"Pardon this intrusion—be not alarmed, reverend signor." He started; the paper fell from his hand; he closed the safe with precipitation, and grasping the gilded knobs of his arm-chair, stared at me in astonishment. Certainly my appearance was not very prepossessing: my old fighting coat, which had long since acquired a purple hue by campaigning and the blood of wounds, had become of a most unique colour, by being drenched in salt water. I was unshaven, grisly, and gaunt of visage; minus boots and hat, and my damp hair hung around my face in matted locks. "A British officer in my presence, and at this time of night!" he exclaimed. "Whence come you, sir?" he added, surveying me with a proud stern glance, which gradually melted into one more pleasant and benign. "Your name and purpose, signor?’ "Claude Dundas, a captain of the 62nd regiment, and aide-de-camp to General Sir John Stuart, now serving in the Calabrias." "Stuart—_Stuart_!" he muttered, "the times are indeed changed when—you say your name is Dundas? Which family are you of?" Though surprised at this question from an Italian lord, I satisfied him; he smiled, and said, "I know them." "Illustrissimo, I have undergone great misery during the past storm in the Gulf of Tarento, and in this condition have been wrecked: I know not upon what part of the Italian shores I have been thrown, but trust to be received with that hospitality which I, as an officer of Italy’s ally, have a right to expect." "Welcome, signor: but excuse my rising. I never rise but to equals. No Briton in distress ever sought succour from me in vain; yet little—little, truly, do these heretical islanders deserve favour at my hands! Ola, Catanio!" He rang a silver hand-bell, and an attendant, or old priest, made his appearance; who exhibited the same aspect of dismay that his master had done on beholding me. "With us, signor," said my host, "you are safe, although Massena’s soldiers swarm everywhere around us. Here you can remain in disguise until we discover some means of sending you to Calabria." "You speak my very wishes—I am deeply indebted to you! Upon what part of the coast have I been thrown?" "Near Canne, in Basilicata, a few miles from the frontier of Upper Calabria." "I am then in rear of the French lines at Cassano!" said I, aghast at the intelligence. He bowed. "Follow Catanio; change your attire, and partake of some refreshment—go! afterwards I will speak with you." He had all the air and tone of a man who through life had been accustomed to wield authority.