up the package.

"What! didn't you pay?" demanded Uncle John, astounded.

"Of course not, dear," said Patsy, gleefully. "Did you think your nieces
would let you be robbed by a bunch of dagoes?"

Ferralti caught hold of Beth's swaying form.

"Look after your cousin," he said, sharply. "I think she has fainted!"

CHAPTER XXVI

THE COUNT UNMASKS

"And now," said Uncle John, as he sat in their cosy sitting-room,
propped in an easy chair with his feet upon a stool, "it's about time
for you to give an account of yourselves, you young rascals."

They had eaten a late but very satisfactory dinner at the
Castello-a-Mare, where the return of the missing ones was hailed with
joy by the proprietor and his assistants. Even the little bewhiskered
head-waiter, who resembled a jack-in-the-box more than he did a man,
strove to celebrate the occasion by putting every good thing the house
afforded before the returned guests. For, although they dared not
interfere to protect the victims of the terrible Il Duca, the hotel
people fully recognized the fact that brigandage was not a good
advertisement for Taormina, and hoped the "little incident" would not
become generally known.

Old Silas Watson, dignified lawyer as he was, actually danced a hornpipe
when he beheld his old friend safe and sound. But he shook his head
reproachfully when he learned of the adventure his ward and the two
girls had undertaken with such temerity but marvelous success.

Beth had quickly recovered from her weakness, although Kenneth had
insisted on keeping her arm all the way home. But the girl had been
silent and thoughtful, and would eat nothing at dinner.

When they had gathered in their room to talk it all over the lawyer
thought his young friends deserved a reproof.

"The money wasn't worth the risk, you crazy lunatics!" he said.

"It wasn't the money at all," replied Patsy, demurely.

"No?"

"It was the principle of the thing. And wasn't Beth just wonderful,
though?"

"Shucks!" said Kenneth. "She had to go and faint, like a ninny, and she
cried all the way home, because she had hurt the brigand's finger."

The girl's eyes were still red, but she answered the boy's scornful
remark by saying, gravely:

"I am sorry it had to be done. I'll never touch a revolver again as long
as I live."

Uncle John gathered his brave niece into an ample embrace.

"I'm very proud of you, my dear," he said, stroking her hair lovingly,
"and you must