and what they were talking about. At last for the honour of old England, they resolved to come to closer combat, and accordingly ran suddenly on the enemy, regardless of the glittering steel, whilst the masks not relishing the biting arguments of English whips, which came with all the advantage of novelty, and severe application, were soon thrown off their guard, submitting to have their swords beaten out of their hands, and at last taking refuge in flight, notwithstanding the imprecations, which the stranger poured forth in various languages, with a fluency that astonished Clayton, who could not but be entertained by the inexhaustible variety of his epithets. Finding however that he could be understood, he began to parley with him in Italian, whilst the lady who was set at liberty by the flight of her guard, gave to one of Clayton's servants, a direction in English to the chateau, from which she had unfornately wandered out of hearing. When

the

the assaulter found that there was a probability of an addition to the enemy's forces, he thought it prudent to make peace on any terms, he therefore condescended to say that the young lady, whose terrified senses were only just returning, was his sister, and had escaped from a convent in Portugal, that he was her guardian, and as she had refused to return willingly to his protection; he had thought himself authorized to employ stratagem and force. Speak, wretch!" exclaimed the fraternal protector in a voice of thunder, "speak to confirm my word, and thine own dishonour." His accents might have almost awakened the dead, but not trusting to words only, he accompanied them by an herculean that seemed powerful grasp,

66

enough to destroy the delicate frame, which he still supported. "Ah! my God," exclaimed the unfortunate female, in a voice that thrilled through Clayton's soul, "suffer me to die in

peace, oh!

my bro

ther,

ther persecute me not in the grave." She closed her eyes and seemed actually departing to seek refuge in death; her inhuman brother seeing domestics approaching, would have flung her to the ground, but Clayton caught her in his arms, and the ferocious tyrant darting a look of ire upon him, sprang into his carriage, and was in a moment carried out of sight, by four fleet horses. It was now nearly dark, the lady, who appeared to belong to the chateau, leaned against a tree in silence, which Clayton was too much absorbed in thought to break; all the tenderest sympathies of his heart were awakened, and he could not refrain from repeatedly pressing to it, the injured object, who still remained as he thought, lifeless in his arms. We say as he thought, but though he might be deceived, that is no reason why our readers should, and we will candidly acknowledge to them, that the agitated girl was not quite so inanimate, as to be wholly unconscious VOL. I.

L

of

of the interest that she had inspired, but not knowing exactly how to behave, she suffered her timidity to seek shelter under the appearance of insensibility, and was rejoiced, when the arrival of the domestics relieved her from her embarrassing situation. Clayton resigned his charge reluctantly to the care of two servants, who had brought a chair for her, and would then have taken his leave, but the other young lady advancing towards him, with an air of nobleness, tempered with softness, said in the most pleasing accents, "No, sir, that I must not allow, add another favour to the signal one, which you have already conferred on us, and permit me to give my father the Marchese di Rodalvi, the pleasure of thanking the deliverer of his daughter's friend.” Could Clayton resist? Impossible!—He went, and whilst the young ladies had retired, to calm their spirits after so alarming a rencontre, he made the Marchese acquainted with his name, and

intimacy

intimacy with the Count Rodalvi, by that means increasing the prepossession already felt in his favour. Whilst they are talking over affairs foreign and domestic, asking, and answering, a thousand anxious questions concerning Edmund, Lord Drelincourt, and the rest of the Marchese's friends, we will attend a few minutes to the female branches of the family. "Heavens, my dear Claudina!" exclaimed the beautiful Everilda, "what a wretch is that vile Don Lopez, he deserves to be ut into the inquisition, for his shocking oaths, I wish I were one of the officers, he should see it in all its terrors, and I daresay he would then never mention the name of convent, or bear with that of priest, again." "How unfortunate I am," exclaimed Claudina, tears stealing down her pale cheeks, from a pair of fine black eyes, "alas! I never knew the transports of affection in my own family, my heart overflows with sensibility, and had it not been for your friendship, and