you may not like to miss. A barque has arrived this morning from Alicante, and she departs at sunset precisely for Trapani, in Sicily. If your ladyship still wishes

'Why, of course I do, Señor Marianas. It is the very thing. Have the goodness to arrange for a passage at once, if the accommodation is no worse than this of Don John's. I shall have no difficulty in getting from Trapani up to Rome just in time for the Holy Week functions. Marie, is it not providential ? '

'Yes, your ladyship,' said the girl, much pleased.

But and she glanced towards Mr. Faulkner, who had by this endeared himself to her.

"But what?'

"How your ladyship will miss your cribbage with Mr. Faulkner!'

'For the matter of that, Countess,' said the gentleman immediately, if you do not object to my society, I should be glad of the chance of reaching Sicily direct.'

Object! Of course not. It will suit me admirably, in fact: I shall have plenty of time for my revenge. She's bound to get becalmed somewhere. They're divine old slow-coaches, these

Mediterraneaners!'

'Thank you,' said Mr. Faulkner, with a look at Marie that the girl seemed to appreciate.

It was easily arranged. The captain of the Alfonso,' as the barque was called, gave up his own room to the Countess and Marie, and the first officer inconvenienced himself for Mr. Faulkner.

Twenty-four hours after the entrance of the 'Alfonso' into Iviza Bay the ship was a score of miles south-east of the island, and our three friends were on deck, under an awning, with the cribbage-board.

this time Mr. Faulkner was He was not. Really, he was endured the tedium for the

You must not suppose that all enjoying himself beyond measure. well-nigh bored to death; but he sake of a certain little plan that he had concocted with himself. And it was also for the sake of this plan that he pretended to feel an affection for the girl Marie, who could not or would not disguise from him that she thought him a delightful gentleman.

6 Well, I declare!' exclaimed her ladyship. Two for his nob again, which gives you the game just when I seemed safe to play up. Mr. Faulkner, you must have been born under a lucky star. VOL. XVII.-NO. 98, N.S.

8

I hope your novels sell well. You write under a nom de pluie, of course. I wouldn't for anything print a book of mine under my own name.’

This was the way in which the Countess was wont to rattle on. She seemed not to need a companion with the gift of speech. If he had ears to hear, and hands, and a mind wherewith to play to her, that was sufficient.

They had good winds for their little voyage. This brought them within sight of Sicily in about a week from Iviza. The Countess was delighted. She had had enough of Mr. Faulkner. He had become 'vraiment un peu ennuyant!' as she confided to her maid: which meant that she would cut herself adrift from him the moment they set foot on civilised land.

But Marie designed that it should be otherwise. She was in love with Mr. Faulkner as much as she could be in love with anyone. And in their various moments of mutual conversation she had told Mr. Faulkner all about her ladyship's luggage-which trunk held the jewel-case, upon what bank the letters of credit were drawn, and so forth.

'My little angel!' Faulkner was wont to term her when they were quite alone. But though she was his little angel, she never paid him a single shilling more than his due (from the cribbageboard), even by accident. She was a loyal little girl, though her heart was feminine and frivolous.

III.

PURPLE mountains and the deep blue sea-of such is the fair haven of Trapani composed. The town, too, is engaging, and by no means a common haunt for the North European in search of the gay sunny life of the South.

No sooner had they got ashore, and obtained lodging in the Golden Lion Inn, than Mr. Faulkner wrote a letter in cipher and despatched it by a special messenger, upon whom he impressed that his life, or rather his pay (which was to be abundant), depended upon the promptitude of its delivery.

It was Thursday when the letter was despatched. An answer might be looked for on the Friday evening or Saturday morning. "Well,' said the Countess when they were at dinner on the

Thursday evening, 'we will have our last game, Mr. Faulkner, tonight; and I prophesy to you that you will lose. Clever men like you always ruin themselves by not leaving off in time. Will you accept my challenge?'

'Why, certainly, Countess. But why may I not be privileged to continue travelling towards Italy with you?'

'To tell you the truth, Mr. Faulkner, for two reasons: first, because I propose to make an unconventional journey on horseback to Castellamare, there to catch the train for Palermo; and in the second place, because (you mustn't be offended) I think our acquaintance has lasted quite long enough.'

'Oh, your ladyship!' exclaimed Marie, much shocked at this slight to so interesting, handsome, and self-sacrificial a gentleman. 'Yes, you do well, Marie, to reproach me,' observed the Countess, with a little shrug of her shoulders; but I am used to having my own way, Mr. Faulkner, and I generally say what I think. However, perhaps I do seem a little uncivil, especially as you can't really have cared much for all this cribbage with an old woman like me. I'll ask you, therefore, to be so good as to escort me to Castellamare.'

'With the greatest pleasure,' replied Mr. Faulkner, somewhat too eagerly. But you will not think of starting before Saturday or Monday?'

Au contraire; I shall start to-morrow morning, as early as possible.'

'But your ladyship is not of iron. Besides, remember the road is not one of the safest.'

'Brigands, eh? Well, I'd like above all things to have a brush with them, if it weren't for the delay of it. As it is, however, I'm in a hurry, and I fancy we are the more likely to get through safely just because we start at once before any exaggerated ideas and intelligence about Squirm's wealth and mine drift up towards the mountains. I have ordered horses for six o'clock, Mr. Faulkner.'

'I think you are acting very imprudently, Countess. Will you not say Saturday morning?'

'I am sorry I cannot oblige you even so far, Mr. Faulkner. Cards, Marie!'

That evening the Countess won every game. It was most surprising. They played for three hours and a half, and Mr. Faulkner lost ten pounds.

'It is a case of Providence backing the big battalions after all, I fancy,' her ladyship remarked when she rose to go to bed. Until to-morrow at six, then, Mr. Faulkner.'

'Deuce take it!' exclaimed our friend when he was alone. He looked at his watch in a state of agitation. It was half-past ten-an hour when all Sicily is asleep. There may just be time,' he muttered. Thereupon he put on his hat, and went to the house of a man who was a notorious member of the Mafia. The two greeted each other with a sort of unholy fervour. They stayed in confabulation for half an hour. Then Mr. Faulkner returned to the Golden Lion, and the Mafia man having saddled his lean-ribbed little white pony, rode away towards the mountains at a fretful pace.

IV.

It was inexpressibly galling to Mr. Faulkner that nothing happened to alter her ladyship's plans for the morrow. The innkeeper himself aroused the gentleman with the words that the horses were ready at the door, and that the Countess was breakfasting.

They started punctually at six o'clock, which is early for March. It was nipping cold, too; so cold that it gave Marie a blue nose, though it seemed only the more to brace her ladyship's energies.

'We shall have an enchanting excursion, Mr. Faulkner; I feel sure of it,' she said, while eyeing him rather subtly.

'I trust we may,' was his reply. For the life of him he could not refrain from satire at the Countess's expense. 'I suppose your ladyship,' he added, 'will not attempt to play cribbage on the way?'

'I'm afraid it's impossible,' she replied, with a sweet smile. 'Besides, I'm quite content with my laurels of last night. You are sure, Marie, you have seen the luggage properly registered to Palermo ?'

Quite, your ladyship.'

'Then there's nothing to do but bow to our friend the landlord, and be off.'

The Countess of Squirm accordingly bowed to the proprietor of the Golden Lion and switched her horse.

'I don't think I was ever made such a fool of in all my days,'

muttered Mr. Faulkner to himself. Well, it will be a lesson, I'll be hanged if it won't!'

Poor gentleman! If only he had known to what last extremity his unhallowed cupidity was to bring him, he would have been even more at discord with himself.

Two hours passed, and the party were all in the mountains. Marie had displayed a certain amount of respectful pettishness towards her mistress. She was unused to riding, and her animal was none of the most urbane in disposition. But the Countess took her maid's ill humour in admirable part, and wherever she looked she smiled. Towards eleven o'clock, when they were nearing a place which the guide said would make a capital bivouac, it began to rain. This was bad. But hardly ten minutes later worse followed. Three picturesque-looking rogues with guns on their shoulders stepped from a wood called the Bosco di Sparagio, and, having saluted the Countess, brought the party to a halt. The guide uttered the one word 'Banditti !' and took to his heels. No one heeded him.

Mr. Faulkner at once entered into heated conversation with

the three men. There seemed to be something wrong. They were not the men he expected; and at length he had to turn to the Countess with consternation written on his face.

6 This is a pretty condition of affairs,' he said.

'And how long will they keep us?' asked the Countess, with a look of elation which said as plainly as an expression may speak, 'At last I have reached the highest summit of my ambition. I have lived sixty years, and never until to-day have I come across a real live brigand.'

'How should I know! It is unfortunate that your ladyship is the Countess of Squirm-unfortunate for me, that is.'

'Oh, come now, don't say that. We are in the same box, anyhow, and I shall take care that you do not suffer on my account.'

"Your ladyship is very good,' observed Mr. Faulkner.

They had no time to say more just then, for the brigands urged them to ascend the mountain to the right by a track that left a good deal to be desired. The helpless Marie in particular was soon at her wits' end. She slipped off her horse twice, and at length, after an indignant protest, had to submit to be held up by one of the three rogues, their captors. He was the ugliest of them, which did not tend to soothe her.

Thus they came at length to a glen, high up and looking to