the door of St. Amande's Hotel, where the Brazilian
minister's rooms had been engaged for
me.

HALF A MILLION OF MONEY.

BY THE AUTHOR OF "BARBARA'S HISTORY."

CHAPTER LXXVI. THE CRY OF THE CHIU.

THEIR path lay down by the shore, and the
sun was low before they reached the house of
which they were in search. It was a large,
rambling, half-ruinous place, with the discoloured
plaster all scaling away from the walls; an old
stone trough standing out in the road close by,
and bundles of stored hay and straw sticking
out through the shutterless windows of the
basement story. A few half-starved oxen were
lying about on the scant sward behind the house;
a cock strutted on the dunghill before the door;
and two sickly-looking women plied their distaffs
under the shade of a vine in a crazy little
pergoletta, overlooking the sea.

These women dropped their work with alacrity
when accosted by Lord Castletowers, and
hastened to provide the travellers with such poor
fare as the place afforded. And it was poor
enough: an omelette, a loaf of rye bread, a plate
of salted fish, and a little fruit, was all they had
to offer; but Saxon and Castletowers had not
fasted all day for nothing. They feasted as
heartily as if their table had been spread in the
best hotel in Naples, and emptied a bottle of
the thinnest country wine with as keen a gusto
as if it had been "long imprisoned Cæcuban"
or " fiery Falernian."

When at length they had eaten and drunk
and were satisfied, and had recompensed the
good women of the house for their hospitality,
it was quite dusk—the magical dusk of an early
autumn evening in south Italy, when the earth
is folded to rest in a deep and tender gloom
which scarcely seems like night, and the grass
is alight with glowworms, and the air kindling
with fireflies, and the sky one vast mosaic of
stars.

The difficult part of their undertaking was
now at hand. Even in traversing the coast-road
between the podere and that point where
their boat lay moored, they had to exercise all
the discretion of which they were masters. It
was important that they should neither attract,
nor seem to avoid, observation. They had to
tread lightly, without risking the appearance of
caution; to walk neither slow nor fast; to avail
themselves of the shelter of every rock, and
wall, and bush along the road, and yet not to seem
as if they were creeping in the shade; and,
above all, to keep open eyes and ears, and silent
tongues, for fear of surprise.

Going along thus, they soon left the solitary
podere behind. There was no moon; but the
darkness was strangely transparent, and the
mountainous outlines of the twin islands, Ischia
and Procida, were distinctly visible on the far
horizon. Where the languid sea just glided to
the shore, a shifting phosphorescent gleam
faintly came and went upon the margin of the
sands; and presently, lying a little off, with her
sails all furled like the folded wings of a sleeping
bird, the Albula came dimly into sight.

They paused. All was profoundly quiet.
Scarce a breath disturbed the perfect stillness
of sea and shore. Now and then a faint shiver
seemed to run through the tall reeds down by
the water's edge; but that was all. Had a
pebble fallen, the young men must have heard
it where they stood.

"I don't believe there's a living soul on this
beach but ourselves," whispered Saxon.

"Heaven grant it!" replied the Earl, in the
same tone.

"What shall we do next?"

"I think we cannot do better than go down
to the boat, and there lie in readiness for
whatever may happen."

They found the boat just where they had left
it six or seven hours before, and their sailor
lying in it at full length, fast asleep. Without
rousing him, they crouched down in the shelter
of the reeds, and waited.

"You have your revolver, Trefalden?"
whispered the Earl.

"Yes, in my hand."

"And you can pull an oar, if necessary?"

"Of course."

The Earl sighed impatiently.

"This cursed arm," said he, "renders me
more helpless than a woman. Hush! did you
hear a footstep on the sand?"

"No; I heard nothing."

"Listen."

They listened breathlessly; but all was still,
like death.

"There is something awful in the silence,"
said Saxon.

"I wish to Heaven we knew what the signal
would be," muttered the Earl.

And then they lay a long time without speaking
or moving.

"I feel as if my limbs were ossifying,"
whispered the Earl by-and-by.

"And I never longed so much in my life to
do something noisy," replied Saxon. " I am at
this moment possessed by an almost irresistible
impulse to shout 'Viva Garibaldi!' Hush!
what's that?"

It was a faint, plaintive, distant cry, like
nothing that the mountaineer had ever heard
before; but the Earl recognised it immediately.

"It is only the chiù," said he.

"The what?"

"The chiù—a little summer owl common
throughout Italy. I almost wonder we have
not heard it before; though, to be sure, the
season is somewhat advanced."

"The creature has an unearthly note," said
Saxon. " There, I heard it again."

"It seems to be coming this way," said
Castletowers.

He had scarcely spoken, when the melancholy
call floated towards them for the third time.
Saxon dropped his hand suddenly upon his
friend's shoulder.