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 of her own black imagination; but, returning at the time appointed, he led her to the wood, telling her that the boy was concealed in an apartment of the turret, close to the chapel. Suddenly pausing, as he followed the path:—"This is the very tree," he cried, turning round, and looking upon her fiercely; "yes, this is the spot upon which La Crusca shed the blood of an innocent for you." "Then the boy was really and inhumanly murdered," said Lady Margaret, pale with horror at the thought, but still unappalled for herself. "Yes, lady, and his blood be on your soul! Do you hope for mercy?" he cried, seizing her by the arm. "Not from you." "Dare you appeal to heaven?" She would not answer. "I must embrace thee here, lady, before we for ever part." "Monster!" said Lady Margaret, seizing the dagger in his hand, as he placed his arm around her neck. "I have already resolved that I will never survive public