Written in her pretty little running hand, it began with the usual address of "caro signor;" but my heart leaped, on finding the fair girl using the frank and more endearing phrase of "anima mia." The viscontessa begged to be remembered to me: she had lost an enormous sum at faro last night, with the last of her suite of brilliants. Luigi was slowly recovering from the effects of his wound; but his peace of mind was gone for ever. To hasten his recovery, his mother had thrice vowed a solemn pilgrimage to the cave of St. Rosalia, in Sicily; but had as often abandoned the attempt, and vowed candles to San Ugo instead: since which he had begun to recover more rapidly, and all at the villa had no doubt that the saint had interceded in his behalf. She applauded my conduct at Scylla; and, to me, her praise was more valuable, and more highly prized, than that of the generals. She had perused all the despatches in the _Gazetta Britannica_, and her heart had leaped alternately with pride and joy—with fear and horror—at the narration. "Oh! Claude," she continued, "you know not how proud I am of you: how I rejoice at your escape! But Francesca, my sister—my unhappy sister!—we can discover no trace of her: her fate is enveloped in mystery. We have every horror to fear; for Petronio the Bishop of Cosenza, though deemed a saint by the peasantry, is a bold and bad-hearted man; and, Francesca in his power!—oh! Madonna! Would that you could visit us: her loss and Luigi’s illness fill us with perplexity and dismay." Next day, I despatched an answer by the chasseur, promising to solicit the general for a few days’ leave of absence, to visit the villa. But this idea was never realized in the manner I expected; as I was despatched, on urgent duty, to the Adriatic shore, a day or two afterwards. *CHAPTER XIV.* *NAVARRO.—REVENGE!* Although I had no doubt that this honourable personage, for the purpose of disgracing me or endangering my life, had, in that true national spirit of revenge of which every day brought forth some new example, forged the letter which Gascoigne received; still I had not sufficient proof of the fact, either to "call him out," or place him under arrest. We met daily in the garrison, and glances of undisguised hostility from him were duly answered by those of contempt from me: but such a state of things, between men wearing swords, could not endure long.