Sant' Ilario. F. Marion Crawford

dimly lighted by a lantern hanging overhead. It is unnecessary to dwell upon the ghastly details. San Giacinto bent down curiously and looked at the dead men's faces. He knew neither of them, and told the surgeon so.

      "Will you allow me to see the lady?" he asked.

      "Pardon me, if I ask a question," said the surgeon, who was a man of middle age, with a red beard and keen grey eyes. "To whom have I the advantage of speaking?"

      "Signor Professore," replied San Giacinto, "I must tell you that if this is the lady I suppose your patient to be, the honour of one of the greatest families in Rome is concerned, and it is important that strict secrecy should be preserved."

      "The porter told me that you were a Roman prince," returned the surgeon rather bluntly. "But you speak like a southerner."

      "I was brought up in Naples. As I was saying, secrecy is very important, and I can assure you that you will earn the gratitude of many by assisting me."

      "Do you wish to take this lady away at once?"

      "Heaven forbid! Her mother and sister shall come for her in half an hour."

      The surgeon thrust his hands into his pockets, and stood staring for a moment or two at the bodies of the Zouaves.

      "I cannot do it," he said, suddenly looking up at San. Giacinto. "I am master here, and I am responsible. The secret is professional, of course. If I knew you, even by sight, I should not hesitate. As it is, I must ask your name."

      San Giacinto did not hesitate long, as the surgeon was evidently master of the situation. He took a card from his case and silently handed it to the doctor. The latter took it and read the name, "Don Giovanni Saracinesca, Marchese di San Giacinto." His face betrayed no emotion, but the belief flashed through his mind that there was no such person in existence. He was one of the leading men in his profession, and knew Prince Saracinesca and Sant' Ilario, but he had never heard of this other Don Giovanni. He knew also that the city was in a state of revolution and that many suspicious persons were likely to gain access to public buildings on false pretences.

      "Very well," he said quietly. "You are not afraid of dead men, I see. Be good enough to wait a moment here—no one will see you, and you will not be recognised. I will go and see that there is nobody in the way, and you shall have a sight of the young lady."

      His companion nodded in assent and the surgeon went out through the narrow door. San Giacinto was surprised to hear the heavy key turned in the lock and withdrawn, but immediately accounted for the fact on the theory that the surgeon wished to prevent any one from finding his visitor lest the secret should be divulged. He was not a nervous man, and had no especial horror of being left alone in a mortuary chamber for a few minutes. He looked about him, and saw that the room was high and vaulted. One window alone gave air, and this was ten feet from the floor and heavily ironed. He reflected with a smile that if it pleased the surgeon to leave him there he could not possibly get out. Neither his size nor his phenomenal strength could assist him in the least. There was no furniture in the place. Half a dozen slabs of slate for the bodies were built against the wall, solid and immovable, and the door was of the heaviest oak, thickly studded with huge iron nails. If the dead men had been living prisoners their place of confinement could not have been more strongly contrived.

      San Giacinto waited a quarter of an hour, and at last, as the surgeon did not return, he sat down upon one of the marble slabs and, being very hungry, consoled himself by lighting a cigar, while he meditated upon the surest means of conveying Donna Faustina to her father's house. At last he began to wonder how long he was to wait.

      "I should not wonder," he said to himself, "if that long-eared professor had taken me for a revolutionist."

      He was not far wrong, indeed. The surgeon had despatched a messenger for a couple of gendarmes and had gone about his business in the hospital, knowing very well that it would take some time to find the police while the riot lasted, and congratulating himself upon having caught a prisoner who, if not a revolutionist, was at all events an impostor, since he had a card printed with a false name.

CHAPTER VI.

       Table of Contents

      The improvised banquet at the Palazzo Saracinesca was not a merry one, but the probable dangers to the city and the disappearance of Faustina Montevarchi furnished matter for plenty of conversation. The majority inclined to the belief that the girl had lost her head and had run home, but as neither Sant' Ilario nor his cousin returned, there was much speculation. The prince said he believed that they had found Faustina at her father's house and had stayed to dinner, whereupon some malicious person remarked that it needed a revolution in Rome to produce hospitality in such a quarter.

      Dinner was nearly ended when Pasquale, the butler, whispered to the prince that a gendarme wanted to speak with him on very important business.

      "Bring him here," answered old Saracinesca, aloud. "There is a gendarme outside," he added, addressing his guests, "he will tell us all the news. Shall we have him here?"

      Every one assented enthusiastically to the proposition, for most of those present were anxious about their houses, not knowing what had taken place during the last two hours. The man was ushered in, and stood at a distance holding his three-cornered hat in his hand, and looking rather sheepish and uncomfortable.

      "Well?" asked the prince. "What is the matter? We all wish to hear the news."

      "Excellency," began the soldier, "I must ask many pardons for appearing thus—-" Indeed his uniform was more or less disarranged and he looked pale and fatigued.

      "Never mind your appearance. Speak up," answered old Saracinesca in encouraging tones.

      "Excellency," said the man, "I must apologise, but there is a gentleman who calls himself Don Giovanni, of your revered name—-"

      "I know there is. He is my son. What about him?"

      "He is not the Senior Principe di Sant' Ilario, Excellency—he calls himself by another name—Marchese di—di—here is his card, Excellency."

      "My cousin, San Giacinto, then. What about him, I say?"

      "Your Excellency has a cousin—-" stammered the gendarme.

      "Well? Is it against the law to have cousins?" cried the prince. "What is the matter with my cousin?"

      "Dio mio!" exclaimed the soldier in great agitation. "What a combination! Your Excellency's cousin is in the mortuary chamber at Santo Spirito!"

      "Is he dead?" asked Saracinesca in a lower voice, but starting from his chair.

      "No," cried the man, "questo e il male! That is the trouble! He is alive and very well!"

      "Then what the devil is he doing in the mortuary chamber?" roared the prince.

      "Excellency, I beseech your pardon, I had nothing to do with locking up the Signor Marchese. It was the surgeon, Excellency, who took him for a Garibaldian. He shall be liberated at once—-"

      "I should think so!" answered Saracinesca, savagely. "And what business have your asses of surgeons with gentlemen? My hat, Pasquale. And how on earth came my cousin to be in Santo Spirito?"

      "Excellency, I know nothing, but I had to do my duty."

      "And if you know nothing how the devil do you expect to do your duty! I will have you and the surgeon and the whole of Santo Spirito and all the patients, in the Carceri Nuove, safe in prison before morning! My hat, Pasquale, I say!"

      Some confusion followed, during which the gendarme, who was anxious to escape all responsibility in the matter of San Giacinto's confinement, left the room and descended the grand staircase three steps at a time. Mounting his horse he galloped back through the now deserted streets to the hospital.

      Within two minutes after his arrival San Giacinto heard the bolt of the heavy lock run back in the socket