Several bullets were, as we have already said, fired after the retreating L'Estrange. The battle still went on over the Captain; the sbirri wavered,--they yielded, and then fled. But they did not escape; every man was shot or cut down, and not even one escaped alive to tell the tale! The successful belligerents then took up their wounded captain, as well as the plunder, and diving into the woods, sought their cave, leaving five dead, and carrying home four more wounded besides their chief Luigi. About half an hour after the conflict had ceased, and the brigands were gone, a solitary figure emerged from the woods, crossed himself when he saw the numerous corpses, and the poles with their bleeding trophies, and whistled, faintly at first, as if afraid of the reappearance of the enemy, then louder. His whistle was answered by plaintive neighs, and in less than ten minutes two of the four horses trotted up to the postilion; by-and-by a third also appeared; after some time he succeeded in harnessing his horses to the despoiled carriage, and set off alone for Foggia. He had not proceeded far, however, ere the temporary fastenings he had made gave way, and the carriage once more came to a stand-still. The postilion alighted, and then, giving the other horses their freedom, mounted one, on which he galloped to the Earl's villa, bearing with him a scarf dyed with blood which had belonged to Caroline, as a dread token of the truth of his tale. CHAPTER XIII. "Oh, God! it is a fearful thing To see the human soul take wing In any shape, in any mood: I've seen it rushing forth in blood. * * * * * I've seen the sick and ghastly bed Of sin delirious with its tread." _Prisoner of Chillon._