act I shall be able to turn an honest coin. Already I have dispatched a

faithful fellow who bears a message to the other Englishman, stating that when I have received ten thousand drachmas I will set my captive free.”

“If you get it, you will not return empty-handed to your home,” said Tyrus.

“It was not of money I was thinking when I spoke thus,” asserted Donatus. “I am getting on in years. Long have I dreamed of an ideal who should make my home complete by sharing it with me. This day I saw her.”

“A woman?”

“The flower of Greece! I was thinking of her as I gazed into the fire.”

The hands of Maro suddenly closed and a wild light came into his eyes. He rose to his feet.

“Chief,” he said, boldly addressing the Suliote, “if we do not return to Athens ere another dawn, suspicion will fall on us. We must be going.”

“Would you depart so soon? Shall I send one of my men to conduct you and show you the way?”

“If you will.”

The brigand leader rose. There was a pantherish grace in every move, in spite of the fact that he was a large man. He spoke to one of the band, and the fellow sprang up.

“Bion, bring horses for my friends and conduct them on the way until they are safely on the road to the city.”

In a few minutes Bion returned from the darkness, leading two saddled horses. The chief explained that the man would accompany them on foot, being a fleet runner.

Maro had become very nervous. Now he demanded:

“Where is the third horse?”

“The third?” questioned Donatus. “There are but two of you.”

“You have forgotten Flavia?”

“Indeed not. I have remembered her well.”

Maro was pale, holding his excitement in check with difficulty.

“Then I will walk and she shall ride,” he said. “Have her brought.”

Barely a moment did Donatus hesitate, and then he gave the order that the girl be brought.

Soon one of the men conducted her from the cave before the mouth of which the guard paced. She was almost deathly white. Her eyes were wide with fear, but she pressed her lips together and tried to retain command of herself.

Never in all her life had Flavia looked more beautiful than at that moment. Donatus folded his arms on his broad chest and gazed at her with a singular expression in his eyes.

“Maid,” he said, “your uncle and your lover are about to depart. Your lover has demanded that you shall accompany him. Are you ready to go?”

“Come, Flavia!” cried Maro, holding out his hands to her.

She shrank from him.

“No!” she cried; “I do not wish to go with you! I will not go with you!”

With a single stride Donatus reached her and placed his left arm about her with almost crushing fierceness. His other hand he flung out toward Maro.

“You have her answer!” he said. “She remains, and you go without her!”

With a cry of terror, Flavia tried to break from the powerful arm that clasped her. This she could not have accomplished of her own strength, but Donatus released her, and she reeled away.

Maro sprang forward to support her, but she saw him and whirled in a twinkling, rushing back to the protection of the brigand chief, who smiled as he again clasped her with his arm.

“She has made her choice,” he said. And then in a voice unintelligible to them he added: “I shall not return empty-handed to my home!”

Maro was distracted. He clutched Tyrus by the arm, panting:

“Is this your friend? Is this the man whose life you saved? See how he repays you!”

Tyrus was greatly agitated.

“Donatus,” he said entreatingly, “have you forgotten? She is my niece. It is I who have the right to take her.”

“For years,” said the chief, “I have dreamed of her face. To-day I saw it for the first time.”

“But it is not because of you she chooses to stay. She does not understand. She does not know you mean to keep her for yourself. It is the Englishman of whom she thinks.”

“She will forget him soon when he is gone. With the money I shall secure through him I may buy my pardon. She shall be mine!”

Now Flavia did understand, and once more she struggled for her freedom, crying out in her horror of them all.

At this juncture, from some distant part of the valley, came startling sounds. Several pistol shots were fired in rapid succession. In a twinkling every brigand was on his feet, their weapons ready.

Donatus had wheeled toward the sounds, which ceased as suddenly as they began.

Behind the chief’s back Maro seized the girl, hissing into her ear:

“Foolish Flavia! Will you give yourself up to this brigand? Do not think he will let the Englishman have you. He means to keep you for himself.”

She stood like one turned to stone, unable to decide what should be done. In that moment she seemed so beset and entangled that there was no possible escape for her. She could not depart and leave Cavendish in that dark hole, yet if she remained she might be forced to become the bride of Donatus, the brigand.

Maro was likewise in a fearful state of mind. Suddenly he snatched out a pistol and threatened her with it.

“I had rather kill you with my own hand than leave you to either of them!” he hissed.

She clutched the pistol in his hand with both of her hands and sought to wrest it from him. In the struggle it was discharged.

Donatus, the Suliote, gave a great start and then his legs buckled beneath him and he fell prone to the ground.

Instantly Maro relaxed his hold on the pistol and sprang away. When the brigands who remained by the fire turned to look they saw their chief stretched on the ground, while the smoking pistol was clutched in the hands of the horror-stricken girl.

Instantly they were upon her. They wrested the weapon from her and pinned her arms at her side. One knelt beside the chief and made a hasty search for the wound.

“Kill her!” snarled a little ruffian, flourishing a knife. “Cut her throat! She has slain Donatus!”

He made a slash with the gleaming blade, as if he would sweep it across the throat of the girl.

It was the voice of Donatus that checked them and kept them from doing her fatal harm. He had lifted himself to his elbow.

“Hold!” he commanded, in the tone none dared disobey. “Hold her fast, but harm no hair on her head. Where is Ruteni? Let him see how badly I am wounded. Place her in the cave and guard her well.”

Then Flavia managed to drag those who had clutched her until she was near enough to sink on her knees beside the wounded and bleeding brigand.

“Oh, I did not mean to do it!” she sobbed. “Believe me, I did not mean it! I tried to wrest the weapon from Maro, and it was discharged.”

The face of Donatus, outcast and wretch that he was, lighted with a great look of relief. With an effort, he lifted a hand and touched her tangled hair.

“I believe you, Flavia,” he said. “You shall not be harmed. You shall remain with the Englishman.”

Then he gave a few low-spoken orders, and Maro saw Flavia led away toward the cave.

“Where is Ruteni?” again demanded Donatus. “Am I to bleed to death for need of a little care?”

Soon the man called for came running from the darkness and dropped beside the chief. He carried on his person a leather case, containing some instruments and bandages, and he began at once to look after the wound by the light of the camp fire.

“What was the firing I heard, Ruteni?” asked the chief.

“Some one succeeded in passing the guards at the entrance to the valley, chief.”

“Succeeded?” said Donatus, as if he could not believe it. “How many of them?”

“Only one. He was crawling on his stomach like a serpent when they saw him and fired. He sprang up and ran.”

“Into the valley?”

“Into the valley, chief. But he is only one, and he cannot escape. They will capture him.”

“Who could it be? Who would dare attempt such a thing? Ruteni, how badly am I wounded?”

“I fear it is serious,” was the answer.

Water had been brought, and a few of Donatus’ band were watching the work of Ruteni, seeming benumbed and dazed by what had happened. The chief saw them and said:

“Go! Help search for the one who entered the valley. Bring him hither, dead or alive. I am still your chief, and shall be as long as I breathe.”

The men obeyed at once, and besides Donatus and Ruteni only Maro and Tyrus were left by the fire.

The guard still paced before the dark mouth of the cave, in which Flavia had once more been placed.

“It is now our time!” whispered Maro, in the ear of Tyrus. “I have recovered my pistol, and you are armed. Here are the saddled horses. Donatus is helpless. If necessary, we can slay Ruteni and the guard, and we can be away with Flavia before the others return.”

Tyrus grasped the wrist of his desperate companion.

“I think too much of my life to try it,” he declared. “If you attempt that, you do it alone, and you will be slain. Do not be a fool!”

Finally there was a great commotion in another portion of the valley. A single shot was fired, but shouts of triumph came faintly through the darkness.

“They have captured the spy!” said the chief, with a smile of satisfaction on his ashen face. “Are you done, Ruteni?”

“I have done everything possible, chief. The wound is in your lung. If you do not bleed internally——”

“If I do—what?”

“I fear you’ll not see the rising of another sun,” was the frank answer.

“And to-day, for the first time, I gazed on the face of the maid of my dreams. Do all dreams end in disappointment? Ruteni, roll me a cigarette.”

The man had placed a robe, on which Donatus reclined. Ruteni rolled a cigarette and placed it between the bearded lips. Then he struck a match and lighted it.

Donatus drew in a whiff of smoke and coughed. A fleck of blood appeared on his lips.

“Take it, Ruteni,” he said sadly, surrendering the cigarette. “Throw it away. I cannot smoke. To-day I found the one of my dreams. Am I to die thus soon by her hand?”

Some of the brigands came marching out of the darkness, bringing in their midst a prisoner, his hands made fast behind his back. He was a mere boy, with a tanned and rugged face and a fearless manner.

“Is this the spy?” asked Donatus, in surprise, as the captive stood near the fire. “Who is he?”

“I know who he is!” cried Maro furiously. “Only for him and that other American all this trouble would not have come, for we should have captured Flavia this morning. I entreat the privilege of slaying him with my own hand!”

The captive was Brad Buckhart.