haunts for the purpose of conveying intelligence
or provisions to the outlaws.

"There he is! Ecco, the tall signor beside the
fire, to the left," said one of my guides. " We
shall see what the Lamb has to say to all this
poverty of yours."

"The Lamb?" said I, half unconsciously,
striving to recall the American's account of the
celebrated freebooter who bore that incongruous
name.

"Si! L'Agnello himself," said the brigand,
thrusting me forward into the firelight, and doffing
his hat to his leader.

"Who's that? The Salernitan. Good. And
what sort of a foreign sheep have you there?"
called out the chief, shading his eyes with his
broad hand, and staring hard at me. "The
Englishman, the Englishman, for a gold ounce!
Welcome, milordo!"

And with a grotesque mockery of courteous
deference the brigand leader rose to his feet and
took off his hat, bowing low, while those around
burst into a roar of laughter. I looked anxiously
at L'Agnello, on whose good pleasure my fate
probably depended. He was evidently a great
dandy, his equipment being more picturesque
than that of his followers, for he wore a suit
of green velvet, with silver buttons and
embroidery, much tarnished, but still handsome, a
yellow silk sash, two gold watches, whose chains
were festooned across his waistcoat, and a lady's
gold chain about his neck. His stiletto and
pistols were stuck in a crimson belt, and under
his hat was a kerchief of a brilliant red colour,
which waved and flapped like the kefia of
a Bedouin Arab, setting off the swarthy
complexion and grim features of the wearer. When
the brigand chief had replaced the hat which he
had doffed in salutation, I ventured to renew my
protest, declaring that I was no " milordo," but an
artist, and a very poor one: in a word, not worth
trapping. The Lamb grinned incredulously.

"Basta! For what do you take me, Englishman,
that you deafen me with lies. So you are
poor, then? You, who arrived at Portici with a
carriage grand enough for the Holy Father to
ride in, with trunks and imperials, courier and
valet, and a fourgon to carry the heavy luggage
—a veritable train de prince!"

This last speech, spoken with an air of the
profoundest conviction, and in bad French, eked
out here and there by a word of Italian (the
Lamb was, as I afterwards heard, not a little
proud of his abilities as a linguist), sorely puzzled
me. I could not doubt that the brigand believed
what he said to be true. His jocular aspect was
giving place to a gloomy frown.

"Enough of this play!" he said at length,
in a more menacing voice. " You see I know
you. You are the Inglese who gave old Geronimo
Valleri, at the inn beside the Ponte Nerone,
a hundred and twenty golden Napoleons for
two old pictures the rogue had to sell?"

It now flashed upon me for the first time
that I had been mistaken for a rich young
Englishman of rank and fortune, who had
lately arrived at Portici, and had that very
day abruptly left the inn where I had been
staying. He was, as I remembered, said to be
a liberal, if not a very judicious connoisseur
of art, and was of about my own height
and age. I even recollected that he, like myself,
was addicted to solitary rambles, which
circumstance had probably been reported to the brigands,
who have their spies in most places, and hence
in all likelihood the ambush and the capture of
the wrong man.

I could not help shrinking from the awkward
office of undeceiving the chief, whose grim
visage grew more and more like that of a hungry
tiger as he watched me. " I could guess," I said,
"for whom I had been mistaken; but, so far from
having arrived at Portici with four post-horses,
a fourgon, a valet, and a courier, I could assure
my present host that I had made my humble
entry in a hired calessino, with straw cushions
and calico lining, and drawn by a couple of
starved ponies. So far, too, from having lately
given an innkeeper a hundred and twenty
Napoleons for two old pictures, I should be happy
to sell four or five new ones for the same price,
and was perfectly willing to take the portraits of
all the members of the band, gratis, as the only
ransom in my power."

By this time a great many of the brigands,
attracted by curiosity, had crowded round me,
and among them was a ragged lad, who cried out
in a squeaking voice,

"Why, that's no more the milordo in the
green carriage than I am. Body of Bacchus!
it's the English artist that came on Piero and
me as we were eating our bread and melons by
the well, and gave us a baioccho apiece to stop
quiet while he sketched us. The milordo is
fatter, and has red whiskers."

Indeed, an inspection of my passport and
sketch-book convinced the brigand leader that I
was not the wealthy traveller whom he had
endeavoured to ensnare. This discovery threw the
Lamb into a paroxysm of dangerous fury. He
began by cursing my captors for " blind bats,"
who did not know the difference between a
beggarly spoiler of canvas and a " ricco" of the first
quality. They excused themselves for their
blunder by proverbial remarks, to the effect that
night made every bird of one colour, and that in
the dark all cats were black. And the hum of
assent which rose from the crowd proved that
the brigands exonerated their comrades of all
blame. Then the Lamb turned his flaming eyes
on me, and, with a volley of choice Neapolitan
abuse, declared that I should pay for both.

I reiterated the assurance that I was poor,
and had no relative to whom I could apply for
the price of my freedom.

"Per Ercole! but we will see to that,"
thundered the ruffian; " if you cannot pay in silver
you shall in skin. Strip off his shoes and warm
his feet, my children; when they are roasted,
this pert bird will sing a different song."