"Do not distress yourself about him, lady; I will take care that he is kept safe and sound, but first of all I want to know where this warrant is kept for my apprehension.'

"That can I not tell you, for my father does not disclose all his business matters to me; if you wish to know aught of it you must go to him."

"I have been to him already, lady, but cannot get a word from him about it. He had better deliver it up, or his life I cannot answer for; my men are already clamouring to have their revenge for the injury he did our comrades he captured some months back. I can assure you he is no favourite in these quarters.'

"And would you let them take an old man's life because he did his duty to his country? Shame! are ye such cowards as to murder a man in cold blood? I thought even such men as ye had noble minds."

"Now, madam, you wrong us," said Perrone; "we do not wish to take this old man's life. If he will give up the warrant, and promise to get our comrades released he shall pass from here unmolested; if not, I will not answer for him."

"Will you allow me to go and persuade him," said Beatrice (such was her name); I think I can bring him to think different of this affair; I see your motives are honourable towards us."

"Certainly," said Perrone, leading the way to a cell at the other end of the cave. "I will give you half an hour, and if in that time you can persuade him, well and good; but mind, he will not have such another chance of escape; I am doing more now than my men will think right, I know."

Half an hour had scarce elapsed when Beatrice came out of her father's place of confinement and placed in the hands of Perrone the fatal document, promising that her father would do all in his power to release his comrades.

The old count and his daughter were then placed between three guides, and the escort commenced their journey to Naples. The prisoners, however, were blindfolded for fear they might remember the way they had been led and return in a rather different way than they left. However, we must leave them to proceed on their journey, while we return to our hero.

He was pacing up and down before the mouth of the cave like a caged lion; his brows were bent as if in deep thought.

"Why did I let her go while I had her in my power?" said he, speaking to himself. "I have followed this girl wherever she went; I have spent hours in Naples in the midst of my greatest foes merely to see her, and now, when I had clutched the prey, I have been idiot enough to let her go. Well, well, perhaps I may get a chance again."

CHAPTER II.

Our scene changes to the city of Naples. It is all in a commotion; the streets are crowded with anxious faces listening to the account of the capture of Count by a band of robbers on his way to Salerno. A small band of military is passing up the principal street headed by the old count himself, going in search of this band of marauders. Instead of releasing the comrades of Perrone, as he had promised, he was going to bring the others to justice.

"What is all this commotion about ?" said a young man stepping to a crowd of men. "Is the world coming to an end, or are we all going to be murdered? there might be something very grand, or else very awful, going to appear. What is it ?"

"What is it possible you have not heard," said one of the crowd; "Bernardo Perrone stopped old Count with about fifty men, and after murdering all his escort they took him and his daughter prisoners, and only let them go on condition that they should have a large ransom. But however, he will unroost the ferrets, I know. He has just gone up the street with as many men as would swallow Perrone and all his band together."

"Ah! ah! ah!" laughed Perrone (for it was he). "I think he will have a job before him; but I must say good morning, friends, for I have urgent business in hand."

"I say, lad," said one tall fellow, "I have a suspicion that fellow is Perrone himself, or one of his band."

"If I thought so," said another, "I would call the police; but however, I will follow him and see where he goes."

Perrone at that moment turned the corner of the street, but when his pursuer got there he could not see anything of him; and well he might not, for he had turned into a large mansion, and pursuing his way up a winding staircase demanded of a domestic whether the lady Beatrice was at home.

Having been answered in the affirmative, he desired the man to inform her that a gentleman wished an audience for a few mo

ments.

"Shall I say what name, signor ?" said the man.

"Oh, no! 'twill not matter.'

After a few moments the domestic returned and desired Perrone to follow him.

He led him along a large corridor to a door, which being open showed him a room furnished in the most splendid style of the day.

The servant announced the guest, and Perrone was ushered

into the presence of her who was so lately his captive in a cave in a wild part of the mountains surrounding the city.

"Ah!" said Beatrice. "What, you here! are you aware that my father seeks your life, and is even now on his way to our place of concealment to bring you and your companions to justice ?"

"Yes, lady, I was aware of his intentions ere he commenced his march. Do you think that we should trust to chance? But let him go; I defy him either to find any of my band, or even the place in which you were concealed. However, this is not my errand. I am now going to give up my lawless life. Will you intercede for the life of one who would give up all for you? Yes, Beatrice, if I may so call you. The outlaw Perrone has long burned with a devouring passion for Beatrice de Farrara. One of the outcasts who has forfeited his life sues for it at the feet of one who so late was his captive."

A deep flush spread itself over the face of Beatrice as he poured forth such impassioned words, and with a trembling voice she desired him to rise.

"I will do all I can for you, Bernardo; but you know my father's fiery disposition. I would not put myself in his way for a day or two, because his anger will not cool for awhile; however, be sure that if thy life can be saved by my interference thou art safe."

"Thanks, lady, thanks; I would rather receive pardon through thy intercession than through the intercession of a queen. Farewell! I hope ere long we shall meet again." And walking up to Beatrice, he imprinted a burning kiss upon her hand, and vanished from the room.

Three days afterwards the old Count was sitting in his study pondering over the events that had so lately passed, when a domestic rushed into the room to tell him that the villain Perrone had been arrested that morning, having been betrayed by one of his band.

"Oh! Master Bernardo, now I have you in my power, have I?" said the old man, chuckling in his glee. "Order the carriage, Marco, and I will go see how this wild bird looks cooped up in a stone cage; he will not be quite so high and mighty now the scales are turned. Be quick, Marco; I long to have a glimpse of him. By Saint Mary, but I will have the rascal's head ere sunset to-morrow."

"Thou liest," said a deep sonorous voice behind him. He turned quickly round, but could not see any one. He drew his sword and rushed to the door, but although the corridor leading from the room was very long, he could not catch a glimpse of the intruder.

The carriage at that moment drove up to the door, and the

count jumping into it ordered it to be driven quickly to the jail, conjuring his brain all the time to think who it was could have escaped him so easily in his own mansion.

66

Well," said he, as he entered the prison of Perrone, "does this little cage suit you as well as the one you were so kind as to show me through in the hills-ay, young man? I suppose you thought yourself safe when you got the warrant, but you see the sharpest men are sometimes mistaken.”

"Yes, count, it is all very well to talk in that way now that I am in your power. You would not have said so much a few days back; but the scales are turned, and I suppose you think you have a license to do as you like. Well, do your worst; you can but take away my life, and that I care very little for, if it were not for leaving one being who will curse the man that takes it."

"Pooh, pooh, man, thou'rt raving; there is not a soul in the country that will not consider it a blessing to get rid of thee. But however, it is no use bandying words with thee now; thou hast very little time for aught but prayers, for thou wilt lose thy head to-morrow, as sure as thy name is Perrone."

"If I do," said Perrone, "thou wilt lose what thou dost little think. Thou wilt lose thy only child, old man; so there will be a little consolation."

"Ho! turnkey," shouted the count, "you had better put this prisoner the strait-jacket on; he appears to be losing his senses, and that would be a pity, as he will be cut short by the head so Good bye, young man; we shall meet again to-morrow."

soon.

CHAPTER III.

'Twas on the morning of the fifth of June-the morning but one after the scene in our last chapter-that the large square in front of the prison was filled with silent spectators, waiting to see a sight that had not been acted there for many years. The old bell upon the prison tower was sending out a deep muffled sound as though it were ringing for the dead. The guard paced about in front of a scaffold covered with black cloth. Every window and house top in sight of the scaffold was crammed with spectators, everything having a gloomy appearance.

Just as the clock struck eight the mournful procession moved from the prison gates, and wended its way towards the scaffold. First came the executioner, with his axe turned with the edge towards the prisoner; then came the prisoner himself, followed by a priest carrying a silver crucifix, and then a long train of turnkeys, policemen, and guards, who always attend on such mournful

occasions. The prisoner mounted the steps of the scaffold with a firm step, and having knelt down the priest held up the crucifix, and they prayed together the last prayer that he must say in this world. After the prayer Perrone laid his head upon the block, and the axe was raised ready to strike when the priest (which was no other than Beatrice), drawing a pistol from his belt, shot the executioner dead upon the spot. Immediately fifty pistols gleamed in the sun; there was a sharp report, and the guards went rolling one over the other in the greatest confusion, and when the smoke had cleared away the prisoner and priest had vanished.

All was confusion; the soldiers lay on the ground either dead or dying; the crowd rocking to and fro like a troubled sea; every face seemed filled with astonishment, and it was this confusion that enabled Perrone and his band to escape unobserved from the crowd.

Our tale is drawing to a close.

We will now carry our readers to the delightful mountains of Switzerland.

There is a beautiful little villa crowned the summit of one of the smaller hills near the outskirts of Lansanne. It was built by a young man who had suddenly come into those, attended by a young girl (a few years before). No one knew where they had come from. The dark complexion of the female bespoke her of Italian connection, but the man seemed a mixture of a colder clime.

People wondered for a short time, as they generally do, and when they find they can make nothing out, like very rational beings, rest themselves content. The young people were married, lived comfortably, seemed in very good circumstances, and so the public mind was satisfied.

I suppose the reader ere this will have guessed who this couple were. It was Perrone and Beatrice. Perrone had dismissed his band and retired to Lansanne, where he lived amidst a charming family to a good old age.

THE SEDUCER.

BY MRS. CRAWFORD.

[Of all the various crimes which spread their baneful influence through society, and contaminate with their subtle poison the very springs of domestic happiness, there is none more base and unmanly, none more destructive, than that of seduction. It would be well were the seducer, before he engages in his vile schemes, to reflect upon all the probable and all the possible consequences. How many parents, and especially how many widowed mothers, have died of