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86 intelligence to those to whose sacred cause I stand pledged. The effort about to be made may fail, and these papers be lost. If in the course of two months you hear nothing farther of me, convey them, if possible, to Naples, but by a safe channel. As an inducement, if one be needed, the man to whose care it is addressed will know my fate, if known to any one on earth." Beatrice took the packet with a mute gesture of obedience, but words choked her while parting again with her father, and for a service so full of danger. But the sound of the mules was now close upon them. "Go—go—they must not see you. God bless you, my best beloved, my excellent child!" A farewell, which had yet a thousand things to say, passed in a moment. Beatrice gave one long, last look—agitation lent her speed—she ran swiftly through the forest—and, unseen and unheard, gained her own room. The next two months passed in the restlessness of feverish expectation; but day after day, week after week, and no tidings of Don Henriquez. The packet now haunted Beatrice: its own importance—the hope of learning somewhat of her father—the danger of their