employed in fresh-trimming the lantern, she whispered, "think rather of that gentle creature yonder—so young, so good, so innocent, let her not be a sacrifice."
"Ah! I love her," said he in the same whispering tone. "If not my wife, she will never be more to me than the loveliest dream of my existence."
"A dream," thought Francesca, "which, alas! will cost her happiness."
But there was no time for further parley. Francesca threw round her Evelyn's cloak, put on his plumed hat, drew his glove on one hand, and leaning her head upon it, might well, to a casual glance, have seemed the cavalier.
Evelyn and Lucy opened the door of the chamber. They passed on, and the sentinel looked in, and saw, as he thought, his prisoner. "I must wish you good night for my friend and myself—poor thing!" said Lucy, in a low voice.
The man touched his cap respectfully, and with slow steps they proceeded along the gallery. How distinctly could Evelyn feel the heart of the terrified girl beat against his arm! At last they reached the extremity—the heavy door swung to after them. Lucy tried to draw the bolt, but her hand trembled too much, and her companion was
