The last flush of sunlight vanished from the hills of Milia (or Mylæ), and now rose the bright moon, shedding its softer light over land and sea; tinging the straits with silver lustre, and revealing the Sicilian feluccas, with their striped latteen sails, and other picturesque vessels, which the sombre shadows of evening had for a time obscured. At the base of the hills the river wound between rocks and thickets, its surface reflecting the innumerable stars that studded the serene blue sky. A beautiful fountain beneath the terrace threw up its jet of water like a ceaseless shower of diamonds; the air was laden with the perfume of the earliest flowers of an Italian spring, and not a breath of wind was abroad to stir their closed petals, then filled with fragrant dew. Intently the young girl hearkened for the tramp of her lover’s horse; but he came not: she heard only the tumultuous beating of her own heart, and the monotonous plash of the water falling from the bronze Triton’s mouth into the marble basin below. A step was heard softly on the gravel walk: "At last he comes!" she said, pouting; while joy and hope sparkled in her dark and liquid eyes: a man leaped over the balustrade of the terrace. "Dear Oliver, you have come at last: but stay! I owe you a scolding, signor mio!" "’T is not Oliver," replied the stranger, with a husky, but somewhat sad tone of voice; and he stood before her. Dianora’s first impulse was to call for assistance; but the voice of the stranger again arrested her. "For God’s sake, signora, do not summon any one! You have nothing to fear from me—indeed you have not." "Giosué, is it only you?" said the young lady, with a tone of undisguised reproach and vexation. There was a pause. The unwelcome visitor was a young man about six-and-twenty, whose dress announced his occupation and rank in life to be somewhat dubious; but his air, though constrained in the presence of Dianora, had a dash of gallant and graceful recklessness in it. He wore the brigand garb, which had then become a kind of uniform adopted by all desperadoes; he had a carbine in his hand, and a knife and four long iron pistols were stuck in a yellow silk sash. A loose velvet jacket, knee breeches, and gaiters crossed with red leather straps, displayed to advantage his fine athletic figure; and round his open neck hung a little bag containing a charm, which he supposed rendered him bullet-proof. A large, shapeless, and battered Calabrian hat, with a royalist red riband flaunting from it, shaded his face; which was fringed with a black and untrimmed beard, and presented a kind of savage beauty: though squalid through want, and fierce in its expression; being marked with the lines of the worst passions. The young girl regarded him with a glance expressive equally of timidity and pity.