dow, which was open; there seemed to be no one within, at least in the first apartment, which was lighted by a solitary lamp. After listening for a moment without hearing any noise, Charles succeeded in reaching with his hand the sill of the window, and without much difficulty made his way into the kiosque.

The first chamber in which he found himself was only furnished with a rich carpet, spread upon a part a little raised above the rest of the floor, running along one side of the room; and in the centre were long silk curtains, covering the entrance into the second apartment, to which Charles immediately proceeded. Here he found an alcove, furnished in the most sumptuous oriental style, with cushions, and silks, and cloth of gold; but this chamber also was as destitute of inhabitants as the former one.

Mary was certainly not in the kiosque ; and Charles began to suspect that the renegade had deceived him, or had been de

VOL. III.

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ceived

ceived himself; but on looking from the window of the last apartment, he saw that the building placed in the angle of the garden wall faced on that side the open country, and he could faintly descry a horse at a little distance, quietly engaged in nibbling the short grass below.

Charles turned into the other apartment, scarcely knowing what to do; but as he stood for a moment endeavouring to come to some conclusion, a distant sound of voices struck his ear, and looking from the casement of that room which looked into the garden, he saw several lights approaching the pleasure-house, and already so near, that he had only time to conceal himself behind the silk curtains which divided the one chamber from the other.

What might follow next he knew not; but his situation, whatever occurred, was dangerous, and with the renegade's dagger in his hand he waited the event. But he had no occasion for its use. In a minute or two after he had concealed himself, the

outer

outer door of the kiosque was opened, and he beheld Mary brought, or rather carried in, by half a dozen women of different ages. One was an old duenna of nearly seventy, who made a long speech to the captive, of which neither Mary nor Charles understood a wood; but so tediously did she prose, that Mr. Melville's patience was quite exhausted; while poor Mary, who thought all aid but too distant, remained with her eyes fixed unmeaningly on the ground, almost stupified by grief and terror.

The rest of the women who had accompanied her were younger, and though this town was not the general residence of the pacha, where the select beauties of his harem might be supposed to remain, yet even Charles's critical taste might have been satisfied with the sparkling eyes and arched eyebrows that presented themselves, had he seen them in any situation of less danger and agitation. In his present circumstances, however, nothing was more

gratifying to him than to see them depart, which they did, one by one, and to hear them fasten the door on the outside, leaving Mary standing melancholy and alone, unconscious of the assistance which was so near her.

No sooner were they gone than Charles came from his concealment; but the surprise of seeing him was so great, that Mary, losing her self-command, uttered a loud scream, and the moment after a noise was heard at the door.

Charles immediately stepped back, and drew the curtain before him; and directly after, a hideous black eunuch thrust his head in at the door; but Mary had by this time recovered her presence of mind, and holding out her hands towards the open door, seemed to entreat the slave to let her escape. He was deceived, shook his head with a grin, and once more fastened the door.

When Charles now came forward, Mary hid her face on his bosom, and wept for a

moment

moment or two in silence.

Neither dared

to speak; but drawing her gently into the next apartment, Charles pointed to the window, to the open country, and to the horse grazing below, and tied the shawl round her waist.

Mary understood him, and clasped her hands with fear, but approached the window. The shawl was one of the longest that are made, but for fear it should not reach the ground, Mr. Melville tore it down the middle, and having twisted it into a kind of rope, and fastened it securely, he raised Mary in his arms, and placed her on the edge of the window. But here for a moment her courage failed, and she clung to him, so that he could not let her down. One reproachful look however was sufficient to recall her to her. self; she loosed her hold, shut her eyes, and with ease he lowered his light burden till her feet touched the ground. Charles had no difficulty in dropping from the window himself, and in another moment Mary

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