"Aperite!" was the answer, in a harsh voice.

"What?"

"Aperite. Siamo poveri. Date vostro argento."

"Me don't understand _I_talian," said Obed. "Me American. Speeky
English, and go to blazes!"

At this there was a pause, and then a dull deep crash, as if the
whole body outside had precipitated themselves against the door.

Obed held his pistol quickly toward the door opposite the thinnest
panel, which had yielded slightly to that blow, and fired.

Once!

Twice!!

Thrice!!!

Three explosions burst forth.

And then came sharp and sudden deep groans of pain, intermingled with
savage yells of rage. There was a sound as of bodies falling, and
retreating footsteps, and curses low and deep.

Loud outcries came from the adjoining room.

The noise had awakened the family.

Obed stepped to the door.

"Don't be afraid," said he, quietly. "It's only some brigands. But
keep cool. _I'll_ take care of you. Perhaps you'd better get up and
dress, though. At any rate, keep cool. You needn't bother as long as
you've got _me_."

CHAPTER LXI.

AT FLORENCE.

After her accident Hilda was carried to the nearest house, and there
she recovered, after some time, from her swoon. She knew nothing of
what Lord Chetwynde had thought and done during that time when she
lay in his arms, and he had bent over her so full of pity and sorrow.
Some time elapsed before she saw him, for he had ridden off himself
to the nearest town to get a conveyance. When he returned it was very
late, and she had to go to bed through weakness. And thus they did
not meet until the following morning.

When they did meet Lord Chetwynde asked kindly about her health, but
evinced no stronger feeling than kindness--or pity. She was pale and
sad; she was eager for some sign of tenderness, but the sign was not
forthcoming. Lord Chetwynde was kind and sympathetic. He tried to
cheer her; he exerted himself to please her and to soothe her, but
that was all. That self-reproach which had thrilled him as she lay
lifeless in his arms had passed as soon as she left those arms, and,
in the presence of the one absorbing passion of his soul, Hilda was
nothing.

When they resumed their journey it was as before. He was courteous to
an extreme. He anticipated her wishes and saw after her comforts with
the greatest solicitude, but never did he evince any desire to pass
beyond the limits of conventional politeness. To him she was simply a
lady traveling in h