The archbishop thoughtfully stroked the cat that lay
curled on his lap.
"It is not in this world," he mused, "that we shall journey, thou and I,
to the land of the Americanos, the miracle workers; but assuredly the
Santa Vergine sent the young Signore Americano to bless our people with
his miracles--even as he has sent this one to thee and me."
But beyond the bright radius of the good archbishop's lamp a figure
waited and watched in the darkness--the figure of a man with a sinister
face and across it a mouth that looked like a seam.
CHAPTER XXII
BEFORE DAYLIGHT
In the purple dawn of a morning two or three days later, Derby emerged
from the house of Donna Marcella, saddled his horse and for the first
time without his attendant _carabinieri_, started for the mines. The
faint light showed him only a blurred and indistinct landscape; and in
the crisp stillness the leather of his saddle creaked a monotonous
accompaniment to the horse's hoofs, which struck the road with clean-cut
staccato sharpness.
Meanwhile, in the big best room on the ground floor of Donna Marcella's
house, Porter slept. A man's step outside and the fingering of a
shutter-latch disturbed him not at all; even when there came a nervous
tap on the window frame, Porter slept on. A moment of silence followed,
and then a voice breathed stridently, "_Signore!_" Porter stirred in his
sleep.
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