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dins; and jealousy has, perhaps, whispered the damsels which you have delivered, as a true knight errant, from their ruthless arms. You see, dearest, I have never forgotten you: you have not once been out of my mind. Fugge il tempo; ma la memoria resta."

"Isabelle, my own, my beloved Isabelle!" replied Bazancourt, taking affectionately her hand; "truly grateful am I to return, and find you here in safety. I, too, have suffered much during my absence on your account: I have fancied that I had done wrong, in leaving you exposed to the chance visits of your worst enemies; but I knew your courage, and I pictured to myself, if any invaders came, how you would repulse them, by discharging a brace of horse-pistols which I left here, from the window. Joking apart, I am seriously rejoiced that your husband has found no means of molesting you here. From what I heard yesterday in London, I have reason to think he has again left the kingdom, and is on his way to Italy. At any rate as my residence is now to be for some time to come in France, I trust the knowledge of his being on the continent will not alter your resolution of going to Fontainebleau; for, I assure you, it is the very place of all

others, after this, which I would choose for your residence."

"Whither you go, my beloved," answered our heroine, "thither I will go also. If your path is to France, in France only can I hope to find repose; but trust not too much, I forewarn you, to my

physical courage. Moral courage I may have, and

I believe I do possess it to a higher degree than most other people; but physical courage is a totally different qualification, and one with which but few poor women are endowed. At the same time moral courage is of the higher order of the two. The celebrated Madame de la Roche-Jaquelin has attained her immortal renown entirely by her moral courage; for, although a number of anecdotes are related of her, which shew her to have possessed physical courage also to a great degree, she herself denies it; and she said to a friend of mine, 'Quelle différence de moi à Catan, cette paysanne Vendéenne, qui défendait sa maison, la hâche à la main, et qui immolait tous ceux, qui osaiant franchir le seuil de sa porte !'-Dearest, should my husband ever-mark my words should he ever discover where I am, so great is my dread of him, that I should die or go mad that very instant. I trust this will never be ;but again I repeat it, I should die!"

Richard Bazancourt, who saw the energy with which she spoke, trembled at the certainty with which she pronounced the words; and changing the subject, he urged her to hasten her preparations for departure. In three days all was in readiness; and, without further accident, the party arrived at Dover, on their route to France.

CHAPTER VII.

THERE is in nature a being, which occupies the extremest verge between animate and inanimate existence, to which the name of " monas terminus" has been given, as an appropriate appellation for that which has neither motion, nor visible organization, nor perceptible senses. How often had Jeannette Isabelle envied the lot of this motionless, senseless creature! How often had she wished that she, too, had been born without any feelings to agitate, any reflections to distract her-without the jealousies, the angers, the bitter griefs, and even the tumultuous joys of human existence! Her delicate frame was so frail and so feeble, that strong emotion seemed to tear her to pieces: she appeared convulsed with feelings, which to others would have produced no such violent shock. She sighed only for repose. The attachment which she had formed for Bazancourt

had been to her like a pleasant dream: it had come upon her like an agreeable interlude in the drama of life; she had embarked in it with all her heart and soul, and, so far as the return of affection which she experienced could go, she had not been disappointed; but to her, there was ever a gnawing, rankling, unceasing cause of disquiet and apprehension in the background. She dreaded her husband even more than she loved Bazancourt: she had never forgotten that she had received blows from her husband's hand; and that he had starved her, imprisoned her, and insulted her. The risk of falling into his hands seemed to her more dreadful than any other possible affliction; and if she appeared absent and abstracted to Richard Bazancourt, on their journey from Stonesfield, it was partly that she was regretting the vinemantled cottage, with its fragrant jasmine, and its bowering roses, and still more, that she was shrinking from an encounter with her husband on the road, such as had already once caused her so much terror on her previous journey from Woodstock.

The day was bright, and the breeze was favourable on the morning, when, leaving Wright's Hôtel, at Dover, our heroine embarked on board the packet, for the purpose of returning to France with Richard

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