"Thanks, pattern of nature's purest, sweetest workmanship! thanks to thy exalted virtue that has spared me the bitterest pang that the heart of man could ever know, could ever feel, and which would, indeed, have blasted my future existence! I will not harm thee, dearest maid, nor wound thy spotless virtue, though a thousand Duchesses were to sign my death-warrant. Thou shalt escape free from these prison-walls, pure and uncontaminated as thou camest hither. Let but one unhallowed hand approach thee with a rude touch, and I will tear it piecemeal! Yes, let the Duchess sign my death-warrant; she can do it but once, and that may cost the Hellcat dearly. There, there, I breathe more freely now and that angel smile tells me that Paulo is forgiven.”

"As surely as you hope for forgiveness in Heaven, Paulo," uttered Agatha; "yet you have spoken strangely, and, dare I enquire, I would beseech you to give me some explanation of words so mysterious; you spoke of some Duchess; knows she aught of my father or my mother?"

"Alas, sweet maid, she was the destruction of them both, and would have been the destruction of you!" answered Paulo.

"Merciful Heaven, and is she still living?" repeated Agatha, in wild and terrified accents: "oh save me, save me, Paulo, from her direful vengeance !"

"I have saved you, lady," cried Paulo, "I will save you, though it be at the hazard of my own existence, as I did the life of Captain Singleton !"

Captain Singleton ?" exclaimed Agatha," is he not dead? oh speak, Paulo ! did he not perish in the

ocean on the night of the tempest? Oh, but ease these racking doubts, did not my father perish when he set sail from the Cottage on the Cliff?"

To which Paulo replied;

"Captain Singleton did not perish :-but-but-he is not thy father, lady-you are not the daughter of Captain Singleton! nor did Paulo rob you of the property of Captain Singleton, part of which you now wear. Those habiliments which now grace that exquisite form were once your mother's, Agatha !" "My mother's!" exclaimed the wonder-stricken Agatha.

"As truly as they are now yours, lady," answered Paulo: "but I have conversed too freely. I should have left discoveries such as these only to the lips of one who had a better right than I to reveal them to you. In two hours hence I will lead you to him; then shall the beauteous Agatha lay her hand on her spotless breast, and proclaim to the transported Paulo-that she does not think him a perfidious villain."

"Oh, I do not, I cannot think you so ;" uttered Agatha : "you are already justified in Agatha's opinion. But oh, you have told me such wonders that I must retire awhile and compose myself, while I breathe forth thanks to Heaven and to you for my deliverance."

"To Heaven be your thanks then paid," replied Paulo, "to me you owe nothing:-have I not confessed that I hate your father?-yet for his child—” "You will revoke that hatred," exclaimed Agatha in a voice of melody

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Lady, forbear awhile to press me on that sub

ject," cried Paulo, "time has done nothing-your voice alone could indeed appease my vengeance; for he only that could resist an angel could resist you !"

Paulo now arose, and, carefully replacing his mask, was about to quit the apartment. "Lady," uttered he," you will presently require the services of Beda. But pray be cautious. She is a mere child. Reveal nothing to her of what has passed between us."

"I will implicitly obey your injunctions,” cried Agatha, "de not fear to send the sweet child hither, for dearly do I love her!"

"And do you really love the little sprightly Beda?" exclaimed Paulo, who was apparently much pleased with this intelligence.

"I will one day find means to convince you of it more intelligibly," said our heroine: "Beda is a little treasure, and I know the value of her."

A deep sigh, heaved unconsciously from the breast of Paulo, was the only rejoinder to Agatha's remark, as he bade her farewell.

"In two hours, lady, expect to see me :-or if exceeding the limits of that time, I shall not return before the shades of evening :" and with these words Paulo departed.

But who can give colour to the impression he had left behind him on the mind, on the heart, in the speaking countenance, of our lovely heroine ?

Not Titian's vivid glow and lively tints could paint the colour of that lovely cheek! nor the tender Raphael portray the tear of sensibility which trembled in her expressive eye, as, pondering o'er the many wonders she had been told, she reclined her arm on a