The three dangerous companions again whispered among themselves for
a few moments, after which they returned their daggers into the
sheath.

"Come on, then," said one of them, "follow us to our home. It were
unwise to talk over certain matters in the open streets."

"I follow you," was Abellino's answer, "but tremble should any one
of you dare to treat me as a foe. Comrade, forgive me that I gave
your ribs somewhat too hard a squeeze just now; I will be your sworn
brother in recompense."

"We are on honour," cried the banditti with one voice; "no harm
shall happen to you. He who does you an injury shall be to us as a
foe. A fellow of your humour suits us well; follow us, and fear
not."

And on they went, Abellino marching between two of them. Frequent
were the looks of suspicion which he cast around him; but no ill
design was perceptible in the banditti. They guided him onwards,
till they reached a canal, loosened a gondola, placed themselves in
it, and rowed till they had gained the most remote quarter of
Venice. They landed, threaded several by-streets, and at length
knocked at the door of a house of inviting appearance. It was
opened by a young woman, who conducted them into a plain but
comfortable chamber. Many were the looks of surprise and inquiry
which she cast on the bewildered, half-pleased, half-anxious
Abellino, who knew not whither he had been conveyed, and still
thought it unsafe to confide entirely in the promises of the
banditti.