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above the others like some avenging fury. Before the suddenness of her movement the crowd recoiled and quailed. Sharply she inclined her head in the direction of von Reinhold, and her voice rang out imperiously.

men.

"You stand gaping there like a country hind, sir soldier! Body of me! I have no patience with you Pick up your master. Are you blind, or dumb, or paralysed? In Heaven's name, drag that ton of flesh into the carriage. Back, you rabble! Would you bandy words with Claudia!"

Von Reinhold sprang towards the Viceroy. The Duke lay on his back, scrabbling in the dust in the extremity of terror, his forehead bleeding, and his face. distorted. With wellnigh superhuman energy von Reinhold lifted him in his arms and hurled himself into the carriage.

There was a cry of warning from the lips of Donna Claudia. Even as the door of the vehicle closed upon them, she snatched the whip and, leaping on the coachbox, lashed the horses.

"This is man's work!" she cried. "We need no women here." And she cut at the rabble as they caught the reins.

The spirited Spanish horses reared and tore madly forward, amid the shrill curses of the baffled populace: faster and faster until it seemed as if but a miracle could save them from disaster. The gaudily-painted coach rocked to the verge of overturning, creaked in every joint, threatened to part asunder with the violence of the strain. Clinging to the silken embroideries within, von Reinhold raised himself with difficulty and shouted to Donna Claudia to moderate the pace. The only answer was a shrill cry of derision as she plied her whip with even more energy than hitherto.

With a "Way! Way for Claudia!" the intrepid driver plunged round the corner of the Palace, flung herself into the very thick of the mob, which in unceasing numbers was pouring down Toledo. Caught as it were between two fires-the rabble had broken from the dismantled gates, and was pursuing the vehicle with

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screams of savagery-the wit of Donna Claudia was more than enough for the emergency. In an instant she had plucked a bag of coins from her bosom and was casting them among the greedy multitude. The swarm of lazzaroni faltered, swerved. The coach leapt onwards across the width of the piazza, and with a terrific jerk, as the horses felt the restraining power of the reins, at last came to a halt.

Donna Claudia stood by the door.

"Welcome, your Excellency," she said, "to the sanctuary of the Convent of San Luigi.'

She hammered with the pommel of her whip upon the barred gates of the building, and dragging the Viceroy from the coach, looked upon von Reinhold.

"I wonder what my brother will say to this," she smiled. "I have saved a Viceroy for his weight in ducats."

She spurned the Viceroy lightly with her foot.

"If not his weight, for fifty-fold his value. Get in, old fool! God in His mercy should have created you a woman!"

The affrighted face of the Spanish Provincial of the Order was peering at them through the wicket.

"Open!" cried Donna Claudia. "'Tis His Corpulence the Duke of Arcos!"

The rabble was gathering for a rush upon them. She scattered a handful of coins with disdainful gesture. The sound of her laughter rang through the piazza as von Reinhold and the Viceroy passed into the convent.

CHAPTER IX

THE HOUSE WITH THE TWO TURNINGS

I CANNOT say how long I lay bereft of sense, but on coming to myself it was with no little satisfaction that I ascertained the comparatively trifling nature of my injuries. Beyond a trivial flesh wound in my side-it would seem that the dagger must have providentially glanced off the steel buckle on the strap of my blue doublet-and a score or so of bruises, which were unlikely to cause me more than a merely temporary stiffness, I had in point of fact passed practically unscathed through the terrible ordeal which I had encountered.

I raised my head and strove to gaze about me. Alas! I had miscalculated my strength, and with a groan I fell back again upon the pallet, for the unfamiliar surroundings began to dance before me, my throat was parched with an intolerable thirst, a burning pain shot through my temples. The very movement seemed to have aroused a thousand devils in my body.

For a while I lay motionless and tried to recollect myself. Where was I? I recalled the Mercato, the apparition of my friend of the stool, and my escape. And after? My fevered brain pulsed with the effort, wavered, finally refused its office. I knew nothing, could think of nothing. When all was said and done, what did it matter? I was alive, faint, dizzy, yet alive. The symptoms would pass off in time. It was sufficient that I was alive.

And then that maddening thirst came over me afresh, and but one thought possessed me. Through my clinging lips I gasped for water. But I was alone, and there was none to answer me. The realisation

Then one man flung a stone, and as von Reinhold in a final despairing effort struck before him wildly, a shower of missiles hurtled through the air.

An instant later and a new ruler would have reigned in Naples. But it was not to be, for at that moment, creeping unperceived behind them, Providence interposed in Donna Claudia.

Some spark of womanly tenderness kindled itself within her. Heedless of the fact that in that grovelling morsel of humanity lay the success or failure of the insurrection, the realisation of the liberties of the people, she darted forward and covered the Viceroy with her body.

The mob wavered at the sight of her.

"Donna Claudia! Donna Claudia!" they shouted, as they swayed tumultuously. But one more savage than the rest slinked forward with a menace.

"We want no women here. This is man's work and no woman's. Begone and leave us to our vengeance!" And he poised a stone, about to throw it.

Quick as a flash and fearlessly, Donna Claudia stepped up to him. Seizing the knave by the scruff of the neck, she shook him as a terrier might shake a rat.

"Man's work!" she scoffed. "Ay, this is man's work. Viceroy or not Viceroy, it was before this selfsame quivering corpulence that you writhed yesterday in all the meekness of your servitude. Man's work, you say! Has the worm then turned at last? Or does it take a score of you to battle with a cringing coward? A sorry pack of heroes! If there be the semblance of a man among you let me behold him venture within sword-reach of this brave soldier here. What! Do you flinch, most valiant citizens? Of a truth, it is man's work to stone a helpless victim. It is man's work to keep his distance from the dog that bites in answer. Like yelping curs, you choose the safer part, my gentlemen! Back to your kennels. Back!"

She pushed the people from her with her hands. Her hair was unbound and streaming in a wave: she towered

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above the others like some avenging fury. Before the suddenness of her movement the crowd recoiled and quailed. Sharply she inclined her head in the direction of von Reinhold, and her voice rang out imperiously.

"You stand gaping there like a country hind, sir soldier! Body of me! I have no patience with you men. Pick up your master. Are you blind, or dumb, or paralysed? In Heaven's name, drag that ton of flesh into the carriage. Back, you rabble! Would you bandy words with Claudia!"

Von Reinhold sprang towards the Viceroy. The Duke lay on his back, scrabbling in the dust in the extremity of terror, his forehead bleeding, and his face distorted. With wellnigh superhuman energy von Reinhold lifted him in his arms and hurled himself into the carriage.

There was a cry of warning from the lips of Donna Claudia. Even as the door of the vehicle closed upon them, she snatched the whip and, leaping on the coachbox, lashed the horses.

"This is man's work!" she cried. "We need no women here." And she cut at the rabble as they caught the reins.

The spirited Spanish horses reared and tore madly forward, amid the shrill curses of the baffled populace: faster and faster until it seemed as if but a miracle could save them from disaster. The gaudily-painted coach rocked to the verge of overturning, creaked in every joint, threatened to part asunder with the violence of the strain. Clinging to the silken embroideries within, von Reinhold raised himself with difficulty and shouted to Donna Claudia to moderate the pace. The only answer was a shrill cry of derision as she plied her whip with even more energy than hitherto.

With a "Way! Way for Claudia!" the intrepid driver plunged round the corner of the Palace, flung herself into the very thick of the mob, which in unceasing numbers was pouring down Toledo. Caught as it were between two fires-the rabble had broken from the dismantled gates, and was pursuing the vehicle with

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