Vivaldi affirmed the sound to be nothing more than the confused murmur of the distant multitude on the shore, but Bonarmo was not thus easily convinced.

The musicians, unsuccessful in their first endeavour to attract attention, removed to the opposite side of the building, and placed themselves in front of the portico, but with as little success; and, after having exercised their powers of harmony and of patience for above an hour, they resigned all further effort to win upon the obdurate Ellena. Vivaldi, notwithstanding the feebleness of his first hope of seeing her, now suffered an agony of disappointment; and Bonarmo, alarmed for the consequence of his despair, was as anxious to persuade him that he had no rival, as he had lately been pertinacious in affirming that he had one.

At length, they left the gardens, Vivaldi protesting that he would not rest till he had discovered the stranger, who so wantonly destroyed his peace, and had compelled him to explain his ambiguous warnings; and Bonarmo remonstrating on the imprudence and difficulty of the search, and representing that such conduct would probably be the means of spreading a report of his attachment, where most he dreaded it should be known.

Vivaldi refused to yield to remonstrance or considerations of any kind. »We shall see,« said he, »whether this demon in the garb of a monk, will haunt me again at the accustomed place; if he does, he shall not escape my grasp; and if he does not, I will watch as vigilantly for his return, as he seems to have done for mine. I will lurk in the shade of the ruin, and wait for him, though it be till death!«

Bonarmo was particularly struck by the vehemence with which he pronounced the last words, but he no longer opposed his purpose, and only bade him consider whether he was well armed, »For,« he added, »you may have need of arms there, though you had no use for them at the villa Altieri. Remember that the stranger told you that your steps were watched.«

»I have my sword,« replied Vivaldi, »and the dagger which I usually wear; but I ought to enquire what are your weapons of defence.«

»Hush!« said Bonarmo, as they turned the foot of a rock that overhung the road, »we are approaching the spot; yonder is the arch!« It appeared duskily in the perspective, suspended between two cliffs, where the road wound from sight, on one of which were the ruins of the Roman fort it belonged to, and on the other, shadowing pines, and thickets of oak that tufted the rock to its base.

They proceeded in silence, treading lightly, and often throwing a suspicious glance around, expecting every instant that the monk would steal out upon them from some recess of the cliffs. But they passed on unmolested to the arch-way. »We are here before him, however,« said Vivaldi as they entered the darkness. »Speak low, my friend,« said Bonarmo, »others besides ourselves may be shrouded in this obscurity. I like not the place.«

»Who but ourselves would chuse so dismal a retreat?« whispered Vivaldi, »unless indeed, it were banditti; the savageness of the spot would, in truth, suit their humour, and it suits well also with my own.«

»It would suit their purpose too, as well as their humour,« observed Bonarmo. »Let us remove from this deep shade, into the more open road, where we can as closely observe who passes.«

Vivaldi objected that in the road they might themselves be observed, »and if we are seen by my unknown tormentor, our design is defeated, for he comes upon us suddenly, or not at all, lest we should be prepared to detain him.«

Vivaldi, as he said this, took his station within the thickest gloom of the arch, which was of considerable depth, and near a flight of steps that was cut in the rock, and ascended to the fortress. His friend stepped close to his side. After a pause of silence, during which Bonarmo was meditating, and Vivaldi was impatiently watching, »Do you really believe,« said the former, »that any effort to detain him would be effectual? He glided past me with a strange facility, it was surely more than human!«

»What is it you mean?« enquired Vivaldi.

»Why, I mean that I could be superstitious. This place, perhaps, infests my mind with congenial gloom, for I find that, at this moment, there is scarcely a superstition too dark for my credulity.«

Vivaldi smiled. »And you must allow,« added Bonarmo, »that he has appeared under circumstances somewhat extraordinary. How should he know your name, by which, you say, he addressed you at the first meeting? How should he know from whence you came, or whether you designed to return? By what magic could he become acquainted with your plans?«

»Nor am I certain that he is acquainted with them,« observed Vivaldi; »but if he is, there was no necessity for superhuman means to obtain such knowledge.«

»The result of this evening surely ought to convince you that he is acquainted with your designs,« said Bonarmo. »Do you believe it possible that Ellena could have been insensible to your attentions, if her heart had not been pre-engaged, and that she would not have shewn herself at a lattice?«

»You do not know Ellena,« replied Vivaldi, »and therefore I once more pardon you the question. Yet had she been disposed to accept my addresses, surely some sign of approbation,« – he checked himself.

»The stranger warned you not to go to the villa Altieri,« resumed Bonarmo, »he seemed to anticipate the reception, which awaited you, and to know a danger, which hitherto you have happily escaped.«

»Yes, he anticipated too well that reception,« said Vivaldi, losing his prudence in passionate exclamation; »and he is himself, perhaps, the rival, whom he has taught me to suspect. He has assumed a disguise only the more effectually to impose upon my credulity, and to deter me from addressing Ellena. And shall I tamely lie in wait for his approach? Shall I lurk like a guilty assassin for this rival?«

»For heaven's sake!« said Bonarmo, »moderate these transports; consider where you are. This surmise of yours is in the highest degree improbable.« He gave his reasons for thinking so, and these convinced Vivaldi, who was prevailed upon to be once more patient.

They had remained watchful and still for a considerable time, when Bonarmo saw a person approach the end of the arch-way nearest to Altieri. He heard no step, but he perceived a shadowy figure station itself at the entrance of the arch, where the twilight of this brilliant climate was, for a few paces, admitted. Vivaldi's eyes were fixed on the road leading towards Naples, and he, therefore, did not perceive the object of Bonarmo's attention, who, fearful of his friend's precipitancy, forbore to point out immediately what he observed, judging it more prudent to watch the motions of this unknown person, that he might ascertain whether it really were the monk. The size of the figure, and the dark drapery in which it seemed wrapt, induced him, at length, to believe that this was the expected stranger; and he seized Vivaldi's arm to direct his attention to him, when the form gliding forward disappeared in the gloom, but not before Vivaldi had understood the occasion of his friend's gesture and significant silence. They heard no footstep pass them, and, being convinced that this person, whatever he was, had not left the arch-way, they kept their station in watchful stillness. Presently they heard a rustling, as of garments, near them, and Vivaldi, unable longer to command his patience, started from his concealment, and with arms extended to prevent any one from escaping, demanded who was there.

The sound ceased, and no reply was made. Bonarmo drew his sword, protesting he would stab the air till he found the person who lurked there; but that if the latter would discover himself, he should receive no injury. This assurance Vivaldi confirmed by his promise. Still no answer was returned; but as they listened for a voice, they thought something passed them, and the avenue was not narrow enough to have prevented such a circumstance. Vivaldi rushed forward, but did not perceive any person issue from the arch into the highway, where the stronger twilight must have discovered him.

»Somebody certainly passed,« whispered Bonarmo, »and I think I hear a sound from yonder steps, that lead to the fortress.«

»Let us follow,« cried Vivaldi, and he began to ascend.

»Stop, for heaven's sake stop!« said Bonarmo; »consider what you are about! Do not brave the utter darkness of these ruins; do not pursue the assassin to his den!«

»It is the monk himself!« exclaimed Vivaldi, still ascending; »he shall not escape me!« Bonarmo paused a moment at the foot of the steps, and his friend disappeared; he hesitated what to do, till ashamed of suffering him to encounter danger alone, he sprang to the flight, and not without difficulty surmounted the rugged steps.

Having reached the summit of the rock, he found himself on a terrace, that ran along the top of the arch-way and had once been fortified; this, crossing the road, commanded the defile each way. Some remains of massy walls, that still exhibited loops for archers, were all that now hinted of its former use.