"Ha!" cried the notary, springing up; "’t is the calessiero returned at last. Thou loitering villain! I will teach you how to respect a member of the Grand Civil court of Sicily." He opened the door, and—horror!—instead of the humble and apologizing postilion, there stood the tall athletic form of Baptistello Varro, clad in his glittering bandit costume. Had the notary encountered thus the great head of his profession, face to face, he could not have been more overwhelmed with dismay: he seemed absolutely to shrink in size before the stern gaze of the formidable robber; whose entrance scarcely less alarmed the old priest, the poor improvisatore, and myself. But, remembering my former adventures with Varro, I was not without hope of escape. The albergo was crowded with his savage followers, and we were all dragged roughly forth as prisoners. The notary’s hired calesso was undergoing a thorough search: the lining was all torn out, and every pannel and cushion were pierced and slashed; while the contents of his trunks and mails were scattered in every direction, and flying on the breeze. In his green bag were found a thousand ducats. "Villain!" exclaimed Baptistello, as he threw the gold pieces on the sward, "there is more than we would deem sufficient to ransom ten such earth-worms as thee: yet this is but a half of the sum I deposited in the hollow tree at St. Eufemio. I am a robber—true: but I gain my desperate living bravely in the wilderness, by perilling my life hourly; while _thou_, too, art a thief, but of the most despicable and cowardly description—a legalized plunderer of widows and orphans—a vampire who preys on the very vitals of the community—a smooth-faced masterpiece of villany: in short, wretch, thou art a notary. Remember the ransom of my father’s head—the dungeons—the chains and the scourge. Ha! remember, too, that thou art alone with me on the wild mountains of Calabria: so, kneel to the God above us; for the last sands of thy life are ebbing fast." And he dashed him to the earth. "O, signor—O, excellency—mercy!" craved the notary, grovelling in the dust; but the fierce robber only grinned, showing his pearl-white teeth; as leaning on his rifle he surveyed him with an air of triumphant malice and supreme contempt. "Mercy! I implore you, by the blood of Gennaro the blessed! Mercy, as you hope for it at your dying day! I will repay the money. I will no longer be a notary, but an honest man." "Wretch! such mercy will be given as tigers give," cried the ferocious Baptistello, spurning the poor man with his foot, and holding aloft his crucifix. "By this holy symbol of our salvation, I have sworn that thy head shall pay the forfeit for my father’s!" The brigand kissed it. Though all hope died away in the heart of the notary, he still poured forth a jargon of alternate prayers, threats, and entreaties: his agony was terrible; for at that moment forty of the "sharpest practice" were about to be accounted for.