expected I would, I dodged round in the opposite direction, the uncertain light this time favouring me, and I heard their footsteps and their curses dying away on the wrong track.  Nevertheless I ran on at full speed, and it was not till the day was dawning that I began to feel safe and relax my efforts.  The sun had been up an hour when I reached a small town, and the little locanda was just opening for the day when I entered it, thankful for a hot cup of coffee, and a dirty little room, with a dirtier bed, where I could sleep off the fatigue and excitement of the night.  I was strolling down almost the only street in the afternoon when I met a couple of carabineers riding into it, and shortly after encountered the whole troop, to my great delight, in command of an intimate friend whom I had left a month before in Naples.

“Ah, caro mio!” he exclaimed, when he saw me, “well met.  What on earth are you doing here?—­looking for those brigands you were so anxious to find when you left Naples?  Considering that you are in the heart of their country, you should not have much difficulty in gratifying your curiosity.”

“I have had an adventure or two,” I replied carelessly.  “Indeed that is partly the reason you find me here.  I was just thinking how I could get safely back to Ascoli, when your welcome escort appeared; for I suppose you are going there, and will let me take advantage of it.”

“Only too delighted; and you can tell me your adventures.  Let us dine together tonight, 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 you or your rascally—­hem!  I mean your excellent Croppo.  By the way, 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.”