“Only too delighted; and you can tell me your adventures. Let us dine together to-night, and I will find you a horse to ride on with us in the morning.” I am afraid my account of the episode with which I have acquainted the reader was not strictly accurate in all its details, as I did not wish to bring down my military friends on poor Valeria; so I skipped all allusion to her and my detention in her home, merely saying that I had had a scuffle with brigands and had been fortunate enough to escape under cover of the night. As we passed it next morning I recognised the path which led up to Valeria’s cottage, and shortly after observed that young woman herself coming up the glen. “Holloa!” I said, with great presence of mind, as she drew near, “my lovely model, I declare! Just you ride on, old fellow, while I stop and ask her when she can come and sit to me again.” “You artists are sad rogues; what chances your profession must give you!” remarked my companion, as he cast an admiring glance on Valeria and rode discreetly on. “There is nothing to be afraid of, lovely Valeria,” I said, in a low tone, as I lingered behind; “be sure I will never betray either your or your rascally--hem! I mean your excellent Croppo. By the by, was that man much hurt that I was obliged to trip up?” “Hurt! Santa Maria! he is dead, with a bullet through his heart. Croppo says it must have been magic, for he had searched you and he knew you were not armed, and he was within a hundred yards of you when poor Pippo fell, and he heard no sound.” “Croppo is not far wrong,” I said, glad of the opportunity thus offered of imposing on the ignorance and credulity of the natives. “He seemed surprised that he could not frighten me the other night. Tell him he was much more in my power than I was in his, dear Valeria,” I added, looking tenderly into his eyes. “I didn’t want to alarm you; that was the reason I let him off so easily; but I may not be so merciful next time. Now, sweetest, that kiss you owe me, and which the wall prevented your giving me the other night.” She held up her face with the innocence of a child as I stooped from my saddle. “I shall never see you again, Signor Inglese,” she said, with a sigh; “for Croppo says it is not safe, after what happened the night before last, to stay another hour. Indeed, he went off yesterday, leaving me orders to follow to-day; but I went first to put your sketch-book under the bush where the donkey fell, and where you will find it.”