“Charge!  I say,” shouted the cavalry captain; “why don’t you charge?  I believe you’re afraid!”

“E vero,” said the captain of volunteers, shrugging his shoulders.

“Here, take my horse—­you’re only fit to be a groom; and you, men, dismount and let these cowards hold your horses, while you follow me,”—­and jumping from his horse, the gallant fellow, followed by his men, charged the building, from which a hot fire was playing upon them, sword in hand.  In less than a quarter of an hour the brigands were scampering, some on foot and some on horseback, out of the farm-buildings, followed by a few stray and harmless shots from such of the volunteers as had their hands free.  We lost three men killed and five wounded in this little skirmish, and killed six of the brigands, besides making a dozen prisoners.  When I say we, I mean my companions; for having no weapon, I had discreetly remained with the volunteers.  The scene of this gallant exploit was on the classic battle-field of Cannae.  This captain, who was not the friend I had joined the day after my brigand adventure, was a most plucky and dashing cavalry officer, and was well seconded by his men, who were all Piedmontese, and of very different temperament from the Neapolitans.  On one occasion a band of 250 brigands waited for us on the top of a small hill, never dreaming that we should charge up it with the odds five to one against us—­but we did; and after firing a volley at us, which emptied a couple of saddles, they broke and fled when we were about twenty yards from them.  Then began one of the most exciting scurries across country it was ever my fortune to be engaged in.  The brigands scattered—­so did we; and I found myself with two troopers in chase of a pair of bandits, one of whom seemed to be the chief of the band.  A small stream wound through the plain, which we dashed across.  Just beyond was a tributary ditch, which would have been considered a fair jump in the hunting-field:  both brigands took it in splendid style.  The hindmost was not ten yards ahead of the leading trooper, who came a cropper, on which the brigand reined up, fired a pistol-shot into the prostrate horse and man, and was off:  but the delay cost him dear.  The other trooper, who was a little ahead of me, got safely over.  I followed suit.  In another moment he had fired his carbine into the brigand’s horse, and down they both came by the run.  We instantly reined up, for I saw there was no chance of overtaking the remaining brigand, and the trooper was in the act of cutting down the man as he struggled to his feet, when to my horror I recognised the lovely features of—­Valeria.