clandestinely that my dear brother quitted his father’s house to accompany me.  Unhappy hour when I yielded to his entreaties!  But, Monsieur le Marquis, I perceive it is now imperative that I should go to my father; he will need the assurance of my existence to support him in his grief.  I will therefore, with your permission, write a few lines by the bearer of this communication, and to-morrow morning at daylight must unwillingly tear myself away from your charming society.”

The cool and confident air with which I answered, removed suspicion; and having written a few lines to the Comte, and requested from the Marquis the loan of his seal, I applied the wax, and desired the servant to deliver it as an answer to the messenger, whom I was not sorry to see galloping by the window.  “Oh,” cried I, “’tis Pierre:  had I known that, I should have asked him some questions.”

This well-timed exclamation of mine, I perceived, did not fail to have its weight.  We again sat down to table, and I was treated with more than usual kindness by the Marquis and his brother, as if in compensation for their having, for a moment, harboured a suspicion of my honesty.  But I was ill at ease, and I felt that I never had acted with more prudence than in proposing my early departure.

In the evening I was alone with Cerise.  Since the news of my brother’s death, and the scene that followed, we had sworn unalterable love; and in that instance only was I sincere.  I loved her to desperation, and I doat on her memory now, though years have rolled away, and she has long been mingled with the dead.  Yes, Cerise, if from the regions of bliss, where thy pure spirit dwells, thou canst look down upon a wretch so loaded with guilt as I am, oh, turn not away with horror, but view with pity one who loved as fondly as man could love, and hereafter will care little for all that Paradise can offer, if thy fair spirit must not bid him welcome!

* * * * *

“I wish, Huckaback,” observed the pacha, angrily, “that you would go on with your story:  you are talking to a dead woman, instead of a live pacha.”

“I entreat your pardon,” replied the renegade; “but to amuse your highness, I have entered into scenes which long have been dismissed from my memory; and the feelings attending them will rise up, and cannot well be checked.  I will be more careful as I proceed.”

* * * * *

Cerise was melancholy at the idea of my departure.  I kissed the tears away, and the time flew rapidly.  I persuaded her to allow me an interview after the family had retired, as I had much to say to her.

* * * * *

“Well, well, we’ll suppose all that,” observed the pacha, impatiently:  “now go on; you remember you were to set off in the morning.”

“Yes, yes, your highness,” replied the renegade, somewhat displeased.

* * * * *