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all set to work to calculate how much it WaS a Islall. ; : * * The chief, however, turned to Charles. —“There is an old woman,” said, he, (lady Anne Milsome) “and some servants in the carriage; but as they are of no consequence, I will send them on to Florence... I would let you and the young lady go too,” added he, with a look of regret, “and would trust to your honour that the bill will be paid; but they would not allow it;” and he gave a glance towards his companions, plainly implying, that like many other generals, he too was obliged to pay respect to the opinion of his troops. - t Charles asked if he might speak to the persons in the carriage, but this was decidedly refused; and cutting away the traces from the two dead leaders, they untied the servants, and sent them on towards, Florence, leaving lady Anne, who was almost dead with terror, totally ignorant of the fate of her niece. --- G 6 s In

: In the mean time, some of the robbers

brought a cup of water, and with a gen

tleness he did not expect, assisted Charles

in endeavouring to recall Mary to herself,

but in vain, and he began to be seriously

alarmed for her life. It was a curious

sight to see the young Englishman bend

ing with looks of eager anxiety over the

lifeless form of her he loved, surrounded

by the dark countenances of the rude Ita

lian robbers, all seemingly more or less

interested in the lovely girl that lay with

scarce a sign of animation in the midst of them. The ferocity of their habits seemed

suspended for the moment, and the kind

liness of nature, long, long forgotten,

seemed returned without a mixture of evil, while one supported her drooping. head upon his knee, as Charles sprinkled

the water on her forehead, and another

chased her fair and delicate hand, pure as

innocence itself, in his own, embrowned

by sun and storm, and stained with a

thousand crimes.

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But at length their captain, having cast many uneasy looks along the road, which was close by, told Charles that they could not remain any longer in that exposed situation, and Mr. Melville was obliged to raise his cousin in his arms, and carry her in the midst of the robbers, along a narrow path passing between the hill and the wood. Burdened with the weight of his cousin, Charles was now totally without defence, and had the banditti been so inclined, they might have murdered him without resistance; but the proverb, that there is honour amongst thieves, seemed to hold good, and their minds for a time at least seemed turned to other thoughts.

At the end of a mile they came to a house which bore the appearance of a soli—tary inn. It is true, there had been another house near it, the walls of which were still standing; but the windows, doors, and wood-work in general, had been long ago torn away, to patch up the dilapidated dwelling into which Charles was now con. . . . . . ducted.

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ducted. When they were arrived at this miserable-looking place, they made him carry Mary up stairs into a large bedroom, which was entered by an anti-room; and here the captain, who followed him, locked the door, telling him, that in a few minutes he would send his sister to see if she could be of any assistance to his wife, which he concluded Mary to be; and Charles, thinking some advantage might be drawn from the mistake, took care not

to correct it. As soon as they were alone, he laid Mary gently on the wretched bed which the room, contained, and again endeavoured to recall her to recollection. He was now more successful, for in about five minutes she began to revive, though slowly, and a slight degree of colour came back into her cheek. As soon as she had recovered herself, she raised her head, gazed wildly, round her, and fixing her eyes. upon Charles's face, seemed striving to re. member.—“Charless" exclaimed she at length,

length, “where am I?’ tell me what has happened? was it you, dear Charles, that saved me again?” Charles had for years been deceiving himself—he had been deceiving every one, with respect to his feelings towards Mary; but circumstances, had opened his eyes, he could delude himself no longer, and yielding to all he felt, he pressed her to his bosom, telling her she was safe, and calling her by the fondest names that af. fection could suggest. But Mary seemed scarcely to perceive the increased warmth of his manner.— “Oh, Charles" she replied, putting both her hands into his with her own sweet and peculiar look of innocent confidence, “what do I not owe you?” “Nothing! nothing, dearest Mary 1” he replied, and a further answer was trembling on his lips, which would at once have explained to Mary the feelings of his

heart; but at that moment he heard a foot

on the stairs, and he had just time to inform

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