‘NTONI MALAVOGLIA did meet Don Michele, and “gave him his change,” and a very ugly business it was. It was by night, when it rained in torrents, and so dark that even a cat could have seen nothing at the turn on the down which leads to the Rotolo, whence those boats put out so quietly, making believe to be fishing for cod at midnight, and where ‘Ntoni and Rocco Spatu, and Cinghialenta and other good-for-nothing fellows well known to the coast-guard, used to hang about with pipes in their mouths the guards knew those pipes well, and could distinguish them perfectly one from an-other as they moved about among the rocks where they lay hidden with their guns in their hands.

“Cousin Mena,” said Don Michele, passing once more down the black street “ Cousin Mena, tell your brother not to go to the Rotolo of nights with Cinghialenta and Rocco Spatu.”

But ‘Ntoni would not listen, for “ the empty stom-ach has no ears “; and he no longer feared Don Michele since he had rolled over with him hand to hand on the floor of the tavern, and he had sworn, too, to “give him the rest of it,” and he would give him the rest of it whenever he met him; and he wasn’t going to pass for a coward in the eyes of Santuzza and the rest who had been present when he threatened him. “ I said I’d give him the rest when I met him next, and so I will; and if he chooses to meet me at the Rotolo, I’ll meet him at the Ro-tolo!” he repeated to his companions, who had also brought with them the son of La Locca. They had passed the evening at the tavern drinking and roaring, for a tavern is like a free port, and no one can be sent out of it as long as they have money to pay their score and to rattle in their pockets. Don Michele had gone by on his rounds, but Rocco Spatu, who knew the law, said, spitting and leaning against the wall the better to balance himself, that as long as the lamp at the door was lighted they could not turn them out. “We have a right to stay so long!” he repeated. ‘Ntoni Malavoglia also enjoyed keeping Santuzza from going to bed, as she sat behind her glasses yawning and dozing. In the mean time Uncle Santoro, feeling his way about with his hands, had put the lamp out and shut the door.

“Now be off!” said Santuzza, “ I don’t choose to be fined, for your sake, for keeping my door open at this hour.”

“Who’ll fine you? That spy Don Michele? Let him come here, and I’ll pay him his fine! Tell him he’ll find ‘Ntoni Malavoglia here, by Our Lady’s blood.”

Meanwhile the Santuzza had taken him by the shoulders and put him out of the door: “ Go and tell him yourself, and get into scrapes somewhere else. I don’t mean to get into trouble with the police for love of your bright eyes.”

‘Ntoni, finding himself in the street in this unceremonious fashion, pulled out a long knife, and swore that he would stab both Santuzza and Don Michele. Cinghialenta was the only one who had his senses, and he pulled him by the coat, saying: “Leave them alone now! Have you forgotten what we have to do to-night?”

La Locca’s son felt greatly inclined to cry.

“He’s drunk,” observed Spatu, standing under the rain-pipe. “ Bring him here under the pipe; it will do him good.”

‘Ntoni, quieted a little by the drenching he got from the rain-pipe, let himself be drawn along by Cinghialenta, scolding all the while, swearing that as sure as he met Don Michele he’d give him what he had promised him. All of a sudden he found himself face to face with Don Michele who was also prowling in the vicinity, with his pistols at his belt and his trousers thrust into his boots. ‘Ntoni became quite calm all of a sudden, and they all stole off silently in the direction of Vanni Pizzuti’s shop. When they reached the door, now that Don Michele was no longer near them, ‘Ntoni insisted that they should stop and listen to what he had to say.

“Did you see where Don Michele was going? and Santuzza said she was sleepy!”

“Leave Don Michele alone, can’t you?” said Cin-ghialenta; “that way he won’t interfere with us.”

“You’re all a lot of cowards,” said ‘Ntoni. “You’re afraid of Don Michele.”

“To-night you’re drunk,” said Cinghialenta, “but I’ll show you whether I’m afraid of Don Michele. Now that I’ve told my uncle, I don’t mean to have anybody coming bothering after me, finding out how I earn my bread.”

Then they began to talk under their breath, drawn up against the wall, while the noise of the rain drowned their voices. Suddenly the clock struck, and they all stood silent, counting the strokes.

“Let’s go into Cousin Pizzuti’s,” said Cinghia-lenta. “ He can keep his door open as late as he likes, and doesn’t need to have a light.”

“It’s dark, I can’t see,” said La Locca’s son.

“We ought to take something to drink,” said Roc-co Spatu,” or we shall break our noses on the rocks.”

Cinghialenta growled: “As if we were just out for our pleasure! Now you’ll be wanting Master Vanni to give you a lemonade.”

“I have no need of lemonade,” said ‘Ntoni. “You’ll see when I get to work if I can’t manage as well as any of you.”

Cousin Pizzuti didn’t want to open the door at that hour, and replied that he had gone to bed; but as they wouldn’t leave off knocking, and threatened to wake up the whole place and bring the guards into the affair, he consented to get up, and opened the door, in his drawers.

“Are you mad, to knock in that way?” he exclaimed. “ I saw Don Michele pass just now.”

“Yes; we saw him too.”

“Do you know where he came from?” asked Pizzuti, looking sharply at him.

‘Ntoni shrugged his shoulders; and Vanni, as he stood out of the way to let them pass, winked to Rocco and Cinghialenta. “ He’s been at the Mala-voglia’s,” he whispered. “ I saw him come out.”

“Much good may it do him!” answered Cinghia-lenta; “ but ‘Ntoni ought to tell his sister to keep him when we have anything to do.”

“What do you want of me?” said ‘Ntoni, thickly.

“Nothing to-night. Never mind. To-night we can do nothing.”

“If we can do nothing to-night, why did you bring me away from the tavern?” said Rocco Spatu. “I’m wet through.”

“It was something else that we were speaking of;” and Vanni continued: “Yes, the man has come from town, and he says the goods are there, but it will be no joke trying to land them in such weather as this.”

“So much the better; no one will be looking out for us.”

“Yes, but the guards have sharp ears, and mind you, it seems to me that I heard some one prowling about just now, and trying to look into the shop.”

A moment’s silence ensued, and Vanni, to put an end to it, brought out three glasses and filled them with bitters.

“I don’t care about the guard!” cried Rocco Spatu, after he had drunk. “ So much the worse for them if they meddle in my business. I’ve got a little knife here that is better than all their pis-tols, and makes no noise, either.”

“We. earn our bread the best way we can,” said Cinghialenta, “ and don’t want to do anybody harm. Isn’t one to get one’s goods on shore where one likes?”

“They go swaggering about, a lot of thieves, making us pay double for every handkerchief that we want to land, and nobody shoots them,” added ‘Ntoni Malavoglia. “ Do you know what Don Giammaria said? That to rob thieves was not stealing. And the worst of thieves are those fel-lows in uniform, who eat us up alive.”

“I’ll mash them into pulp!” concluded Rocco Spatu, with his eyes shining like a cat’s.

But this conversation did not please La Locca’s son at all, and he set his glass clown again without drinking, white as a corpse.

“Are you drunk already?” asked Cinghialenta.

“No,” he replied, “ I did not drink.”

“Come into the open air; it will do us all good. Good-night.”

“One moment,” cried Pizzuti, with the door in his hand. “I don’t mean for the money for the bitters; that I have given you freely, because you are my friends; but listen, between ourselves, eh? If you are successful, mind, I am here, and my house. You know I’ve a room at the back, big enough to hold a ship-load of goods, and nobody likely to think of it, for Don Michele and his guards are hand-and-glove with me. I don’t trust Cousin Goosefoot; the last time he threw me over, and put everything into Don Silvestro’s house. Don Silvestro is never contented with a reasonable profit, but asks an awful price, on the ground that he risks his place; but I have no such motive, and

I ask no more than is reasonable. And I never refused Goosefoot his percentage, either, and give him his drinks free, and shave him for nothing. But, the devil take him! if he plays me such a trick again I’ll show him that I am not to be fooled in that way. I’ll go to Don Michele and blow the whole business.”

“How it rains!” said Spatu. “ Isn’t it going to leave off to-night?”

“With this weather there’ll be no one at the Ro-tolo,” said La Locca’s son. “ Wouldn’t it be better to go home?”

‘Ntoni, Rocco, and Cinghialenta, who stood on the door-step listening in silence to the rain, which hissed like fish in the frying-pan, stopped a moment, looking into the darkness.

“Be still, you fool!” cried Cinghialenta, and Vanni Pizzuti closed the door softly, after adding, in an undertone:

“Listen. If anything happens, you did not see me this evening. The bitters I gave you out of good-will, but you haven’t been in my house. Don’t betray me; I am alone in the world.”

The others went off surlily, close to the wall, in the rain. “ And that one, too!” muttered Cinghia-lenta. “And he’s to get off because he has no-body in the world, and abuses Goosefoot. At least Goosefoot has a wife. And I have a wife, too. But the balls are good enough for me.”

Just then they passed, very softly, before Cousin

Anna’s closed door, and Rocco Spatu murmured that he had his mother, too, who was at that moment fast asleep, luckily for her. “Whoever can stay between the sheets in this weather isn’t likely to be about, certainly,” concluded Cousin Cinghia-lenta.

‘Ntoni signed to them to be quiet, and to turn down by the alley, so as not to pass before his own door, where Mena or his grandfather might be watching for him, and might hear them.

Mena was, in truth, watching for her brother behind the door, with her rosary in her hand; and Lia, too, without saying why she was there, but pale as the dead. And better would it have been for them all if ‘Ntoni had passed by the black street, instead of going round by the alley. Don Michele had really been there a little after sunset, and had knocked at the door.

“Who comes at this hour?” said Lia, who was hemming on the sly a certain silk kerchief which Don Michele had at last succeeded in inducing her to accept.

“It is I, Don Michele. Open the door; I must speak to you; it is most important.”

“I can’t open the door. They are all in bed but my sister, who is watching for my brother ‘Ntoni.”

“If your sister does hear you open the door it is no matter. It is precisely of ‘Ntoni I wish to speak, and it is most important. I don’t want your brother to go to the galleys. But open the door; if they see me here I shall lose my place.”

“O blessed Virgin!” cried the girl. “ O blessed Virgin Mary!”

“Lock him into the house to-night when he comes back. But don’t tell him I told you to. Tell him he must not go out. He must not!”

“O Virgin Mary! O blessed Mary!” repeated Lia, with folded hands.

“He is at the tavern now, but he must pass this way. Wait for him at the door, or it will be the worse for him.”

Lia wept silently, lest her sister should hear her, with her face hidden in her hands, and Don Michele watched her, with his pistols in his belt, and his trousers thrust into his boots.

“There is no one who weeps for me or watches for me this night, Cousin Lia, but I, too, am in dan-ger, like your brother; and if any misfortune should happen to me, think how I came to-night to warn you, and how I have risked my bread for you more than once.””

Then Lia lifted up her face, and looked at Don Michele with her large tearful eyes. “ God reward you for your charity, Don Michele!”

“I haven’t done it for reward, Cousin Lia; I have done it for you, and for the love I bear to you.”

“Now go, for they are all asleep. Go, for the love of God, Don Michele!”

And Don Michele went, and she stayed by the door, weeping and praying that God would send her brother that way. But the Lord did not send him that way. All four of them ‘Ntoni, Cinghia-lenta, Rocco Spatu, and the son of La Locca went softly along the wall of the alley; and when they came out upon the down they took off their shoes and carried them in their hands, and stood still to listen.

“I hear nothing,” said Cinghialenta.

The rain continued to fall, and from the top of the cliff nothing could be heard save the moaning of the sea below.

“One can’t even see to swear,” said Rocco Spatu. “How will they manage to climb the cliff in this darkness?”

“They all know the coast, foot by foot, with their eyes shut. They are old hands,” replied Cin-ghialenta.

“But I hear nothing,” observed ‘Ntoni.

“It’s a fact, we can hear nothing,” said Cinghia-lenta, “but they must have been there below for some time.”

“Then we had better go home,” said the son of La Locca.

“Since you’ve eaten and drunk, you think of nothing but getting home again, but if you don’t be quiet I’ll kick you into the sea,” said Cinghia-lenta to him.

“The fact is,” said Rocco, “ that I find it a bore to spend the night here doing nothing. Now we will try if they are here or not.” And he began to hoot like an owl.

“If Don Michele’s guard hears that they will be down on us directly, for on these wet nights the owls don’t fly.”

“Then we had better go,” whined La Locca’s son, but nobody answered him.

All four looked in each other’s faces though they could see nothing, and thought of what Padron ‘Ntoni’s ‘Ntoni had just said.

“What shall we do?” asked La Locca’s son.

“Let’s go down to the road; if they are not there we may be sure they have not come,” sug-gested Cinghialenta.

‘Ntoni, while they were climbing down, said, “Goosefoot is capable of selling the lot of us for a glass of wine.”

“Now you haven’t the glass before you, you’re afraid,” said Cinghialenta.

“Come on! the devil take you! I’ll show wheth-er I’m afraid.”

While they were feeling their way cautiously down, very slowly, for fear of breaking their necks in the dark, Spatu observed:

“At this moment Vanni Pizzuti is safe in bed, and he complained of Goosefoot for getting his percentage for nothing.”

“Well,” said Cinghialenta, “if you don’t want to risk your lives, stay at home and go to bed.”

‘Ntoni, reaching down with his hands to feel where he should set his foot, could not help thinking that Master Cinghialenta would have done bet-ter not to say that, because it brought to each the image of his house, and his bed, and Mena dozing behind the door. That big tipsy brute, Rocco Spatu, said at last, “ Our lives are not worth a copper.”

“Who goes there?” they heard some one call out, all at once, behind the wall of the high-road. “Stop! stop! all of you!”

“Treachery! treachery!” they began to cry out, rushing off over the cliffs without heeding where they went.

But ‘Ntoni, who had already climbed over the wall, found himself face to face with Don Michele, who had his pistol in his hand.

“Blood of Our Lady!” cried Malavoglia, pulling out his knife. “ I’ll show you whether I’m afraid of your pistol!”

Don Michele’s pistol went off in the air, but he himself fell like a bull, stabbed in the chest. ‘Ntoni tried to escape, leaping from rock to rock like a goat, but the guards caught up with him, while the balls rattled about like hail, and threw him on the ground.

“Now what will become of my mother?” whined La Locca’s son, while they tied him up like a trussed chicken.

“Don’t pull so tight!” shouted ‘Ntoni. “Don’t you see I can’t move?”

“Go on, go on, Malavoglia; your hash is settled once for all,” they answered, driving him before them with the butts of their muskets.

While they led him up to the barracks tied up like Our Lord himself, and worse, and carried Don Michele too, on their shoulders, he looked here and there for Rocco Spatu and Cinghialenta. “ They have got off!” he said to himself. “ They have nothing more to dread, but are as safe as Vanni Pizzuti and Goosefoot are, between their sheets. Only at my house no one will sleep, now they have heard the shots.”

In fact, those poor things did not sleep, but stood at the door and watched in the rain, as if their hearts had told them what had happened; while the neighbors, hearing the shots, turned sleepily over in their beds and muttered, yawning, “We shall know tomorrow what has happened.”

Very late when the day was breaking, a crowd gathered in front of Vanni PizzutTs shop, where the light was burning and there was a great chattering.

“They have caught the smuggled goods and the smugglers too,” recounted Pizzuti, “ and Don Mi-chele has been stabbed.”

People looked at the Malavoglia’ s door, and pointed with their fingers. At last came their cousin Anna, with her hair loose, white as a sheet, and knew not what to say. Padron ‘Ntoni, as if he knew what was coming, asked, “ ‘Ntoni, where’s ‘Ntoni?”

“H............