CHAPTER XXVI.
THE COUNT UNMASKS "And now," said Uncle John, as he sat in their cosy sitting-room, propped in an easy chair with his feet upon a stool, "it's about time for you to give an account of yourselves, you young rascals." They had eaten a late but very satisfactory dinner at the Castello-a-Mare, where the return of the missing ones was hailed with joy by the proprietor and his assistants.

Even the little bewhiskered head-waiter, who resembled a jack-in-the-box more than he did a man, strove to celebrate the occasion by putting every good thing the house afforded before the returned guests.

For, although they dared not interfere to protect the victims of the terrible Il Duca, the hotel people fully recognized the fact that brigandage was not a good advertisement for Taormina, and hoped the "little incident" would not become generally known.
Old Silas Watson, dignified lawyer as he was, actually danced a hornpipe when he beheld his old friend safe and sound.

But he shook his head reproachfully when he learned of the adventure his ward and the two girls had undertaken with such temerity but marvelous success.
Beth had quickly recovered from her weakness, although Kenneth had insisted on keeping her arm all the way home.

But the girl had been silent and thoughtful, and would eat nothing at dinner.
When they had gathered in their room to talk it all over the lawyer thought his young friends deserved a reproof.
"The money wasn't worth the risk, you crazy lunatics!" he said.
"It wasn't the money at all," replied Patsy, demurely.
"No ?" "It was the principle of the thing.