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68 the example of others' actions to investigate her own. She was now to learn a practical lesson—lessons which, after all, if they do but fall on tolerable ground, are the only ones that bear real fruit. One day, Minora, the daughter of the old guerilla who had served with her father, came up with the intelligence that a detachment of soldiers, galloping up, had detailed their business, while pausing for wine and directions in the village. It was to levy the fine, and search for suspected persons—in other words, to pillage the house. Beatrice looked at her mother, who was busy sorting coloured silks for her daughter's embroidery. Who could tell the consequences of another alarm, where the first had been so fatal? Her resolution was instantly taken. A few weeks since, with the view of supplying Donna Margaretta with a constant amusement, Beatrice had fixed on an open space in the thicket for a garden, and had there collected bees and flowers, and framed a little arbour. The way to it was very intricate, and the place entirely concealed. If she could but prevail on her mother to remain there, her security would be almost certain. Hastily placing a little fruit in a basket, and catching up a large