"No--no! Save him, Giovanni,--he looks so miserable," cried Corona, with ready sympathy. She was pale with excitement. Giovanni looked at her one moment and hesitated, but her pleading eyes were not to be refused. "Then gallop back, darling. Tell Gouache it is cold in the valley--anything. Make him go back with you--I will save him since you wish it." Corona wheeled her horse without a word and cantered up the hill again. The monk had continued his slow walk, and was now almost at Giovanni's saddle-bow. The latter drew rein, staring hard at the pale features under the cowl. "If you go on you are lost," he said, in low distinct tones. "The Zouaves are waiting for you. Stop, I say!" he exclaimed, as the monk attempted to pass on. Leaping to the ground Giovanni seized his arm and held him tightly. Then Del Ferice broke down. "You will not give me up--for the love of Christ!" he whined. "Oh, if you have any pity--let me go--I never meant to harm you--" "Look here," said Giovanni. "I would just as soon give you up to the Holy Office as not; but my wife asked me to save you--" "God bless her! Oh, the saints bless her! God render her kindness!" blubbered Del Ferice, who, between fear and exhaustion, was by this time half idiotic. "Silence!" said Giovanni, sternly. "You may thank her if you ever have a chance. Come with me quietly. I will send one of the workmen round the hill with you. You must sleep at Trevi, and then get over the Serra as best you can." He ran his arm through the bridle of his horse and walked by his enemy's side. "You will not give me up," moaned the wretched man. "For the love of heaven do not betray me--I have come so far--I am so tired." "The wolves may make a meal of you, for all I care," returned Giovanni. "I will not. I give you my word that I will send you safely on, if you will stop this whining and behave like a man." At that moment Del Ferice was past taking offence, but for many a year afterwards the rough words rankled in his heart. Giovanni was brutal for once; he longed to wring the fellow's neck, or to give him up to Gouache and the Zouaves. The tones of Ugo's voice reminded him of injuries not so old as to be yet forgotten. But he smothered his wrath and strode on, having promised his wife to save the wretch, much against his will. It was a quarter of an hour before they reached the works, the longest quarter of an hour Del Ferice remembered in his whole life. Neither spoke a word. Giovanni hailed a sturdy-looking fellow who was breaking stones by the roadside. "Get up, Carluccio," he said. "This good monk has lost his way. You must take him round the mountain, above Ponza to Arcinazzo, and show him the road to Trevi. It is a long way, but the road is good enough after Ponza--it is shorter than to go round by Saracinesca, and the good friar is in a hurry."