The besieged wondered why more shooting was not done. What fun could the little men find in a smokeless revolution? Did they still cling to the hope of receiving back pay? Did they still believe the family to be in the villa? Hemming, seated by the window, with his rifle across his knees, wondered when they would begin to humble his arrogance. Valentine Hicks, eating quinine and prowling from room to room, and window to window, with his Winchester under his arm, lived over and over again his parting with Marion. Smith, armed like a pirate, and itching for a fight, was happier than he had ever been. He had a heavy strain of the bulldog in him, had this valet named Smith, also a fine respect for gentlemen, and a love of their companionship. It was dark in the gardens. Smith was downstairs in the billiard-room, motionless and wide awake. Hemming and Hicks were smoking, one on each side of the upper hall window, which overlooked the front steps, the driveway, and the great gates. "The poor fellows will be sadly disappointed when they get in and find the Tetsons and the money gone," remarked Hemming, calmly, "though their stupidity in thinking them still here beats me." "There are some things of value in the house," replied Hicks. "Oh, yes; they might melt the silver," suggested Hemming, "but the furniture would bother them. Of course they will tear up the place, and pot us, and try to get revenge that way." "Yes," replied Hicks, "but I have a little stone about me." He opened his linen tunic, and unfastened a narrow cartridge-belt. "I wear it next my skin," he said, "and it galls me a bit sometimes." He drew a brass shell from one of the loops and with his penknife extracted a cork and a wad of cotton wool. Then he shook something white and rough, but glowing dimly, into the palm of Hemming's hand. He laughed softly. "The bridegroom's gift to the bride," he said,--"if the bridegroom gets to the church." Hemming gazed at it in silence. "Cut and polished, what would it be worth?" asked its owner. His voice was low and eager. He placed a trembling hand on his friend's knee. "I have seen diamonds in the rough before," replied Hemming, "but never one as large as this. Brazilian stones vary a good deal in quality. It may stand for a fortune, or perhaps for nothing more than a respectable cottage, with stables, a paddock, and an orchard, and maybe a shooting in Scotland." "That would do for us," said Hicks, grinning like a schoolboy. "Old Tetson could manage the orchard, and Mrs. Tetson could see that he didn't get his feet wet." For a few moments he seemed to be following this dream of bucolic bliss.