then the confusion grew worse, and all the sounds of battle
arose--the cries, the shrieks, and the stern words of command.

All this filled him with hope. An attack was being made. They might
all be saved. He could see that the brigands were being driven back,
and that the assailants were pressing on.

Then he saw the party moving from the knoll. It was already much
lighter. They advanced toward him. He sank down and waited. He had no
fear now that this party would complete his burial. He thought they
were flying with the prisoners. If so, the assailants would soon be
here; he could join them, and lead them on to the rescue of Ethel.

He lay low with the lid over him. He heard them close beside him. Then
there was the noise of rushing men, and Girasole's voice arose.

He heard all that followed.

Then Ethel's shriek sounded out, as she sprang toward the grave.

In an instant the occupant of the grave, seizing the lid, raised it
up, and with a wild yell sprang forth.

The effect was tremendous.

The brigands thought the dead Antonio had come to life. They did not
stop to look, but with a howl of awful terror, and in an anguish of
fright, they turned and ran for their lives!

Girasole saw him too, with equal horror, if not greater. He saw
Hawbury. It was the man whom he had killed stone-dead with his own
hand. He was there before him--or was it his ghost? For an instant
horror paralyzed him; and then, with a yell like a madman's, he leaped
back and fled after the others.

CHAPTER XXXVI.

FLY! FLY!

In the midst of that wild uproar which had roused Dacres and Mrs.
Willoughby there was nothing that startled him so much as her
declaration that she was not Arethusa. He stood bewildered. While she
was listening to the sounds, he was listening to the echo of her
words; while she was wondering at the cause of such a tumult, he was
wondering at this disclosure. In a moment a thousand little things
suggested themselves as he stood there in his confusion, which little
things all went to throw a flood of light upon her statement, and
p