“That is it, sir,” she answered. “Supper-hour is long past, and never yet did they fail to get together to fill their bellies. Save old Matteo, who is daft, and Dreina, who is lame, there is not a soul in the place. There must be some meaning in it, sir. Never did my folks dare to cross the threshold without leave.” “It is strange,” said Cyrille, as he comprehended the singularity of her intelligence. “They do indeed obey you usually like children. Where can they all be gone?” “The Lord knows, sir. But I am afraid----” Her ruddy face was blanched. “Of what are you afraid?” “That they have left the house because they know there will be an attack on it.” “Is it possible?” “Possible enough. People who are warned and do not wish to take either side always go away like this. Matteo is daft, but even he knows something; he laughs, and draws his finger across his throat. Dreina is crying, but will not speak though I beat her. You had best close the windows, sir, and fasten up the doors.” He still scarcely gathered the full meaning of her words; his brain was still dizzy with the sweetness of sudden hope, the rush of reviving memories, and he had never been alive to the true dangers of the life around him, to its enmities, its risks, its possibilities. He meant so well by the people, that he could not consent to believe that they meant less well by him. “You must be mistaken,” he said to the old woman. “The household must be playing you some trick to affright you. Let us go and look over the outbuildings. The _guardiani_ must at least be about the place.” He put the portrait he had received in his breast, and buttoned his coat over it; then he took his revolver from the table and put it in his chest-pocket. “Do not go out of doors, sir,” said Caterina, as she laid her hand on his arm. “I do not believe there is one of our men within call anywhere, and who knows what gang of thieves and ruffians may not be hid all round already? If you knew the things I have seen in my youth and my womanhood! I fear me you will meet your God to-night, for there is no hand but your own to defend you!” This time he believed her; he saw that whether she deceived herself or not, she thought some deadly peril awaited himself. “What will they do?” he asked, “and why should they seek to kill me?” She answered almost sullenly: “I have told you a score of times, and so has the girl Muriella, that you are hated because you are a stranger, a meddler, as folks think, a reformer as you call it. You would never believe us because we were women. Well, this night I fear you will find we said truth. But let us waste no time in talk. Let us fasten up the doors. They are strong; they have stood a siege before now.” “I shall look a poor cowardly fool if the household return.” “They will not return, sir, till they see the house ablaze.” “Good heavens! Do you _know_ this?”