But I am wandering from my story.  I was now left alone with one of the robbers, the confidential companion of the chief.  He was the youngest and most vigorous of the band, and though his countenance had something of that dissolute fierceness which seems natural to this desperate, lawless mode of life, yet there were traits of manly beauty about it.  As an artist I could not but admire it.  I had remarked in him an air of abstraction and reverie, and at times a movement of inward suffering and impatience.  He now sat on the ground; his elbows on his knees, his head resting between his clenched fists, and his eyes fixed on the earth with an expression of sad and bitter rumination.  I had grown familiar with him from repeated conversations, and had found him superior in mind to the rest of the band.  I was anxious to seize every opportunity of sounding the feelings of these singular beings.  I fancied I read in the countenance of this one traces of self-condemnation and remorse; and the ease with which I had drawn forth the confidence of the chieftain encouraged me to hope the same with his followers.

After a little preliminary conversation, I ventured to ask him if he did not feel regret at having abandoned his family and taken to this dangerous profession.  “I feel,” replied he, “but one regret, and that will end only with my life;” as he said this he pressed his clenched fists upon his bosom, drew his breath through his set teeth, and added with deep emotion, “I have something within here that stifles me; it is like a burning iron consuming my very heart.  I could tell you a miserable story, but not now—­another time.”—­He relapsed into his former position, and sat with his head between his hands, muttering to himself in broken ejaculations, and what appeared at times to be curses and maledictions.  I saw he was not in a mood to be disturbed, so I left him to himself.  In a little time the exhaustion of his feelings, and probably the fatigues he had undergone in this expedition, began to produce drowsiness.  He struggled with it for a time, but the warmth and sultriness of mid-day made it irresistible, and he at length stretched himself upon the herbage and fell asleep.

I now beheld a chance of escape within my reach.  My guard lay before me at my mercy.  His vigorous limbs relaxed by sleep; his bosom open for the blow; his carbine slipped from his nerveless grasp, and lying by his side; his stiletto half out of the pocket in which it was usually carried.  But two of his comrades were in sight, and those at a considerable distance, on the edge of the mountain; their backs turned to us, and their attention occupied in keeping a look-out upon the plain.  Through a strip of intervening forest, and at the foot of a steep descent, I beheld the village of Rocca Priori.  To have secured the carbine of the sleeping brigand, to have seized upon his poniard and have plunged it in his heart, would have been the work of an instant.  Should he die without noise, I might dart through the forest and down to Rocca Priori before my flight might be discovered.  In case of alarm, I should still have a fair start of the robbers, and a chance of getting beyond the reach of their shot.