"Come back, West, for just a moment!
Countess Minetta has something to say to
you.

So she had. In her sweet soft voice, and with
her flashing dark eyes a little more hidden by
the drooping lashes than I had seen them before,
she asked me to do her a favour, if she might
presume on the kindness of one who must regard
her merely as a troublesome stranger. But
Englishmen were always ready, she had heard, to
fulfil a lady's entreaty—was it not so? Ah, so
her papa had told her in her childhood! She
was so reluctant to trouble me, but M. Crooke
said I was going to Naples next day, and the
temptation was too strong to be resisted. Would
I oblige her? She asked nothing alarming. But
the Cardinal-Archbishop was gouty and old, and
he had left his favourite stick, which usually
supported his tottering steps, dear man, behind
him in Rome. He had written twice to his
niece from his palace at Foggia, lamenting, in
serio-comic fashion, the want of this well-
remembered staff, which he missed sorely. He had
sticks in plenty, but none suited him like this
old favourite, which had belonged to his father,
Prince Julian Campobasso, and was a sort of
heirloom.

"The aged have their fancies, you know,'
said the young widow, smiling with angelic
benignity, as she finished this explanation: " here
is the stick. If you would kindly take care of
it on the journey, and leave it at Capua with
the Cardinal's factor, Signor Boccotristo, whose
house is opposite the chief hotel, you would
really oblige us all. The dear good uncle! I
know his kind old eyes will brighten when he
sees this quaint crutch of his once more!"

The stick was a curious one, a tall and stout
staff of some dark wood, probably ebony, with a
silver ferrule, a crutch handle of ivory, serrated
by the file, and a profusion of ivory rings let into
the wood. It looked ancient, the very ivory
being discoloured by age to a pale yellow tint,
and I could easily fancy that its familiar support
might be endeared by custom to its venerable
owner. Of course, I willingly undertook to execute
the countess's commission. My road led
me through Capua, and a walking-stick was no
formidable addition to my baggage. I pledged
myself, however, never to lose sight of the
Cardinal's stick until, at Capua, I should resign my
trust. The countess thanked me in her bewitching
way, and I took my leave.

Crook saw me off next morning, early as was
the hour of my departure. I took my place in
the diligence, along with some intensely national
fellow-passengers, who insisted on keeping the
windows closed, and who sustained nature on
cigarettes and slices of melon, as we rolled
along. The Cardinal's stick was in my hand.
"Good-by, and a good journey, West, old boy.
Perhaps we shall never meet again, but I shan't
forget you. Mind you take care of the stick,"
were the last words of my Oxford friend.

The diligence, with its load, jangled and jolted
but slowly along the road through the Pontine
Marshes; the dust hung around us in heavy
clouds, and through the hot haze the burning
sun glared like a red ball. Early as had been
our start from Rome, it was dusk when we left
Terracina, and dark night when we got to the
frontier town of Fondi. The boundary line lies,
as all travellers know, some four miles north of
the latter place, and there we had duly undergone
the usual routine of inspecting passports,
tapping pockets, and "visiting" luggage. All
this had passed over pretty smoothly, and as the
officer of the Dogana Reale returned me my
keys, I felt that I was fairly out of Papal Rome,
and a denizen of Living Italy. But at Fondi
we found lighted torches, a guard under arms,
and unwonted signs of activity at the second
custom-house.

"Body of Bacchus!" cried the conductor,
letting down the glass on my side of the coupé,
"something must be up. Signers and dames,
you are invited to descend for the gratification
of the royal officers. A second search takes
place."

Out we got, grumbling, sleepy, and disgusted
at this unexpected call on our obedience, and
again portmanteaus were unstrapped, bags forced
to disgorge their contents, and trunks uncorded
and unlocked. The second search was very
severe, and I was called on to explain the purport
of even my English papers and manuscripts,
poor Emma's letters inclusive, while several
cards and notes of invitation from the Roman
grandees were set aside and remitted to the
custody of the controller. The scrutiny was
long and minute. Our pockets, even, were
emptied, and the failure of all these efforts to
discover anything contraband only seemed to
sour the temper of the officials, who eyed us
with actual hostility, the reason of which I
could not guess.

"That stick, English signo; that stick?"

I handed over the Cardinal's staff, smiling the
while, to a lynx-eyed person in uniform. A fat
good-humoured chief clerk in plain clothes
smiled too, and shrugged his shoulders.

"Blessed Gennaro, Signor Vulpini, we must
not vex the forestieri for nothing. Give the
English illustrious- one his cane back again.
Cospetto, man, we don't care, as the Tedeschi
used to do, even if there be a sword or a dirk
in that slip of old wood."

But what was my dismay, when the prying
personage addressed, unscrewing the crutch
handle of the cane, drew from a hollow in the
staff itself, not a sword, but a long roll of closely-
written papers, which had been craftily concealed
in that receptacle, and of which I had
been the unconscious bearer. There was a hum,
and then a Babel of vociferous exclamations,
and all the officers rushed, as to a focus, to the
spot where the papers were rustling in the
hands of the wily finder.

"Instructions to the band of Chiavone!"
cried one, seizing a document.

"The College of Cardinals, to all regular and
secular clergy, greeting!" bawled another.

"A regular commission of lieutenant-general,
under the hand of Francesco de Bourbon, King