Aunt Jane's Nieces Abroad
Kenneth regretted that he had left his revolver upstairs, but the
others remembered that the brigand would not dare to molest them in the
security of the hotel grounds, and were more curious than afraid.
Il Duca's hand was wrapped in a bandage, but the damaged finger did not
seem to affect him seriously. Beth could not take her eyes off this
dreadful evidence of her late conflict, and stared at it as if the
bandage fascinated her.
"Signore," said the Duke, addressing Uncle John especially, "I owe to
you my apologies and my excuses for the annoyance I have caused to you
and your friends. I have the explanation, if you will so kindly permit
me."
"Fire away, Duke," was the response.
"Signore, I unfortunately come of a race of brigands. For centuries my
family has been lawless and it was natural that by education I, too,
should become a brigand. In my youth my father was killed in an affray
and my mother took his place, seizing many prisoners and exacting from
them ransom. My mother you have seen, and you know of her sudden madness
and of her death. She was always mad, I think, and by nature a fiend.
She urged my elder brother to wicked crimes, and when he rebelled she
herself cast him, in a fit of anger, into the pit. I became duke in his
place, and did my mother's bidding because I feared to oppose her. But
for years I have longed to abandon the life and have done with crime.
"With me our race ends, for I have no sons. But my one child, whom you
know as Tato, I love dearly. My greatest wish is to see her happy. The
last few days have changed the fortunes of us both. The Duchessa is
gone, and at last I am the master of my own fate. As for Tato, she has
been charmed by the young American signorini, and longs to be like them.
So we come to ask that you forgive the wrong we did you, and that you
will now allow us to be your friends."
Uncle John was amazed.
"You have decided to reform, Duke?" he asked.
"Yes, signore. Not alone for Tato's sake, but because I loathe the life
of brigandage.
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There was once an honest journeyman tailor, by name Labakan, who learned his trade with an excellent master in Alexandria. It could not be said that Labakan was unhandy with the needle; on the contrary, he could make excellent work: moreover, one would have done him injustice to have called him lazy. Nevertheless, his companions knew not what to make of him, for he would often sew for hours together so rapidly that the needle would glow in his hand, and the thread smoke, and that none could equal him.
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