“With all my heart. It is fearfully undignified; but let it go, and I'll send off a messenger to the Prefetto Lanzi to deliver up the prisoner M'Gruder to me to-morrow morning, and we will interrogate him here.”
The roll of a drum was now heard in the street without, and from the balcony could be seen an immense crowd of people moving in front of an infantry regiment, who marched past, travel-stained and disordered, and with an indescribable something in their air that indicated, it might be defeat, it might be disaffection.
“Here's strange news,” said Sir Arthur, as he joined them. “The landlord tells me Garibaldi has landed in Calabria, near Reggio, beaten the royal troops, and is in full march on Naples. The regiment that you see there were ordered off to reinforce the advanced guard, but cried out, 'Viva Garibaldi!' and have been now recalled, and are to be sent into the fortress.”
“Look!” cried Skeff; “here comes the Artillery after them, a strong proof that they don't trust these fellows. Bella, I must write off the news at once.”
“Let me first finish about M'Gruder,” said she, as she sat down to the table.
“I wish we were all safe back in England,” said Lady Lyle, as she came up.
“I was just thinking the very same thing,” said Sir Arthur.
“Have no fears,” interposed Skeffy; “I shall order up the fleet from Malta. You shall have a frigate—a line-of-battle ship, if you like it better.”
“I'd much rather we had post-horses and an escort,” said Lady Lyle.
“Would that be possible, Darner?”