"Oh, abomination! ’t is Truffi, the devil—Gaspare, the hunchback! Malediction and revenge!" The men scattered in pursuit of the assassin, armed with knives, clubs, ox-goads, and such weapons as they could snatch on the instant; leaving the old Franciscan and women on their knees lamenting over the hapless victim of revenge, thus cruelly cut off when her young and buoyant heart was bounding with love and joy. "Gaspare!" I ejaculated, leaping on my horse to join in the pursuit; "is this devil everywhere? Can this gnome of the woods be dogging my footsteps? Could this death-shot have been intended for me?" But the Franciscan informed me that the cripple had been a disappointed suitor, and that, ugly and venomous as he was, this overgrown reptile professed love for the village girl, and had made a solemn vow of vengeance on the woodman. I was exasperated beyond measure at this deplorable outrage, and assisted in the fruitless pursuit as long as it was possible for me to do so, consistently with the general’s order. Finding that I had far outstripped the villagers and was alone among the mountains, I turned my horse’s head eastward, and pursued my journey: not consoled by the recollection that deeds as dark were committed in the wild county of Tipperary when I was quartered there. *CHAPTER XII.* *THE HERMITAGE.* Reflecting on the recent catastrophe, I rode for some time absorbed in mournful thought, from which I was aroused by the peculiar sound of Cartouche’s hoofs ringing on hard pavement. On looking about, and finding that I was riding over some old Roman way, the aged hermit, whom the young ladies had requested me to visit, came to my remembrance: for in answer to my inquiries at Policastro, as to his residence, I had been informed that a causeway of unknown antiquity led to his hermitage.