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rive, were four
men, evidently, to Maxwell's experienced eye, banditti. They seemed
peacefully inclined now, as they lounged there in the bright sunshine
smoking, and renewing the everlasting _papilito_, without which no such
gentry are complete, either in the pages of fiction or as portrayed
upon the modern stage. With the exception of one, evidently the leader,
there was nothing gorgeous in their costume, it being the usual attire
of the mountaineers; but the long carabines lying by their sides and
the short daggers in their waistbands spoke of their occupation.
Maxwell began to scent an adventure and enjoy the feeling; it would
only mean the outlay of a few pounds, a little captivity; but when he
approached nearer, and saw each bearing on some part of his person the
gold moidore, his heart beat a trifle faster as he stepped forward and
confronted the group.

'What is the meaning of this?' he asked, in the best Italian at his
command. 'I suppose it is merely a question of ransom. But it is
useless to put the figure too high. Come, what is the amount?'

The brigands looked to each other in admiration of this coolness.
Presently, the leader removed his cigarette from his mouth and spoke:
'You have your watch, signor, and papers; you have your rings and
purse. It is not our rule to forget these with an ordinary prisoner.'

Maxwell felt in his pocket, and, surely enough, his valuables were
perfectly safe-nothing missing, even to his sketch-book. For the first
time, he began to experience a sensation of fear. 'Then, if plunder is
not your object, why am I detained?'

'Plunder is not a nice word to ears polite, signor,' the leader replied
with a dark scowl. 'You are detained by orders. To hear, with us, is to
obey. You will remain here during our pleasure.'

'But suppose I refuse to remain?'

Without rising, the brigand turned on his side and pointed towards
the sheer precipice, and then to the wall behind; with a gesture he
indicated the narrow winding path, the only means of exit, and smiled
ironically. 'You may go; there is nothing to prevent you,' he said;
'but before you were half-way down the path yonder, you would be the
target for a score of bullets, and we do not often fail.'

Maxwell was considerably impressed by this cool display; and indeed,
when he considered the matter calmly, there appeared no prospect of
immediate escape. Remonstrances or threats would be equally unavailing,
and he determined to make the best of his position. 'Perhaps you
would not mind telling me why I am here, and by whose orders you have
arrested me. It would be some slight consolation to know how long I am
to stay. I am anxious to know this,' he continued, 'because I am afraid
your mountain air, exhilarating as it is, will not suit me.'

The group burst into loud laughter at this little humour: it was a kind
of wit they were in a position to appreciate.

'It is impossible to say, signor. We only obey orders; we can only wait
for further instructions as regards your welfare-or otherwise. We were
told to bring one Maxwell here, and lo! we have done it.'

'I see you are brothers of the League,' Maxwell replied; 'and for some
act of omission or commission I am detained here. You can at least tell
me by whose orders you do this.'

'Signor, they say you are a traitor to our Order.'

'That I am not!' Maxwell cried indignantly. 'Tell me why I am here, and
at whose orders. There is some mistake here.'

'Not on our part, signor. The instructions came from London. I only
received them last night. You will be well treated here, provided you
do not make any attempts to escape. For the time, you are our guest,
and as such, the best I have is at your disposal. If orders come to
release you, we shall conduct you to Rome. We shall do everything in
our power to serve you. If, on the other hand, you are tried in the
balance and found wanting, we shall not fail to do our duty.' He said
these last words sternly, in contrast to the polite, grave manner with
which he uttered the first part of his speech.

Maxwell had perception enough to comprehend his meaning. 'You mean that
I should have to die,' he observed. 'I suppose it would be a matter of
the utmost indifference to you, either way?'

'As a matter of duty, signor, yes,' he answered gravely; 'though I
do not wish to see a brave man die; but if the mandate came to that
effect, I must obey. There is no refusing the word of the League.'

'Then I really am a prisoner of the League,' Maxwell returned bitterly.
'Well, the cause of liberty must be in a bad way, when the very members
of the League treat brothers as I have been treated.'

'Ah, it is a fine word liberty,' the brigand chief replied
sardonically. 'It is a good phrase to put into men's mouths; but there
can be no freedom where the shadow of the sword dwells upon the land.
Even Italy herself has suffered, as she will again. Perfect liberty
and perfect freedom can only be founded upon the doctrine of universal
love.'

By this time, Maxwell and the chief had drawn a little aside from the
others. The artist looked in his companion's face, and noted the air of
sorrow there. It was a fine manly countenance, haughty and handsome,
though the dark eyes were somewhat sombre now. Maxwell, with his
cosmopolitan instinct, was drawn towards this man, who had a history
written on his brow. 'You, too, have suffered,' he said gently.

'Suffered!' the brigand echoed. 'Yes, Englishman, I have suffered,
and not more from the Austrian yoke than the cruelties of my own
countrymen. There will be no true liberty here while a stiletto remains
in an Italian's belt.'

'I suppose not,' Maxwell mused. 'These Societies seem to me a gigantic
farce. Would that I had remained quietly at home, and let empires
manage their own affairs. And Salvarini warned me too.'

'Salvarini! What do you know of him?' the chief exclaimed.

'Nothing but what is good and noble, everything to make one proud to
call him friend.-Do you know him too?'

'He is my brother,' the chief replied quietly.-'You look surprised to
find that a relative of Luigi should pursue such a profession as mine.
Yes, he is my brother-the brother of an outlaw, upon whose head a price
has been put by the state. I am known to men as Paulo Lucci.'

Maxwell started. The man sitting calmly by his side was the most famous
and daring bandit chief of his time. Provinces rang with his fame, and
the stories of his dashing exploits resounded far and near. Even away
in the distant Apennines, the villagers sat round the winter firesides
and discoursed of this man with bated breath, and children trembled in
their beds at the mere thought of his name. He laughed scornfully now
as he noted Maxwell's startled look.

'I am so very terrible,' he continued, 'that my very name strikes
terror to you! Bah! you have been listening to the old women's tales
of my atrocities, about the tortures my victims undergo, and the
thousand-and-one lies people are fond of telling about me. I can
understand Luigi 

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