Norwood bowed, and, without speaking, followed the other to the spot where he was to stand. As he waited thus, pistol in hand, he was directly opposite to the place wherein Purvis had taken refuge, and who, seeing Norwood in front of him, with a cocked pistol, and his finger on the trigger, uttered a scream of terror, and fell flat on the ground. Before the rest could discover the cause of the outcry, a shout from outside of “The Police!” “The Gendarmes!” was heard, and Dr. Grounsell rushed into the garden, followed by several dismounted dragoons. In an instant all were away. Norwood sprang over a low balcony into a vineyard; while in various directions the others scampered off, leaving Purvis alone upon the field. But too happy to have fallen into the safe keeping of the authorities, Purvis accepted his captivity with a most placid contentment. “Where's Captain Onslow? Have you seen him, sir?” whispered Grounsell to him. “I have seen everybody, but I don't re-remember anything. It's all a dr-dr-dream to me.” “There was no duel? They hadn't fought?” asked Grounsell. “I--I--I think not; pro-pro-probably not,” said Purvis, whose faculties were still very cloudy. Grounsell turned away from him in disdain, and entered the house. To all his inquiries from the waiters of the inn the answers were vague and insufficient, nor could the doctor discover either what had occurred, or the reasons of the long delay on the ground. Meanwhile the _Carabinieri_, stimulated by liberal promises of reward, were searching the park in every quarter, and scouring the country around to arrest the fugitives; and the peasantry, enlisted in the pursuit, hastened hither and thither to aid them. Whether really unable to come up with them, or, as is more probable, concurring in the escape through bribery, the dragoons returned to the inn after about an hour's absence, without the capture of a single prisoner. Grounsell cursed their Italian indolence, and reviled every institution of their lazy land. How he raved about foreign falsehood and rascality, and wished for a London detective and a magistrate of Bow Street! Never did Lord Palmerston so thirst to implant British institutions in a foreign soil, as did he to teach these “macaroni rascals what a good police meant.” What honest indignation did he not vent upon English residents abroad, who, for sake of a mild climate and lax morality, could exchange their native country for the Continent; and at last, fairly worn out with his denunciations, he sat down on a bench, tired and exhausted. “Will you t-t-tell them to let me go?” cried Purvis. “I've done nothing. I never do anything. My name is Purvis,--Sc-Sc-Scroope Purvis,--bro-brother to Mrs. Ricketts, of the Villino Zoe.” “Matters which have no possible interest for _me_, sir,” growled out Grounsell; “nor am I a corporal of gendarmes, to give orders for your liberation.” “But they 'll take me to--to prison!” cried Purvis.