"I deemed it politic to say so, for he has some dark end in view. I did not like the sudden and sinister smile which replaced the gloom of his sullen visage. You observed it? By St. John of Malta! were our cattle not tired with these rugged mountain roads, I would rather have passed the night in my saddle than under his roof. A few miles further would have brought us to the town of Belcastro: but there is no help for it now." My companion was not deceived. Animated by a fear that we had discovered his correspondence with the French leader, and by a wish to possess himself of my despatches to transmit them to the same personage; eager, also, to gratify the deep-rooted hatred he bore to Castelermo, he secretly determined to murder us both, and in cold blood. The bullet or poniard had been his first resolve; but dreading discovery, and the arrival of the supposed brigade, poison became his next resource. But I am anticipating. The change in his manner was too abrupt and bare-faced to pass without exciting our suspicions. *CHAPTER XXI.* *SEQUEL TO THE STORY OF CASTELERMO.* While Signor Belcastro scanned the star-lighted valley to trace the march of those troops whom he had no wish to see, servants laid a hasty supper of various cold meats, boiled maccheroni, and fruit, all of which were very acceptable to the cavaliere and myself; we were well appetized by our ride over the mountains, exposed to a keen tramontana, or north wind, which had been blowing for the last two hours. "Be seated, gentlemen!" said our host, as he took the head of the table. "Will you not lay aside your swords?" "We have been so much accustomed to them of late, that mine is no encumbrance." "Nor mine," said Marco, bestowing on me a glance so peculiar, that I refrained from unclasping my belt. There was so much blunt distrust in this, that the face of Belcastro flushed. "Shall we not have the pleasure of seeing the signora at supper?" said Marco, as he spread his table napkin, and attacked a plate of cold roasted meat, affecting to be unconscious that he stung Belcastro to the quick by the question. "I regret that she is indisposed," he replied, regarding the cavalier with furtive glances, his eyes burning like red sparks beneath his shaggy brows; "seriously so: but, indeed, she never appears before visitors." "So I have heard at Palermo," said Marco, drily, and in the same peculiar tone, while the face of Belcastro grew purple and the gash black; though he continued his supper with apparent composure. "’T is said, signor," continued his tormentor, "that being jealous of her surpassing beauty, you keep her a little too close, after the old Italian fashion. I have heard the captive lady of Belcastro spoken of more than once at the Sicilian court; and truly, but that the days of chivalry are gone by, our grand master would have sent a squadron of his best knights to summon your stronghold——"