A few days after our arrival we had the castello filled with milliners from Palermo, and the ladies were constantly clustered in deep consultation around the duchess in her boudoir; the visconte was joyous and gay—a fête was evidently approaching: he was about to espouse his cousin, with all the splendour that wealth could yield, and the imposing pomp of the Catholic Church impart; and (to be brief) I found myself on the same happy footing with my dear little Bianca, without the portentous question having been asked. It was all quite understood: we had made no secret of our mutual attachment, which was revealed by every gentle word and tender glance. Our marriage was the earnest wish of Santugo and the vicontessa; and as for her principal relative, the withered little Prince of St. Agata, as the girl was without a ducat, he cared not a straw who became her husband. The day before the auspicious one, old Fra Adriano came jogging up to the castello on his ambling mule, in the execution of his office as family confessor, to confess us all, according to the Italian custom, before marriage. To this I objected, first with a joke, and then gravely; much to the horror of the reverend friar: he turned up his eyes, and muttering "ahi! eretico!" went in search of Bianca, who confessed to him—Heaven knows what! So innocent a being could have nothing to reveal, save her own happiness and joy. Adriano had scarcely left me, when I saw a sergeant, in the welcome and well-known uniform of my own regiment, ascending the steep avenue to the castle porch. "What can be the matter now?" thought I; and at such a time—the deuce! "Well, Gask, what news from the corps, and what has brought you here?" said I, as he entered the room and stood straight as his half-pike, which he held advanced. "Take a chair, man," I added, with that kind familiarity with which an officer ought always to greet a soldier of his own regiment in a strange place. "Sir, I have brought a letter from Sir John Stuart. Being on my way to join the garrison at Scylla castle, he sent me over in a gun-boat from Messina, that I might deliver this; which he was anxious you should receive without delay." I tore open the note. It ran thus;— "_Messina, Tuesday morning_. "DEAR DUNDAS,—Join your garrison at Scylla without a moment’s delay: General Sherbrooke threatens to supersede you, and order you to join the ’Wiltshire’ at Syracuse; as he understands that you attend more to the ladies than H.M.’s service. Massena and Regnier are concentrating forces in Upper Calabria; the chiefs of the Masse are wavering; and you may expect more broken heads by Christmas. Adieu! I start for London to-morrow. "I am, &c. &c., "J. STUART, Major-General." "So, Gask, you are bound for Scylla?" said I, glad the note contained only a friendly hint. "Yes, sir." "You will go with me, as it is unsafe for you to travel alone in such a country as this. I set out the day after to-morrow."