ty had passed
through it a little in advance of him. Breakfasting there, he enjoyed the
first truly calm cigar of many days. Gendarmes whom he had met near the
place came in at his heels. They said that the party would positively be
arrested, or not allowed to cross the Monte Pallade. The passes to Meran
and Botzen, and the road to Trent, were strictly guarded. Weisspriess
hurried them forward with particular orders that they should take into
custody the whole of the party, excepting the lady; her, if arrested with
the others, they were to release: her maid and the three men were to be
marched back to Cles, and there kept fast.

The game was now his own: he surveyed its pretty intricate moves as on a
map. The character of Herr Johannes he entirely discarded: an Imperial
officer in his uniform, sword in belt, could scarcely continue that meek
performance. 'But I may admire music, and entreat her to give me a
particular note, if she has it,' said the captain, hanging in
contemplation over a coming scene, like a quivering hawk about to close
its wings. His heart beat thick; which astonished him: hitherto it had
never made that sort of movement.

From Cles he despatched a letter to the fair chatelaine at Meran, telling
her that by dainty and skilful management of the paces, he was bringing
on the intractable heroine of the Fifteenth, and was to be expected in
about two or three days. The letter was entrusted to Wilhelm, who took
the borrowed horse back to Trent.

Weisspriess was on the mule-track a mile above the last village ascending
to the pass, when he observed the party of prisoners, and climbed up into
covert. As they went by he discerned but one person in female garments;
the necessity to crouch for obscurity prevented him from examining them
separately. He counted three men and beheld one of them between
gendarmes. 'That must be my villain,' he said.

It was clear that Vittoria had chosen to go forward alone. The captain
praised her spirit, and now pushed ahead with hunter's strides. He passed
an inn, closed and tenantless: behind him lay the Val di Non; in front
the darker valley of the Adige: where was the prey? A storm of rage set
in upon him with the fear that he had been befooled. He lit a cigar, to
assume ease of aspect, whatever the circumstances might be, and gain some
inward serenity by the outer reflection of it--not altogether without
success. 'My lady must be a doughty walker,' he thought; 'at this ra