THE APPEAL
On the iron balcony of a house in the vicinity of the parish prison the two Sicilian girls were standing. Across from them loomed the great decaying structure with its little iron-barred windows and its steel-ribbed doors behind which lay their countrymen. From inside came the echo of a great hammering, as if a gallows were being erected; but the square and the streets outside were quiet.
"What time is it now?" Oliveta had repeated this question already a dozen times.
"It is after ten."
"I hear nothing as yet, do you?"
"Nothing!"
"We could hear if it were not for that dreadful pounding yonder in the jail."
"Hush! They are building barricades."
The peasant girl gasped and seized the iron railing in front of her.
"Madonna mia! I am dying. Do you think Signore Blake will y
