"How?" exclaimed Belcastro, starting forward with rage.
Castelermo held before his eyes the paper he had picked up, and our host changed colour beneath the cold, sarcastic smile of the knight. He started as if to summon his people, but paused—a sudden thought seemed to occur to him; he gulped down his fury, his brows became smooth, and a ghastly smile curled his sinister lip.
"Eh, via signori! you are now under my roof; the ways are dangerous hereabout; you cannot proceed; and I must not forget that hospitality which courtesy renders imperative. Let us say no more of that unlucky wall-piece, which in a moment of irritation I discharged. My residence is seldom favoured by peaceful visitors. But are any more of King Ferdinand's people—troops, I mean—likely to pass this way soon?"
"A brigade of British are entering the valley, and will probably arrive here after midnight." Our host looked displeased, and turned to one of the windows, while I glanced inquiringly at Castelermo, who whispered—
"I deemed it politic to say so, for he has some dark end in view. I did not like the sudden and sinister smile which replaced the gloom of his sullen visage. You observed it? By St. John of Malta! were our cattle not tired with these rugged mountain roads, I would rather have passed the night in my saddle than under his roof. A few miles further would have brought us to the town of Belcastro: but there is no help for it now."
My companion was not deceived. Animated by a fear that we had discovered his correspondence with the French leader, and by a wish to possess himself of my despatches to transmit them to the same personage; eager, also, to gratify the deep-rooted hatred he bore to Castelermo, he secretly determined to murder us both, and in cold blood. The bullet or poniard had been his first resolve; but dreading discovery, and the arrival of the supposed brigade, poison became his next resource. But I am anticipating. The change in his manner was too abrupt and bare-faced to pass without exciting our suspicions.
CHAPTER XXI.
SEQUEL TO THE STORY OF CASTELERMO.
While Signor Belcastro scanned the star-lighted valley to trace the march of those troops whom he had no wish to see, servants laid a hasty supper of various cold meats, boiled maccheroni, and fruit, all of which were very acceptable to the cavaliere and myself; we were well appetized by our ride over the mountains, exposed to a keen tramontana, or north wind, which had been blowing for the last two hours.
"Be seated, gentlemen!" said our host, as he took the head of the table. "Will you not lay aside your swords?"