now their offspring had it all to themselves, and only suffered from the occasional requisitions of the goat-herd, who treated himself to a chicken or a pullet when he wanted either, but who was too far from any market to make a more wholesale appropriation profitable. It was in front of this uncomfortable-looking mansion that Sir Philip and the priest sat down.

The latter began the story. "Yonder," said he, pointing to the ruined village, "was once a happy community, and in the Castle, in my own recollection, lived a nobleman who held princely state; and to let you at once into my history, and so increase, perhaps, the interest of what I have to tell, I may at once admit that the nobleman was my own brother. My brother," continued the priest, "was unfortunately affected by the sceptical spirit of of the age. He became a Liberal, and was deeply committed to all the designs of the Revolutionists. It was in vain I argued against the ruinous course in which he had embarked. The Capelmonte are obstinate and rash. The Count was convinced of the rectitude of his designs, and of the corruption of the Government. I, who am a servant of the Church, had little interest in canvassing such questions, for it must always be the duty of Churchmen to oppose revolution, and support legitimate rule. I did not betray my brother, but there were no want of spies. Some of his domestics. and some of the villagers were in the pay of the police; and, however true your proverb, ' that there is honour among thieves' may be in England, it is certainly not to be relied on in Italy. Had I been in the council of the authorities, I believe I would have warned him to escape; luckily, I was not so, for undoubtedly, as events proceeded, it became clearly the interest of my party that the government of the Ferdinand should be maintained, and I am glad I was spared the contest between duty and inclination. The crisis

came unexpectedly to me. I was in the Castle when the Sbirri arrived, accompanied by several traitors from the village. These got entrance into the Castle, and took possession of the gates, and before half-an-hour had elapsed the Count and his lady were on their way to Naples. I thank God his daughter (my niece) was not then in the Castle, though, after all, worse may have happened to her; but I had an opportunity given me to save the Count's son. Before the Sbirri arrived, Roberto had escaped. Where that lad is now I do not know. It was not safe for him to remain in Neapolitan territory, for even the Abruzzi is only a secure hiding-place to a man who has rendered himself atrocious by unheard-of crimes. To such a one, there is no place so secure as this country; for the brigand-traitors, all, are also cowards, and hesitate to injure a man who they know will not scruple to avenge himself by treachery or cruelty worse even than their own. But the Abruzzi is no safe

hiding-place for a political refugee, who has gommited no other crime than conspiracy against Government. Fryer

Sir Philip, who had all along listened attentively to the priest's story, had become nervously excited towards the close, and had the Monk seen his face, he would have observed a sudden pallor come over it. Still it was with a firm voice that he said

"I am deeply interested, sir, in your story, because I think I have met somewhere in England your nephew. Was he a tall, slight-formed man, unlike the Italian type in being fair, and with blue eyes? Had he not a slight stoop in his figure? and, if I mistake not, did he not walk slowly and draggingly, as if there was a want of elasticity in his frame?"

"You have described him not inaccurately," said the priest. "It is certain he was in England at one time, though that is long ago, and I have since lost all trace of him. Poor fellow! I hope he is dead, for there is little to console him here. His father and mother in prison, if alive; and his sister, God only knows where; his property sequestrated, his house a ruin."

"Could you recollect," said Sir Philip, "about the time when he was in England?"

"I can," said the priest; "for it was in 1848, the year of the revolution, that a friend of mine recognised him in London."

Sir Philip pressed his hands to his forehead, and a deep sob escaped, notwithstanding all his efforts at command. The priest turned round. Sir Philip's face was averted and covered by his hand but the whole frame quivered with emotion. The curiosity of the priest was deeply excited. He ceased his narrative and gazed on Sir Philip.

At last Sir Philip turned round, and the priest was surprised at the paleness of the face and the rigid compression of the lips. Sir Philip saw his surprise, and, recovering himself with an effort, said, "Forgive me, sir; but I am liable to severe spasms, and have been suffering; but it is over now, and I am better."

The priest did not reply for some time; a shade of thought passed over his impassive features. In a little while he resumed his narrative.

"I sometimes think," said he, "that Roberto will return, and that the old house will be restored to its pristine state. We are an old family-the Capelmonte, -and if Roberto be dead, I am the last of the name, and, of course, it will terminate with me. Perhaps, according to your English notions, it is as well it should; for I admit that a family whose retainers were professed brigands, is out of place in this age of the world. And, indeed, the relation of the family to its retainers was itself an anachronism, for although

the people around us were robbers, we were courtiers-educated, all of us, abroad, and civilised by travel,—and, therefore, out of keeping in the Abruzzi. But this anomalous state of society is now broken up. The robbers still remain-not, indeed, in this district, for our friend Sasio is a peaceful fellow; but in other parts of the Abruzzi they are not uncommon. But the nobles have vanished, and perhaps it is the want of the little control they exercised, which has made the Abruzzi the resort of all that is most savage and cruel in Italy. I have often doubted, familiar as I am with brigands, whether the chivalry and romance with which your English legends associate the outlaws of Sherwood, or the Highland Caterans, are not the embellishment of romance. Certainly they do not exist among the genus robber of this country. The only thing I can say in their favour is, that they are devoted Catholics, and thorough believers in the virtue of absolution to save from punishment in the next world the most atrocious criminals. But we wander from the subject, and, indeed, my story is finished."

Sir Philip had recovered his self-possession, and said, "One of the personages in your history you said little about, and yet your allusion interested me. If it do not distress you to tell me what became of the Count's daughter--"

The brow of the priest contracted, and his lips were compressed. "Of her," said he, "I would rather not speak. And yet, why not? She, too, I suppose, is dead; and as you seem interested, I will tell you all I know. Once there came to our village a young Englishman. Why, I do not exactly know, for our district had an evil reputation; and few foreigners, and, least of all, Englishmen, came there voluntarily. Some did come against their will, and were glad to get away again at any price. But this gentleman came of his own pleasure, and this it was that attracted us to him. It was at a village fête he first made his appearance, which, perhaps, was the reason why he had come there in safety, for the Abruzzi had one savage virtue then they did not, in general, murder on féte days. Indeed, on these occasions a stranger would have thought them the most peaceful, gay, and harmless of people. It might have been different the day after our féte; for the stranger, though he had come unattended, had the appearance of one who could have paid a good ransom. But my brother took him under his protection, and invited him to stop a few days at the Castle. I met him there frequently. There was something in him which both attracted and repelled. He was proud and reserved; but this seemed to spring from a melancholy disposition rather that from any feeling of superiority. His conversation showed a depth of thought and a breadth of observation which it was a great relief to me to meet with in the somewhat unintellectual society at the Castle; while the sportsman habits and

warlike instincts of my brother and nephew were attracted by the stranger's narrative of his incidents of a life passed apparently in search of danger and adventure. These were the attractive phases of his character; what repelled you from him was a want of sympathy with anyone else-a cold indifference, which you could not call selfishness; for he was not self-indulgent, but ascetic, and, I think, esteemed himself as little as he did other people; but it seemed to arise from a Solomon feeling and a Solomon experience of life-a turn of mind common enough with you Englishmen, and which explains your suicidal reputation, but unknown to us of Italy. But there was one of our family in whom he did feel an interest, and that was my brother's daughter Alicia. I can easily understand the attraction. She had barely passed from childhood, and was perfectly innocent, happy, and artless, and the freshness of her mind was something new to the Englishman, as it was exquisitely attractive to me. Now, I daresay you have re marked that a gloomy, haughty man, especially if good-looking, is sure to attract the fancy of a girl such as I have described Alicia Capelmonte. She thinks there is an unknown and inexhaustible, store of thought and feeling hid in these self-concentrated natures, and the perception that they are not happy attracts that feeling of K. pity which, I believe, is the strongest feeling in woman. Whatever might be the process, my niece became attached to the Englishman, and he, somewhat to my surprise, returned her passion with an intensity which made me modify the unfavourable impression I had formed of his heart. It was not long before they came to an understanding, and the stranger immediately followed it up by demanding of my brother the hand of his daughter. This my brother, however, had not reckoned on. A hearty sportsman and a man of pleasure my brother was, nevertheless, a Capelmonte, which, if you were not a stranger to Italian history, would tell you was a family with whom pride of birth was almost a mania. Even I, a servant of the Church, still feel the hereditary spirit tingle in my veins when I see all around me the ancient in name trodden under-foot, and men of yesterday, men of the Bourse, or of the gambling-room, thrust into their place."

Sir Philip felt a momentary sense of amusement at this ebullition of the worldly spirit in the priest, but he knew Italy too well to be much surprised at it. "I respect your feelings," said he. "We English, also, have our family pride, mushroom, as our best names are, compared with those in Italy, which date from the Roman Empire." The priest was pleased, and continued his narrative.

"1 daresay it took your countrymen by surprise when the Count told him that his alliance was out of the question. He revealed his name-Sir Philip Warden-to my brother, and attempted to explain

It

that in his own country the position of his family was of the highest. But my brother could not, or would not, understand him, and as they were both passionate men the result was a quarrel, and an order for Sir Philip to leave the Castle. He did so, and I never saw Alicia smile after that day. She went about the house as usual, fulfilling her duties listlessly, but her spirits were gone. was evident her heart had been given to Sir Philip, and his absence only deepened the impression he had made by allowing socpe to her fancy to endow him with qualities which, no doubt, he did not possess. I think so because, had he loved her as she loved him, or had he been an Italian and not an Englishman, he would not have given up the pursuit; but we never heard of him again for years. It may detract from your notions of Italian fidelity when I tell you that a year after the Englishman's visit Alicia became the wife of an Italian nobleman. It may console you to know that the union was not a happy one, and that none of her relatives felt much regret when the news of his death arrived. After that we had many things to attend to, for it was then that my brother was arrested, and the family ruined. It was, therefore, with a feeling of surprise and satisfaction that I learned, soon after, that Alicia and the Englishman had met again, and been married. They went to England, where Sir Philip had large properties, and, as I learned from a priest who had been in the neighbourhood, they were for some time happy; but our family is an unlucky one, and from the same source I learned afterwards that a quarrel had taken place, and a separation ensued."

"Did your correspondent tell you the reason of separation?" asked Sir Philip.

"He did not," said the priest; "he saw my niece by my desire after the separation, and she declined to give him any explanation. She affirmed her innocence, but said, she was content, for the sake of Sir Philip, to be considered in the wrong. She could not clear herself, she said without betraying other people; and as for herself. What am I,' she said in this country? No one will believe me; and Sir Philip's reputation is dearer to me than my own." "

"That is all," he continued, "I know of Lady Warden. I have since several times caused inquiries to be made, but without result. She had left that part of the country under a borrowed name, and my conviction is she is dead. And here concludes all I have to say of those to whom this castle once belonged, and who had lived there for many centuries, and now I must leave this place. You have extracted this long story from me by mentioning that at one time you had met Roberto, who, if alive, is still the bead of my house. Perhaps you may meet him again; if so tell him there is still one living who feels for him, and who here