CHAPTER XI.
"LOST IN THE NIGHT, AND THE LIGHT OF THE SEA."
Around the high-leaping flames of a fresh pile of pine-boughs, that flashed their lustre on the hanging crystals and the hollow depths of the cavern by the sea, the Italians who had freed her were gathered when the night had fallen.
They stood in a half-circle about the great pyramid of fire, whose heavy aromatic scent rolled out down the vaulted space; the light and shadow played upon their bronzed faces, on the metal of the rifles, on those muzzles they leaned their hands, and in the darkness of their eyes that were lustrous with longing rage, and impatient joy. Joy for the sweetness of the surpassing hope that the past day had brought, Palermo won Naples would follow, their sail once loosened to the touch, they would be with the Thousand of Marsala, with the deliverers of Sicily. Rage against a prisoner set in their midst, a prisoner who had been false to Italy, and false to the
