“I don’t want it all,” I exclaimed. “Only what is mine.” “Keep it all. It’s yours. They’ve killed your horse,” and before I could say anything further, my fair protector had left the room. My first impulse was to put as much distance as possible between myself and the uncouth crowd, but on reflection I remembered that there was no other house for miles, that I knew nothing of the country, and if I started out on foot I was liable to be attacked by the thieves who infested the district. I therefore put on a bold front and asked old Vincenti to give me a lodging for the night. He picked up a guttering candle, called Ninetta, and told her to show me upstairs. We entered a large chamber that had evidently once been the ball-room of the villa. There were several beds in it, and on a table beside one she placed the candle, and was about to leave when I detained her. “Ninetta, I have not thanked you for what you have done for me to-night. My life is not worth much, but I should have hated to give it up in such a manner. Is there nothing I can do to show my gratitude?” She laughed in an embarrassed manner. “Why, it wasn’t anything. I like to play; I’d have done it for anybody.” “I’m sure of that; but is there nothing I can do for you?” She hesitated a moment. “No,” she replied, “there is nothing you can do now. Some day, perhaps, I shall be glad of your assistance.” “You will always find me your willing servant,” I replied fervently. I grasped her hand warmly, and she wished me a merry “_Buona notte_.” I did not see her about the house next morning. The fierce party of the night before had left. I inquired for Ninetta, but was informed that she had gone off early to attend to her goats on the mountain-side. The old Tuscan woman who acted as cook provided me with a hearty breakfast, and presently a peasant’s cart halted on its way to Vernazza. Arranging with the driver to give me a lift, I mounted beside him with a feeling of inexpressible relief. Half an hour later, as we rounded a curve in the mountain road, we came face to face with Ninetta. She was mounted on a mule, and galloped rapidly past, her hair streaming in the wind. I had only time to raise my hat in response to a smile of recognition, when she passed, as I then thought, out of my life for ever. Two days afterwards I arrived at Leghorn, and, taking a passage on board a steamer bound for New York, bade farewell to the sunny garden of Europe, which, I felt convinced, was a decidedly dangerous place wherein to sojourn, having regard to the curious circumstances of my capture and release. After two years of aimless wandering and hiding from the police I again trod Italian soil. Even in far-off Manitoba intelligence had reached me of punishments imposed upon the gendarmes who had acted so leniently towards me. Two years, however, is a long time, and having a mission to execute for our Cause in Italy—my personal appearance being so altered as to be unrecognisable—I returned.