John nevertheless confessed to being
uneasy as long as they remained on the scene of his recent exciting
experiences. Mr. Watson advised them all not to stray far from the
hotel, as there was no certainty that Il Duca would not make another
attempt to entrap them, or at least to be revenged for their escape from
his clutches.

On the afternoon of the next day, however, they were startled by a call
from the Duke in person. He was dressed in his usual faded velvet
costume and came to them leading by the hand a beautiful little girl.

The nieces gazed at the child in astonishment.

Tato wore a gray cloth gown, ill-fitting and of coarse material; but no
costume could destroy the fairy-like perfection of her form or the
daintiness of her exquisite features. With downcast eyes and a troubled
expression she stood modestly before them until Patsy caught her
rapturously in her arms and covered her face with kisses.

"You lovely, lovely thing!" she cried. "I'm _so_ glad to see you again,
Tato darling!"

The Duke's stern features softened. He sighed heavily and accepted
Uncle John's polite invitation to be seated.

The little party of Americans was fairly astounded by this unexpected
visit. Kenneth regretted that he had left his revolver upstairs, but the
others remembered that the brigand would not dare to molest them in the
security of the hotel grounds, and were more curious than afraid.

Il Duca's hand was wrapped in a bandage, but the damaged finger did not
seem to affect him seriously. Beth could not take her eyes off this
dreadful evidence of her late conflict, and stared at it as if the
bandage fascinated her.

"Signore," said the Duke, addressing Uncle John especially, "I owe to
you my apologies and my excuses for the annoyance I have caused to you
and your friends. I have the explanation, if you will so kindly permit
me."

"Fire away, Duke," was the response.

"Signore, I unfortunately come of a race of brigands. For centuries my
family has been lawless and it was natural that by education I, too,
should become a brigand. In my youth my father was killed in an affray
and my mother took his place, seizing many prisoners and exacting from
them ransom. My mother you have seen, and you know of her sudden madness
and of her death. She was always mad, I think, and by nature a fiend.
She urged my elder brother to wicked crimes, and when he rebelled she
herself cast him, in a fit of anger, into the pit. I became duk