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said that, if I would second his views in the matter he would give a purse of ducats, sufficient to make me rich all the rest of my daya; and as he did 0 he smiled, thinking he had completely bound me to him, But he little knows me. I would sooner part with this finger, or for that matter with all my fingers, than do anything, my dear lady, that was displeasing to you. But I did not tell him so, I saw, at onre, that ¢haf would have spoiled everything. So I told him that I would enter into hia views.”

“Nurse! nuree! then inileed I have no one to succor me,” said Beatrice,

“You wrong me, sweet lady—you misunderstand me,” eagerly replied the nurse; “see you not that it ‘wos necessary to deceive your uncle before I could gain admittance to you, much tess eid yout Well, I told him I would enter into his views and do all I could to forward your union, So he bid me come to you at once. And now I am here, but not to aid any one save you, Teil me ail that hea past, so that we can together form some plan how to act.”

Beatrice accordingly narrated the events which we have given to our readers in the Inst chapler. When she had finished, the nurse sat some time in abstracted thought, At length she spoko,

“I have it-IT have it, dearest mistress—wo must apply to Signor Andanta.”

« Alaa!” replied Beatrice, ‘he is far away, hesides what could he do if he were in Venice?”

“Do much, aweet lady; and in Venice he is, unless my eyes deceived me this moming.”

“What say you? Is he indeed in Venice? Where did you see him? Are you certain?” were the rapid enquiries of Beatrice.

“Sofily, my dear child,” said the nurse with a smile, “1 will answer your questions as fast as I can, First then I say I saw the Signor this morning, I saw him in Venice, for I have not been out of the city for a month, I saw him on the Rialto, And I am as certain it wos the Signor as that I am speaking to you now. There, have answered your questions, and now let me tell you my plan.”

“Tam eager to hear it,” enid Meatrice, smiling, in Gcapite of her situation, at the particularity of the nurse,

“Well then we must he aided by the Signor. I met hima, aa I aay, on the Rialto, and he stopped a minute as he always does, for he was ever a kind youth, to speak with me, He asked me how I had heen, and I naturally told him where I was going. When he heard that your unele was in Venice he seemed surprixed, and instantly asked me if you were here. Now the first thing 1 had asked the messenger who came after me wis whether you were in Venice, so I told the Signor that you were. ‘At Yhis he seemed more surprised, and then, slipping a ducat into my hand, he asked me if I would bear his

THE LADY'S

Jove to you, and say that he was going across the Alps to the wats, He hinted that, if you would he 60 good ag to aené hima reply, I might find him on the Rialto a couple of hours after noon, Now what I propose ie this. Let me go to him and enlist him in our cause. We wiil have him here with a gondola to-night, and § will see if your escape from the palace cannot be man- aged. Once free you should seek your aunt at Rome, and solicit her protection sgainst your uncle here, And then you can have the Signor in despite of the Duke.”

“Hush! hush !—it is a fearful venture,” said Beatrice, “and then-~then the vile thinge will be be said of such a flight. Oh! nurse, is there no other way to escape this dreadfal marriage 2”

“None, my aweet lady; and what is there so dreadful in this? Do not young tadies every day elope with their lovers? Why if I wes threatened as you are, would fly with any one, and anywhere, so I but escaped.”

At this instant, a footstep was beard in the corridor without, and directly a hand was laid on the lock of the door. Beatrice hesitated no longer.

“Go-go,” she goxped, “there is my uncle, arrange everything. I will do as you say.”

The nurse paused no longer, but hastened to unbar the door. ‘Tho person proved to be @ messenger to summon her to the noontide meal. She left the apart- ment, with a parting whisper to Beatrice to confide ail in her,

‘The course of our tale now carries us to the place of St. Mark. The hour was evening. The night was calm ancl lustrous. Not a cloud obscured the sky, and. the moon sailing onward in silent majesty, flooded the promenade with her glorious light, and flung the quaint shadows of the Ducal Palace, and of the column of St. Mark across the scene. Men of every nation could be seen around. ‘There was the Englishman from his dis- tant isle, the Frenchman from the sunny bankas of the Loire, the German from the free cities of the Rhine, the Spaniard from the mountains of Andalusia, the wily Greek from the Tonian coasts, the Jew in his pointed cap and tong peculier gown, and even the Muhommedan, with his turban, his owing beard, and his ill-concealed scorn for the followers of the Cross,

Through these picturesque groups the Si held hia way at the our above mentioned, His elastie step, and beaming eye, betukened the unusual elevation of his spirits, He had proceeded some distance in the crowd alone, when he aecosted an individual dressed as a gondolier. The two then retired behiad one of the masey pillars of St, Mark's place, and were soon engaged in a low but earnest conversation. We shull favor our readers with its purport.

“J depend in you, Pietro,” sail the Signor, “you have been to me a faithful servant doring many years, and this act will be another test of your fidelity. You know

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