Why did not some of them come to
tell him? Where was Girasole? Was he the chief? Were the brigands
debating about his fate, or were they thus leaving him in suspense so
as to make him despondent and submissive to their terms? From all that
he had ever heard of brigands and their ways, the latter seemed not
unlikely; and this thought made him see the necessity of guarding
himself against being too impatient for freedom, and too compliant
with any demands of theirs.
From these thoughts he was at last roused by footsteps which ascended
the stairs. He turned and looked toward the door. A man entered.
It was Girasole.
He entered slowly, with folded arms, and coming about half-way, he
stood and surveyed the prisoner in silence. Hawbury, with a sudden
effort, brought himself up to a sitting posture, and calmly surveyed
the Italian.
"Well," asked Hawbury, "I should like to know how long you intend to
keep up this sort of thing? What are you going to do about it? Name
your price, man, and we'll discuss it, and settle upon something
reasonable."
"My price?" repeated Girasole, with peculiar emphasis.
"Yes. Of course I understand you fellows. It's your trade, you know.
You've caught me, and, of course, you'll try to make the best of me,
and all that sort of thing. So don't keep me waiting."
"Inglis milor," said Girasple, with a sharp, quick accent, his face
flushing up as he spoke--"Inglis milor, dere is no price as you mean,
an' no ransom. De price is one dat you will not wis to pay.
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