appened up there. Be wise. Put back your boat,
weigh your anchor and sail away. The stormy seas are dangerous, but
not so dangerous as the Castle of Cruta to an Englishman of your
features. Take the word of Guiseppe, and depart!"

Paul shook his head. He understood most of what Guiseppe had said,
and he knew that it was kindly meant. "You are very good," he said.
"I thank you for your warning; but I have important business with the
Count, and I have come from England on purpose to see him. Here, spend
this for me," he added, throwing a handful of silver money amongst the
little group of men. "Yonder path will take me straight to the castle,
I suppose. Good evening."

He strode away along the beach alone. Meanwhile a strange thing was
happening. The islanders were all gathered eagerly around the little
shower of money, but not one had offered to touch a piece.

"Holy Mother! there are fifty pieces!" cried Antonio. "If only I
was sure that the Count would not see me! I would keep holiday for a
month, and start again with a fresh set of fishing nets."

"Touch not the money!" advised Guiseppe, shaking his head. "The
Count's eyes are everywhere!"

"It is very hard!" groaned Ferdinand. "It has been such a bad season,
too!"

"I know! I know!" cried Antonio excitedly. "We will go to the
monastery, and get Father Bernard to come and bless it. He will claim
half for the Church, but we can divide the other half, and we shall,
each man, have given six pieces in charity. What say you? shall we
go?"

"Bravo! Antonio is right! Antonio is a sensible fellow!" they all
cried. Then there was the sound of bare feet scampering over the hard
sands as they hastened up to the monastery. Guiseppe was left alone.

He waited until they were out of sight. Then he stooped down,
and carefully collecting all the coins, placed them in his pouch.
"Ignorant fools!" he muttered. "The Count can see no further than
other men, and at any rate he will not see these in my pocket."

He stood up, and gazed steadily along the path which Paul had taken.
"What am I to do now?" he continued. "It is to the Englishman's father
that I owe my boat and my little hoard of sayings. He behaved to me as
a prince, did Signor de Vaux. Can I see his son hasten yonder to his
doom without one effort to save him? No. The Count is terrible, but I
need run no risk. At any rate, I will follow a little way."

He walked swiftly along the beach, and commenced the ascent to