steadily; and returned it with but a single word
of comment.

"Neapolitan."

"Good God!" exclaimed Castletowers,
"what is to be done?"

Signer Colonna hesitated a moment before
replying; but when his words came, they were
quick and decisive.

"If the captain has a motive in bearing down
upon us, I am the object of his search. But
he cannot be alongside for at least ten minutes.
I will hide my papers at once. If Mr. Trefalden
will lend me one of his pilot coats, and you will
both call me Sir Thomas Wylde, I have no fear
of detection. I speak English quite well enough to
deceive any Neapolitan. I have done it before,
in worse emergencies than this. Remember —
Sir Thomas Wylde. I have a passport made
out in that name, in case it is asked for."

And with this he plunged back into the cabin;
gathered his letters and papers into a handkerchief
and hid them in a corner of the caboose;
slipped on one of Saxon's blue over-coats gorgeous
with anchor buttons; lit a short clay
pipe; pulled his cap a little forward over his
brow; lay down at full length on a sofa in 'the
cabin; and waited patiently.

"She has signalled for us to lie to!" cried
Lord Castletowers down the cabin stairs.

"Lie to, then, by all means."

"And her captain seems to be coming on
board."

"He is very welcome."

Lord Castletowers smiled, in spite of his
anxiety.

"That man is as cool as an iceberg," said he
to Saxon. "And yet he knows he will be
swinging from the topmost tower of St. Elmo
within forty-eight hours, if these people recognise
him!"

And now the great frigate towered alongside
the tiny yacht, frowning down with all her port-holes,
and crowded with armed men.

A ladder was then lowered over the ship's
side, and the Neapolitan commander and one of
his officers came on board.

The Neapolitan was perfectly polite, and
apologised for his intrusion with the best-bred
air in the world. He requested to know the
name and destination of the yacht, the name of
her owner, and the names of all persons on
board.

Lord Castletowers, who assumed the office of
spokesman, replied in fluent Italian. The name
of the yacht was the Albula; she was the
property of Mr. Trefalden, who was cruising in
the Mediterranean with his friends Lord Castletowers
and Sir Thomas Wylde. They had no
object whatever in view, save their own pleasure,
and could not say in what direction they might
be going. Probably to Athens. Quite as probably
to Constantinople or Smyrna. Their
passports were at the signor capitano's disposition,
should he desire to see them.

The signor capitano bowed, and inquired if
Milord Trefalden had any intention of landing
in Sicily?

The Earl replied that Mr. Trefalden would
probably put in at Marsala for fresh water.

"Milord carries no arms, no gunpowder, no
munitions of war?"

"Only the brass swivel which the signor
capitano perceives on deck, and its appurtenances."

The Neapolitan explained that he was under
the necessity of requesting permission to glance
into the hold, which was accordingly opened for
his inspection. He then asked leave to see the
cabin, and went down, accompanied by Trefalden
and Castletowers, leaving his lieutenant on
deck.

"Our friend Sir Thomas Wylde," said the
Earl, with an introductory wave of the hand.

Colonna, who was still lying on the sofa, with
his pipe in his mouth, and an old Times supplement
in his hand, lifted up his head at these
words, rose lazily, made a very stiff bow, and
said nothing. The Neapolitan commander returned
the bow, made some pleasant remark
on the gentilezza of the pretty little cabin,
and again apologised for the trouble he had
given.

The present insurrection, he explained, compelled
his Majesty's government to keep strict
watch upon all vessels sailing towards Sicily.
It was not an agreeable service for the officers
of his Majesty's navy; but it was a very necessary
one. He believed that he had now but
one duty left to perform. He must trouble
milords to hear him read a little proclamation
containing the description of one Giulio Colonna,
a noted political offender, for whose apprehension
his Majesty the King of the Two Sicilies
offered a reward of two thousand piastres. The
said Giulio Colonna, he might add, was supposed
to be even now on his way to Palermo.

He then drew a paper from his pocket-book,
and, removing his hat, read aloud in the name
of his sovereign a very minute and accurate
inventory of Signor Colonna's outward man,
describing his eyes, nose, mouth, teeth, hair,
beard, moustache, height, and complexion; to
all of which Signor Colonna listened with a placid
composure that might have deceived Mephistopheles
himself.

"What is all that about?" said he in English,
when the officer had finished reading. " I do
not understand Italian, you know."

Saxon could hardly forbear laughing outright
while Castletowers gravely translated the proclamation
for the benefit of the supposed Sir
Thomas.

Colonna smiled and shrugged his shoulders.

"Pshaw!" said he. "A hopeless quest.
They might as well try to catch a swallow on
the wing!"

Whereupon the signor capitano, understanding
the tone and gesture, though not the words,
drew himself up, and replied, with some little
assumption of dignity, that the man in question
was a notorious traitor, and certain to fall into
the hands of justice before long.

He then left the cabin somewhat less graciously
than he had entered it, and Lord Castletowers,