"I have not heard, excellency; but a fugitive, chased by a party of them, took refuge at the monastery this morning, and is said to have confessed to the Padre Abate a horrible crime."
"Ha! and is he now in the sanctuary?" I demanded, eagerly.
"Prostrate on the steps of the altar: his penitence is great. Madonna intercede for him!"
"Thanks," said I, permitting the uneasy rustic to pass on his way. "Advance, soldiers—trail arms—forward, double quick! We have got on the right scent at last, perhaps; and there is not a moment to be lost."
With right good will the soldiers moved forward towards the monastery; their arms glancing and pouches clanking as they rushed down the steep hill side. The place of our destination, a confused mass of irregular buildings, stood near the river before-mentioned, about a mile distant. It was a monastery of great antiquity; a high wall of grey stone girdled it round, and above that rose its campanile, a square tower, surmounted by a flat tiled roof. From the outer wall, the rocks on which the edifice was perched sloped precipitously down on all sides; especially towards the south, where they descended in one unbroken line to the deep dark waters of the still but rapid stream, which wound through a chasm below.
As we began to ascend the steep and devious path cut in the hard volcanic rock, and leading directly to the monastery, we saw the monks appearing and disappearing like black crows on their high outer wall; and the arched gateway was hurriedly closed: the fathers were evidently in a state of consternation, and making all fast; fearing that we might disregard the immunities of the holy sanctuary. All the friars had vanished by the time we reached the iron-studded door in the outer wall; over which the evergreen, ivy, and long rank grass were waving in profusion.
We knocked loudly. No answer was given.
"Sound!" said I, to the bugle-boy; and a loud blast from his instrument made the old walls, the echoing chapel, the bosky woods and splintered rocks ring far and near. Still the summons was unheeded, and the impatient soldiers thundered at the gateway with the butts of their muskets. The reverend fathers no doubt suspected our purpose.
"What want ye?" said an old vinegar-visaged friar, appearing on the top of the wall, which he had surmounted by the assistance of a ladder.
"Are you all asleep within there?" I answered, angrily. "We want a fugitive, to whom you have given refuge. Call you this civility, padre? and to us whose swords are drawn in the cause of your country."