her son-whose cause, too, seemed her own; and she faltered at the notion of communicating to her the dreadful threats which Tavora had uttered. She was even afraid to see the marchioness, lest she should betray herself; which would only have added to her misery.

In this uncertainty, she at last resolved to fly to her aunt, the prioress, who had loved her from a child.

She knew not exactly what to determine, even if she got there in safety, nor whether to disclose her reason for her flight. But fly she felt she must; for she knew that Tavora, who had already been guilty of one murder (or, as the softened account called it, accidental homicide), would not scruple, with all his bad passions roused, to commit another. Her plan, therefore, was resolved; though, as the convent was five miles off, how to get there was the question.

In this she was miraculously, as she thought, aided by chance. She had always been accustomed to pay her duty to the prioress on her birth-day; and this happened to be the very next day, on which indeed it was fixed by her aunt Tavora herself that she should be sent in her coach, to pay the usual compliments, and make the usual presents.

She was still more highly favoured, she thought, by fortune, that her aunt, who had been for some

time too ill to leave her chamber, apologized for not being able to accompany her, but proposed an old dame d'honneur, or duenna, as her escort. Rosalie objected to this, as the dame d'honneur was indispensable to her aunt in her illness; so it was at last, and with difficulty, settled, that she should proceed alone, under the protection of two menservants. Alas! these were the devoted tools of Tavora, and, exclusive of being well paid for their devotion, only too like him in indifference to crime. Tavora heard of the arrangement, seemingly without interest, and to his cousin's great joy, excused himself from his mother's proposal, that he should himself escort his cousin on horseback.

You may imagine the rest. The expedition set forward; the way lay through the wood and rocky valley described in the picture, at the end of which the coach was stopped by the ruffian, excited by his two greatest passions, avarice and revenge, both of which would be gratified by the death he had resolved. The tutored servants made no resistance, though he was alone. He opened the door of the carriage himself, and with the delight of a savage, or rather of a demon, told her to alight, for her hour was come. The wretched victim not obeying his command, more from terror than resistance, he dragged her in fury to the ground, where she struggled instinctively for her life, during which

his poignard fell from its scabbard, and stooping for it, she for a moment escaped from his hands. He flew after, overtook, scized her by the hair, and was on the point of accomplishing his fell purpose, when he met his own fate in the manner you have seen.

Such was the story of the first picture, not one word of which could I have interrupted had I been so inclined. But the interest created by this terrible relation, and the more and more excited interest concerning this mysterious Rosalie, kept me altogether silent till Oldacre had finished. He wound up with satisfying my curiosity as to the close of the story, by telling me that Penruddock conveyed her to the coach, whence she had been dragged, and having, when a little recovered, learned that she wished to be conducted to the convent of Las Huelgas, he mounted the box, and threatened the coachman, who was unarmed, with instant death, if he did not drive to that asylum. The footman had fled.

The good prioress listened to the tale of her niece with horror and alarm; gave her immediate refuge; and loaded Penruddock with thanks. Deeply impressed with his humanity, she was also alive to the cool decision of character which he had shown, as well as to his accomplishments and manners. So much dignity, united with so much firmness, could

only belong, she said, to ancient birth: the only drawback was, however, a great one; he was a heretic.

Nevertheless, as the deliverer of her niece from death, he commanded, as he deserved, all her attention; and finding that he was of the English Life Guards (a great cause of estimation in her mind), and travelling for improvement in Spain, with high recommendations, she laid herself out to show her gratitude by all sorts of attentions. She also took upon herself to explain all circumstances to the marchioness, who, however desolate for the loss of her son, was too well acquainted with his character to pursue Penruddock, or even to institute inquiry. She allowed it, therefore, to be supposed that he had been assassinated, or had fallen by the shot of some guerilla partizan; for which, in that agitated time, there was too much ground of probability for it not to be believed.

There! I have given you enough for this division of my history, and reserve the rest for another post. When will you excite me in your turn, by any thing you can tell me of your villainous world? But, adieu.

W. F.

LETTER V.

Fitzwalter in continuation.

Penruddock Hall.

I WAIT not to hear how you like it, to go on with my story, as Oldacre continued to relate it.

Whether from unhappy associations, or the indisposition one naturally has to be perpetually in contact with a person to whom one has not behaved well, the proximity of Rosalie to her unfortunate aunt had become disagreeable to the latter, and she consented, soon after her son's catastrophe, to her wishes, warmer than ever, to be placed under the protection of the prioress. The marchioness, forgetting her son's delinquency, could not help looking upon her as the cause of its fatal consequence, if not of the delinquency itself. It is needless to say that Rosalie herself could have no happy recollections in the house of the marchioness. The transition, therefore, to the protection of the convent became easy, and the orphan of Almeida was established there, with appointments suitable to her rank and fortune.