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Rh The certainty that, even now, her presence was wanted at home—the impossibility of evading their notice for some hours to come—all rushed upon Beatrice's mind. "What shall I—can I do? To stay with you now will inevitably occasion a search—Alas! my dearest father, you do not know what an important person your Beatrice is at home. You dare not trust even Marcela?" "Impossible—you know her chattering habits—she could not keep a secret if she tried." The truth of this Beatrice had not now to learn. "To-night, then, my father—you know the old oak, which you used to call our study—I will be there by eleven o'clock—I cannot come by day without exciting wonder." "Alone, and at night?—impossible." "The very loneliness makes our security. There is moon light enough to shew my way—there is nothing to fear, my own dear father!"

"And, Beatrice, endeavour to bring some food—I must rely on you for supper." A hasty farewell, whose sorrow was lost in its fear, and Beatrice ran home in time to be scolded by Marcela for keeping dinner waiting. An old servant dearly loves a little