Full of triumph at his victory and discovery, honest Giacomo skipped about on the very edge of the cliff, dancing the tarantella like a madman. "Thrice blessed be our holy Lady of Oppido, who led us this way to-night. O, happiness! O, joy to the capitanessa!" he exclaimed. "Ah, signor! you know not what she has endured. The whole garrison has been turned upside down: the Signora Bianca is distracted; the visconte, the Conte di Palmi, and Signor Olivero Lascelles have been incessantly beating the woods in search of you, so far as they dared venture. And Giacomo—O, triumph!—is the finder! It is an era in my life: Annina herself dare not be coy after this!" Giacomo’s Italian enthusiasm displayed itself in a thousand antics; and it was not until we saw a party of the French tirailleurs (whom the firing had alarmed) advancing up the opposite bank to reconnoitre, that we prepared to retire. It was now night: favoured by the moon, we forded the river at a convenient place, and taking our way through the woods between Fiumara and Scylla, we eluded the vigilance of the French picquets. In an hour I found myself safe within the walls, gates, and gun-batteries of my garrison; where my sudden return caused a burst of universal joy. Breaking away from Luigi, my brother-officers and soldiers, who crowded clamorously round me, I hurried to the apartments of Bianca. All was silent when I entered, and the flickering rays of a night-lamp revealed to me the confusion my absence had created. Bianca’s music, her guitar, her daily work, the embroidery, her books and drawings, lay all forgotten, and huddled in a corner, poor papagallo croaked desolately in his cage: for he, too, had been deserted, and his seed-box was empty. A row of vases, which Bianca used to tend everyday, had been forgotten; and the flowers had drooped and withered. The whole sleeping-chamber wore an air of disorder and neglect; her bed appeared not to have been slept in since I had left; for my scarlet sash lay on it, just where I had thrown it the night I left Scylla. Above all, I was shocked with the appearance of the poor girl: reclining on a sofa, she lay sleeping on the bosom of Annina; who also was buried in a heavy slumber: both were evidently wearied with watching and sorrow. Bianca was pale as death: her beautiful hair streamed in disorder over her white neck and polished shoulder; and shining tears were oozing from her long dark lashes. She was weeping in her sleep, and the palor of her angelic beauty was rendered yet stronger by comparison with the olive brow and rosy cheeks of the waiting-maid. I was deeply moved on beholding her thus: but I never felt so supremely happy as at the moment, when, gently putting my arm round her, I awoke her to joy, and dispelled those visions of sorrow which floated through her dreams. *CHAPTER XXI.* *JOYS OF A MILITARY HONEYMOON.*