At this stage of affairs the sound of heavy voices, and the tramp of measured steps, told that the men had returned. Don Jose sprang from his seat with a quick, nervous motion, drew his hat over his dark, flashing eyes, and waited impatiently for further motions. Wallace opened the door; and, as he supposed, the same four men that brought the boxes entered to remove them. He was deceived, however, by their dress; the whole band, consisting of between thirty and forty members, dressing alike, excepting the five leaders and Harris, who, although he had not yet reached the twenty-second year of his age, was universally acknowledged as leader of the whole; his father having held that place until his death, which occurred two years before. * * * * * And now the tangled thread of our history leads us back, three long and changing years, to a small thatched cottage in Italy, where all day long the air is heavy with perfume, and the sun goes down at eventide in a sea of purple, and crimson, and gold. “Mother, you do wrong to judge Morrillo so harshly,” said a low, sweet voice, one mid-summer night. “True, he wears the bandit frock and cap, but I know they hide a noble head, and shield a generous heart. Besides, he is so young now that his father’s will is the only law he knows; he never had a mother to tell him how to live.” And the voice was low and sad, and the slight form of Arabel Ortono glided away from the drooping vine she was trailing, and sought her favorite retreat in the shaded veranda. Her mother soon sought her there, and paused a moment in the low, arched doorway to contemplate the picture before her. Arabel was kneeling in a shaded niche, her fair young face flushing and paling alternately, her long golden-brown curls sweeping over the closely fitting spencer of darkest hue, and her eyes raised to catch the brightest moonbeams as they struggled through the thick vines. “Well, Arabel,” said the mother, at last, interrupting the girl’s reverie, “you have argued the young pirate’s cause pretty faithfully; now let me hear you protect your own. Tell me how and why you first became interested in those most lawless of all unlawful men, and I will try to be reasonable with your wild fancies.” Proudly the young Venetian rose from her lowly place and stood beside her mother. “Almost,” said the mother, playfully measuring the girl’s height with her eye, “almost as tall as I.” “Yes, mother,” answered the girl. “I am at least large enough to know how to talk reasonably,” and a light, scornful smile flitted over the fair, pale face. The mother noticed it, but only answering, calmly, “I am ready now,” she seated herself upon the long rustic bench and prepared to listen.