Flushed with hope, the soldiers attacked the pile of stones indicated by the sergeant: there were bushes, earth, and fragments of ruined masonry, all evidently but recently piled up against the base of the tower. Rapidly they rolled down the heavy blocks, and toiled so strenuously that in three minutes the whole heap was cleared away, and a little arched aperture disclosed. An exclamation of joy and hope burst from the whole party: we had found the place. Gask and the little bugler descended into the vault—a dark, damp, and hideous hole under the ruins. A faint moan drew them cautiously to a corner, and there they found the object of all our search and anxiety—Oliver Lascelles, benumbed by cold, and his limbs swollen almost to bursting by the tight cordage which confined them. He was speechless and half-stifled by the noxious vapours of the dungeon: had we been half an hour later he must have expired. When we drew him forth, he was so pale, haggard, and death-like, that his aspect shocked me; but the pure fresh breeze of the balmy evening revived him, and he recovered rapidly. He could not address us at first; but his looks of thankfulness, joy, and recognition were most expressive. The soldiers were merry and happy, every face beamed with gladness; even Gask’s usually grave and melancholy visage was brightened by a smile. We had little time for explanation; we were in a dangerous vicinity, from which it was necessary to retire without a moment’s delay. Oliver was quite enfeebled; but, supported on the sergeant’s arm and mine, he contrived to walk, though slowly, and we set out immediately for the castle of Scylla. Gask afterwards told me, that in the vault "he had touched something that made his flesh creep." It was a small and delicate female hand. I never mentioned the circumstance to Oliver; who was long in recovering from the effects of his perilous love adventure. But I had no doubt the dead hand was poor Dianora’s: the _forfeited hand_, which in cruel mockery that incarnate demon Giosué had thrown beside her lover. In the bustle of succeeding and more important events the interest we took in Lascelles’ affair gradually subsided. But it was long ere he forgot the fate of Dianora, and the horrible death which, by a lucky combination of incidents, he had so narrowly escaped; and longer still ere he recovered his wonted buoyancy of spirit and lightness of heart. *CHAPTER XVII.* *UNEXPECTED PERILS.* The near approach of the enemy made it apparent that the town of Scylla would soon be destroyed by the shot and shell their artillery would pour upon it; and that the Free Corps, who occupied its half-ruined streets, would be sacrificed without being of service to the garrison in the castle; I, therefore, telegraphed to the _Electra_, to send off a boat, as I wished to consult with her commander about the transmission of those troops to Messina.