"I am glad we have a cavalier of Malta here to-night," whispered the lad with the guitar. "You may save us all from Baptistello if he pays us a visit—all, one excepted: but, signor, you have very much the air of an Englishman." "I served with the English fleet when it assisted the knights at the siege of Valetta. But I hope the rogues will not carry me off in expectation of a ransom." "Madonna forbid! But Heaven help poor Villani, if he fall into the clutches of Baptistello!" "Why so?" "Signor, it is quite a story!" said he, drawing closer and lowering his voice. "Baptistello was a soldier of the Cardinal Ruffo, and served in his army when it defeated the French in the battle of Naples, on the happy 5th of June. His father, Baptiste, was a famous bravo and capo-bandito, who infested the mountains above St. Agata, and was the terror of the province from Scylla to La Bianca. He boasted that he had slain a hundred men; and it is said that in order to rival the frightful Mammone, he once quaffed human blood. He was deemed bullet-proof: a charm worn round his left wrist made him invulnerable; and he escaped so often and so narrowly that he soon thought so himself. His presence inspired terror, and no man dared to travel within twenty miles of his district without a numerous escort. The Prince of St. Agata, lord of that territory, alone treated his name with contempt, and daily drove his carriage through the wildest haunt of Baptiste, without attendants. "One day they met: it was in a lonely valley near the Alece. "’Stand!’ cried the gigantic robber, kneeling behind a rock, over which he levelled his rifle. The reins fell from the hands of the driver. "’Villain! fire, if you dare!’ cried the prince. "The robber fired, and his bullet passed through the hat of the prince; who, levelling a double-barrelled pistol, shot four balls through the heart of his assailant. Before the arrival of the banditti, who with shouts were rushing down from the mountains, the Prince was driving at full gallop through the valley, with the body of Varro lashed to the hind axle-bar and trailing along the dusty road. Thus he entered Reggio in triumph, like Achilles dragging Hector round the walls of Troy. The body was gibbeted, and the head placed in an iron cage and sent over to Messina; when it was stuck on the summit of the Zizi palace, where it yet remains, bleached by the dew by night and the sun by day: I saw it three days ago. "One night soon after this, a ragged little urchin presented himself in an apartment of the palace, just before the prince retired to rest. "’Who are you, Messerino?’ he asked. "’Baptistello, the son of old Baptiste Varro.’ "’Ah! and what do you want?’ said the prince, looking round him for a whip or cane. "’My father’s head.’ "’Away, you little villain, ere you are tossed over the window! I would not give it for a thousand scudi.’ "’For two thousand, serenissimo?’ "’Yes, rogue, for so many I might.’