The Washington herald., 1914-01-25

u4Wu S~c1uSu 90 PuiPoS1y 3oovG oe
sapphire seat. like . goddess. The poe
Muscari drew . deep breath As If h
were drinking something. Ezza STUDIED
her with gaze equally intense and fai
more battling.
Miss Harrogate was specially radiani
and ready for conversation on this oc'
casion; and her family had fallen into
the easier Continental habit allowing
the stranger Museari and even the
courier Era to share their table and
their talk. In Ethel Harrogate con-
ventionality crowned itself with a per.
lection and splendor of its own.
They were in an eddy of excitement
about some alleged peril in the noun
tain path they were to attempt that
week.
They say" Ethel cried, with the
awful relish of a schoolgirl, "that ali
! that country isn't ruled by the King OF
Italy, but by the King of Thieves. Who
is the King of Thieves?".
"A great man. replied Muscari
worthy to rank with your own ROBIN
Hood, signorina. Montana, the King
of Thieves, was first heard of in the
mountains some ten years ago, when
people said brigands were extinct"
Now that sort of thing" observed
the banker weightily, would never be
allowed in England; perhaps, after all,
we had better choose another route.
But the courier thought it perfectly
safe"
'Tt is perfectly safe" said the courier
contemptuously. Il have been over it
twenty times. There may have been
some old jailbird called a king in the
time of our grandmothers; but he be-
longs to history, if not to fable. Brig
andage Is utterly stamped out
Then you propose to attempt it?"
asked Mr.. Harrogate, browning.
"Oh, it sounds rather dreadful" cried
the girl, turning her glorious eyes on
Muscari do you really think the pass
is dangerous?'
Il know it is dangerous" he said. II
am crossing it tomorrow
The younger Harrogate was left be-
hind for a moment, emptying glass
of white wine and lighting cigarette,
as the beauty retired with the banker,
the courier, and the poet distributing
peals of silvery satire. At about the
same instant two priests in the corner
rose-the taller, a white-haired Italian,
taking his leave. The shorter priest
turned and walked toward the bankers
son; and the latter was astonished to
realize that, though Roman priest, the
man was an Englishman.
"Mr. Frank Harrogate, ! think" he
said. Il have had an introduction, but
l do not mean to presume on it. The
odd thing I have to say will come far
better from a stranger. Mr.. Harro-
gate, l say one word and go: Take
care of your sister in her great SORROW"
do you mean the brigands?" he
asked; and then, remembering a vague
fear of his own, cor can you be think
ing of Muscari?'
Zone is never thinking of the real
sorrow" said the strange priest. "One
can only be kind when 1t comes"
And he passed promptly from the
room, leaving the other almost with his
mouth open.
The next day a coach containing the
company was really crawling and stag
gering up the spurs of the menacing
mountain range. Between Ezza's
CHEEKY denial of the danger and Mus
CARTS boisterous defiance of it, the
financial family were firm in their orig
inal purpose; and Muscari made his
mountain journey coincide with theirs.
A more surprising feature was the ap-
pearance at the coast-town station of
the little priest of the restaurant; he
alleged merely that business led him
also to cross the mountains of the mid
land. But young Harrogate could not
but connect his presence with the mys-
tical fears and warnings of yesterday.
The coach was kind of commodious
wagonette, invented by the modernist
talent of the courier, who dominated
the expedition with his scientific activ-
ity and breezy wit. The theory of dam
ger from thieves was banished from
thought and speech; though so far con-
ceded in formal act that some slight
protection was employed. The courier
and the young banker carried loaded
revolvers, and Muscari with much
boyish grati6cation) buckled on a kind
of cu.lass under his black cloak.
He had planted his person, at flying
leap, next to the lovely Englishwoman;
on the other side of her sat the priest
whose name was Brown and who was,
fortunately, a silent individual; the
courier and the father and son were on
the banc behind. Muscari was in tow
ering spirits, seriously believing in the
peril, and his talk to Ethel might well
have made her think him a maniac.