But on nearing the Villa Belcastro a change came over the scenery: the country seemed deserted, or inhabited only by the lynx, the wolf, and wild boar; muddy cascades roared down over the red scaurs of the mountains; and a wide pathless wood of dark Italian pines and tall cypresses, sombre and gloomy, surrounded the ancient edifice. The picturesque towers of the villa were perched on the summit of a rock that reared up its jagged front immediately before us; but we were unable to penetrate the tangled growth of underwood that intervened, so thickly interwoven with creeping wild plants that it seemed like an Indian jungle. Buffaloes—a species of cattle introduced into Italy during the seventh, century—browsed in the marshy places, and at times a lynx or polecat shot through the forest, or an eagle screamed from the rocks. The white walls and striking façade of the villa shone in the warm light of the western sky, and from one of the four turrets at the angles of the edifice, which were covered with elaborate stonework projecting like a heavy cornice, we saw a standard slowly hoisted and unfurled to the breeze. Our scarlet uniforms had probably led the inmates to suppose that British troops were in the valley below. "Basta!" exclaimed Castelermo, "’tis the veritable castle of an ogre this! Cavaliere Galdino must be seldom troubled with visitors. I see not a trace of road or pathway to his hermitage on the cliffs yonder." "I trust we shall reach it before nightfall: a ride in the dark through such a wilderness would not be very pleasant, and evening is closing fast." While I was speaking, the last segment of the sun’s crimson disk sank behind the green ridge of hills from which we had descended; the long, dark shadow cast by the villa-crowned rock across the wooded valley faded away; the Apennines grew dark, and the sombre tints of evening deepened rapidly. "Signora," said Castelermo to an old woman who was filling a jar at a fountain, and whose grim aspect declared her to be the spouse of a charcoal-burner, "is there any path to the villa on this side of the mountains?" "Through the woods there is a way, signor cavaliere," said the woman, setting down her jar, and endeavouring to hide her bare bosom; for her attire was of the most wretched description. "But it is a troublesome road, and perilous too; and you will only lose your labour—for none get entrance there. The sbirri keep guard day and night with their rifles loaded; and more than one poor peasant has been shot—mistaken for a Frenchman, perhaps. "So the cavaliere yet contrives to maintain his quota of sbirri in arms?" said Marco. "Yes, signor illustrissimo," replied the poor woman, glancing furtively round her; "but, ahimé! such ruffians! They are slaves who have escaped, bravoes, banditti, and the worst malefactors of Naples, who wear his livery; and, bearing arms in his name, they commit such outrages that the very relation would make you shudder, cavalieri!"