Going out of the Porta Romana, where we were obliged to wait in the cold drizzle of a cheerless dawn for the porter to open the gate, a deeply veiled, respectably dressed young woman asked the favour of our escort from the corporal, and received it, probably on account of her good looks, which should be extraordinary. She was going, she said, to join her husband at Volterra, and feared the brigands who were notoriously rife in that country. The corporal offered to take her pillion behind him. "Willingly, sir," she said, and was lifted up by the troopers. As we went out of the gate she raised her veil to use her handkerchief and to look at me. In a moment I saw that it was my brave and affectionate Belviso, and was no little comforted by the thought that here, at any rate, was one heart in Siena generously inclined to mine. We baited at Colle, and rested there two or three hours; from thence we mounted a very steep hill and reached a country of abounding desolation and misery, where bare grey hills alternated with dense thickets, and were told that there was not a human habitation for the rest of the journey to Volterra. Our guards saw to the priming of their muskets before they started from Colle, and kept a sharp lookout on all sides of the way. We met nothing, however, threatening or otherwise, for nearly half our journey, but somewhere about four o'clock of the afternoon, when we were traversing a barren moor, the corporal gave a sharp cry and reined up his horse. Before I knew what he was about a pistol had been placed in my hands, and he said, "Every man for himself now. You are free, sir." "How--free?" I asked him. His reply was to point ahead of us. "Brigands," he said, "and the Kingdom of Heaven in view."