"Lights here! Olà, Baptistello! a light, you loitering whelp," he cried with the voice of one in no pleasant mood. In less than a minute, servants had lighted the wax candles of three gigantic girandoles, and we had a better view of our host. He was past the meridian of life, and his countenance, which I have already characterized as forbidding, was rendered yet more so by a hideous cicatrix, as from the gash of a sword-cut, which grew purple and black alternately. He bowed to us with frigid hauteur, and then surveyed with a peculiar glance the tall and noble figure of Castelermo. The latter changed colour on beholding the scar, but said with a stern aspect, after a pause,— "How now, Signor Galdino! do you take me for a lynx, a torpedo, the devil, or what, that you look on me thus?" "For none of these," he answered, coldly; "but say who are ye, signori, that force yourselves upon my privacy uninvited?" "I am an officer of his Britannic Majesty’s service—Luogoteniente di Fanteria nel servizio Britanica—and a bearer of despatches." The cavaliere bowed. "And _I_ the Cavaliere di Castelermo, Knight Commander of Malta, and an officer of the Free Calabri: as such, I demand your reasons for firing upon us like some base brigand, thus committing both treason and sacrilege." "By the ancient customs of Calabria, common to the land since the days of Count Roger the First, I may defend my residence against the intrusion of all men. As for the treason, cospetto! I care little whether Buonaparte or Ferdinand is our ruler; and as for the sacrilege, I can answer for that where, when, and how you will!" His fingers played convulsively with a little stiletto, which hung half concealed beneath the lapelle of his embroidered vest. "Rest assured, Signor Galdino, that I am not slow in literally translating the hint; but recollect that, as a cavaliere of birth and honour, I would scorn to put my life in the scale with a traitor’s!" "How?" exclaimed Belcastro, starting forward with rage. Castelermo held before his eyes the paper he had picked up, and our host changed colour beneath the cold, sarcastic smile of the knight. He started as if to summon his people, but paused—a sudden thought seemed to occur to him; he gulped down his fury, his brows became smooth, and a ghastly smile curled his sinister lip. "Eh, via signori! you are now under my roof; the ways are dangerous hereabout; you cannot proceed; and I must not forget that hospitality which courtesy renders imperative. Let us say no more of that unlucky wall-piece, which in a moment of irritation I discharged. My residence is seldom favoured by peaceful visitors. But are any more of King Ferdinand’s people—troops, I mean—likely to pass this way soon?" "A brigade of British are entering the valley, and will probably arrive here after midnight." Our host looked displeased, and turned to one of the windows, while I glanced inquiringly at Castelermo, who whispered—