Just when the troops were getting silently under arms in a sheltered place, near an old, gloomy, and empty convent, I went to the rallying post. The spirited Cavaliere di Castelermo earnestly requested the general to allow him the honour of heading the dangerous enterprise; but his services, his high courage and birth, and his commander’s cross, availed him nothing in the present instance. Sir John politely thanked him; and hinted, as delicately as he could, that a British officer alone could lead where British soldiers were to follow. "Signor Count," replied the Italian bitterly, "there was a time when the cross of St. John was valued more highly—when its wearers _followed_ none; but alone led the way. It has pleased Fate to try us sorely, like the Templars of other days: we have been deprived of our ships, our castles, and our possessions, of all but our name and glory; yet I trust there is a time to come when once more the banner of Malta will be what it was—what it has been ever since the accursed Mussulmans captured Rhodez: the shield of the Christian mariner, and the terror of the African barbarian!" The restoration of his order to all its chivalric glory and military power, was one of Castelermo’s darling themes; and one about which he bored me for many a long hour. Poor Marco! he was doomed never to behold the realization of those gay visions of his bold and heroic fancy. "Yet, signor," he continued, "if I cannot lead in the assault, I will endeavour to be the second man within the breach." "Young Morley, of the 20th, has sent in his name," said Gascoigne; who at that moment approached, with a number of notes in his hand. "The little fool!" muttered the general; "poor boy—he has seen little enough of life yet to be in such a hurry to quit it. Does he lead the stormers?" "No—Dundas, of ours," replied Gascoigne, who was a 62nd man. "So you mean to lead ’the lost children’ to-night," he added to me. "No, faith! a company is not got every day, and——" "Your name is on my list as a volunteer, though!" "The deuce it is!" I exclaimed, gravely; "I never sent it to you." "Amazing!" said he, handing me a note, written in a hand and signed with a signature so like my own—having every blot, turn, and dash—that I was confounded and nonplussed. "I never penned this note, gentlemen! Never! I pledge my honour: it is a forgery, to lead me into unnecessary danger." "Singular!" said the brigade-major, puzzled. "’T is the roguery of Navarro," whispered Marco: "I will wager a hundred crowns to a carlino, this is a piece of his revenge." "Dundas, there is no time for inquiry or exposure just now," said Colonel Oswald. "What do you propose—to withdraw your name?"