'You are with a band of butchers. If I could see you and tell you the
story of Giacomo Piaveni, and some other things, I believe you would
break your sword instantly.

'There is time. Come to Milan on the fifteenth. You will see me then. I
appear at La Scala. Promise me, if you hear me, that you will do exactly
what I make you feel it right to do. Ah, you will not, though thousands
will! But step aside to me, when the curtain falls, and remain--oh, dear
friend! I write in honour to you; we have sworn to free the city and the
country--remain among us: break your sword, tear off your uniform; we are
so strong that we are irresistible. I know what a hero you can be on the
field: then, why not in the true cause? I do not understand that you
should waste your bravery under that ugly flag, bloody and past
forgiveness.

'I shall be glad to have news of you all, and of England. The bearer of
this is a trusty messenger, and will continue to call at the hotel. A. is
offended that I do not allow my messenger to give my address; but I must
not only be hidden, I must have peace, and forget you all until I have
done my task. Addio. We have both changed names. I am the same. Can I
think that you are? Addio, dear friend.

'VITTORIA.'

Lieutenant Pierson read again and again the letter of her whom he had
loved in England, to get new lights from it, as lovers do when they have
lost the power to take single impressions. He was the bearer of a verbal
despatch from the commandant in Milan to the Marshal in Verona. At that
period great favour was shown to Englishmen in the Austrian service, and
the lieutenant's uncle being a General of distinction, he had a sort of
semi-attachment to the Marshal's staff, and was hurried to and fro, for
the purpose of keeping him out of duelling scrapes, as many of his
friendlier comrades surmised. The right to the distinction of exercising
staff-duties is, of course, only to be gained by stout competitorship in
the Austrian service; but favour may do something for a young man even in
that rigorous school of Arms. He had to turn to Brescia on his way, and
calculated that if luck should put good horses under him, he would enter
Verona gates about sunset. Meantime; there was Vittoria's letter to
occupy him as he went.

We will leave him to his bronzing ride through the mulberries and the
grapes, and the white and yellow and arid hues of the September plain,
and make acquaintance with