“Wait--wait,” replied the father. And both men spoke so softly, that Gilda did not hear. She did not care to hear, as she looked once more on him whom she had so dearly loved when she thought him a poor student. “Good,” said the bandit, and went out slowly into the darkness. Then as the two stood there miserably, the duke began laughing and chatting with the gipsey girl. Soon Gilda was weeping, as was also her father. Yet still within the hut continued the laughter and the singing. “Thou art sure now, he loves thee not--thou art sure now. Hear me: we will leave this country at once. Go thou home, dress thyself in the clothing of a nobleman, my child, and fly to Verona. Thou knowest where to go when thou art there. I will come to thee to-morrow.” “Now--come with me now.” “Now? No, not now.” He spoke with terrible hesitation. The girl kissed her father and went towards their house. Through the gloom he watched her and saw her pass the garden gate. Then he searched about for the bravo. The assassin was lounging at the corner of the house, and at a motion from the fool he came forward. Eagerly Rigoletto put money into his hand, saying the rest should be his when the man was dead. Then he turned away, saying that at midnight he would return. The bravo carelessly replied that he had no need of help, he could, alone, cast the body into the river. “No,” said the fool, suddenly stopping; “let that be my portion of the work.” “Good,” said the assassin, carelessly; “who is he?” “His name is Crime and mine is Punishment.” The bravo shrugged his shoulders, and then carelessly opened the door of the hut, and entered, while the fool turned, and with downcast head, moved slowly away, afraid to go home till the vengeance was completed. Loud roared the storm; the lightnings lit up the hovel, and the wavering thunder rolled incessantly. Yet had the assassin no fear. The duke said he should remain all night, and bade the new comer leave them. But the gipsey girl prayed the young duke to depart. Said the bravo, he should be glad to place his room at the stranger’s disposal, and he hid the golden money the fool had given him. The duke attended by the bravo, ascended a ricketty flight of stairs to a room, more dilapidated, if possible, than the one below. Saying it was like sleeping in the open air, the noble flung down his hat and sword, fell upon the bed, and was soon asleep. The ruffian by that time was drinking the wine the duke had left. At last he said slowly--“Go up, and if he sleeps, bring away his sword.” The gipsey girl obeyed sorrowingly, for the stranger was so handsome that she had grown to feel some pity for him. As she stole up the stairs another girl was near at hand--the wretched Gilda; who, disguised in the clothes of a page, came creeping towards the inn. Nearer and nearer till she was close to the door and pressing it. Looking through the crevice, she saw the girl coming down with the sword glittering in her hand.