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of Venice," said the gondolier, "when, fearing that her uncle might track her progress and overtake her before she could reach Rome, the Lady Beatrice resolved to take refuge in the convent of our mother, on the road to the eternal city. She came to this determination the sooner because she would not proceed without a protector. There I left her and her nurse and returned to Venice. For two days I wandered up and down the city secking you, but without success. At length I obtained a clue to your retreat, and finally gained admittance to you at this house, the residence of the leech who bore you home after your wound. More than a week has elapsed, and during that time you have lain insensible or raving in a delirium. But now you have past the crisis- God be praised !

"I have heard but this morning from the convent where the Lady Beatrice has taken refuge. The nurse and her mistress are still there, but the Duke has discovered their residence. So long, however, as they continue under the shelter of the consecrated walls he dare not make any attempt on their liberty, but the moment they should attempt to resume their journey he would, in defiance of everything, seize on them and bear them back to Venice. If once here no power could save the Lady Beatrice from becoming the bride of his nephew ."

You are right," interposed the lover, " oh ! would that I were well, that to -morrow I might set forth to their rescue !"

"But while they continue in the convent they are safe, therefore why need you chafe at your illness ? Stay here, dear master," said the honest follower, “ until you have fully recovered your strength, and then you can act all the better in your attempt to rescue the sweet Lady Beatrice."

The arguments of the gondolier finally prevailed over the impatience of the lover, and it was arranged that the servant should set forth, on the morrow, to the convent, to acquaint the Lady Beatrice with the convalescence of her lover, and tell her that, as soon as his recovered strength would permit, he would join her and be her escort to Rome.

A few weeks later and a gallant cavalcade was drawn | up at the gate of the convent of "Our Mother," whose ruins may be seen on the great road leading from Venice to Rome. The cavalcade consisted, for the most part, of armed horsemen, but among steeds of stouter form might be seen one or two palfreys such as, in that day, were used by monks and ladies. At the door of the convent stood a knight, with the lady abbess at his side and a fair form which, even shrouded as it was in a long veil, | the reader would have recognized as that of the Lady Beatrice. One or two female attendants and an elderly gentleman attired as the servant of a noble family completed the group.

"And now, my dear charge," said the abbess, addressing Lady Beatrice, " farewell ! May the blessing of God go with you, my child. Since you sought the refuge of these walls I have learned to love you as I have loved none save my poor niece who has, I trust, been a saint in heaven these many years. I commit you to the charge of the worthy steward whom your aunt, in answer to your letter, has sent to conduct you to Rome- not forgetting to recommend you, though that I need not do, to the care of the good knight, the Lord Adanta. And now, farewell again- God and the saints be with you."

The two ladies embraced, the abbess once more gave them her benediction, and then the cavalcade set forward. They proceeded sometime in silence. At length the knight, who had been hitherto engaged in marshalling his forces, rode up to the side of the Lady Beatrice. The nurse, with whom she was conversing, fell back, and was soon engaged in recounting for the hundredth time to the steward their escape from Venice, while the lover spoke in those low tones, which love ever assumes, to his mistress. "But tell me," said the Lady Beatrice at length, 66 why come you here with this title and array ; for since your hasty arrival this morning you have done nothing but persuade the abbess and my aunt's steward that we should set forth to-day- and so I have had no chance to hear you unravel this mystery." "It is soon done, sweet one," said the knight, with the gay laugh of happiness, "for, on arising from my bed of illness I found that my cousin, whose heir you know I was, had died. So I came into possession of his estates at once, and well was it that I did ; for it put me in possession of a good body of retainers with whom to guard you to Rome." 66 Why is there any peril, think you ?” said Beatrice anxiously, " Surely my uncle would not think of seizing me by force, and from what other person can we expect danger ?" "Ah ! dearest, you know him not, much as you have been persecuted by him. Think you that the man who would set an assassin on me to take my life, would hesitate to scize you by main force especially when he is, by the will of your father, your personal guardian." "But my father never dreamed that the Duke, my own mother's brother, would treat me thus-he never intended me to be the ward of so bad a man.” "True, true, but think you the Duke would split hairs about right and wrong if he had you once more in Venice with the law on his side. Trust it not, sweet one,—he would then take right, law, and everything in his own hands. Ah !" he exclaimed, suddenly rising in his stirrups to look over the brow of a hill a short distance in advancce, "by St. Mark ! what do I see ? Ho! there," he continued, shouting rapidly and violently, " a