It was nine o'clock at night when the post-chaise entered the capital of Castelcicala. In spite of his unfortunate position,—a prisoner, defeated in his grand aims, and with all his hopes apparently blasted,—Richard could not help feeling a glow of pleasure when he thus found himself in the sovereign city which was the birth place of his well-beloved Isabella. But, oh! in what a state did he now enter its walls! Instead of accompanying a victorious army to proclaim Alberto Grand Duke of Castelcicala,—instead of the society of the patriotic Grachia and the heroic Morosino,—instead of hearing the welcome voices of a liberated people echoing around,—the young man was in the custody of a subaltern, and, for aught he knew, on his way to a dungeon! Then—Grachia, Morosino, and the other chiefs of the enterprise—where were they? Numbered with the dead—or captives in the hands of a savage conqueror! Oh! how were Markham's fondest hopes blasted! how were his elysian dreams dissipated by the mocking reality of disaster and defeat! Now, too, how much farther than ever was he removed from the sole object of his toils,—the only hope of his existence,—the hand of Isabella! Her father, who had all along discountenanced the projects of the Constitutionalists, but who would naturally have pardoned them had they succeeded, could not for a moment be expected to forgive the survivors of that terrible defeat! All these gloomy ideas annihilated in a moment the temporary glow of pleasure which our hero had experienced on entering Montoni. The chaise traversed the southern part of the metropolis, crossed the Ferretti by a noble bridge, and entered the most fashionable and imposing quarter of that portion of the city which stands on the northern side of the river. At length it stopped at an hotel. "We shall alight here," said Mario Bazzano. "But this is not a prison!" exclaimed Richard. "I never told you that you were on your way to such a place," returned the _aide-de-camp_, laughing. "Did you not hint at imprisonment, signor?" said our hero, surprised at the kind forbearance shown towards him—captured, as he had been, with arms in his hand against the reigning Prince. "That may, or may not happen," replied Bazzano. "At all events, here we will alight: and, remember, while in my charge, you are on your parole. It is not necessary to let the gossips of this tavern know who you are, or why you are here with me." "My honour is pledged, and the vow will be punctually fulfilled," said Markham. They then descended from the vehicle, and were conducted to a private apartment in the hotel. Bazzano ordered refreshments: then, as soon as he himself had drunk a glass of wine and eaten a mouthful of food, he left the room, simply observing, "I may be absent nearly an hour; but I will thank you not to retire to rest until my return."