"Preach on—of what? religion—and in this dungeon!—in which religion has consigned me to darkness, solitude, and horror. Oh! the soul-sinking misery I have endured these many, many weeks! My husband—who murdered him before my face?—A priest. Who would have dishonoured me?—A priest! Ha, away to your tyrant bishop! I will commune with God without the medium of wretches such as thee!" "Lady, I am no priest," I replied, deeply touched by her misery and piercing voice. "I am a soldier—a gentiluomo in disguise. Trust me, and you may yet escape to be free and happy." As I spoke, she rose from the floor, grasped my arm with convulsive energy, and gazed upon my face with a searching glance, as if she would read the inmost secrets of my breast: she passed her hand across my head and face, to assure herself my figure was not a vision; her whole arm was thus revealed, and, though attenuated, its purity was dazzling. "Oh, signor! dear and good signor! oh, if you should deceive me!" she exclaimed, clinging to my hand and weeping bitterly. "Oh, if you should be but some emissary from the accursed bishop! At times he comes, like an evil genius, to offer me freedom. Ah! canst thou guess its price? I will not go with thee—away! leave me!" "Can there be greater misery than that which you now endure?" "No, no; there cannot! Who can live without hope? yet all fled from me! Oh, my Luigi! hadst thou been living, I had not been forgotten to perish thus! My sisters——" "Luigi!" I reiterated, while gently removing the dishevelled masses of silky hair which veiled her features—a cry burst from me! I beheld the belle of Palermo, the nun of Crotona, the sister of Bianca, who had been so cruelly carried off by the sbirri of this infamous Petronio of Cosenza. "Francesca!" I exclaimed; "Francesca of Alfieri do you not remember me?" She regarded me fixedly, pressed her hands upon her temples, and then shook her head mournfully. "I am Claude Dundas—the friend of Santugo, and betrothed of your sister Bianca." I threw my arm around the poor bewildered girl, whom at that moment I loved with all the tenderness of a brother. "The friend of Luigi!—O, tell me if he yet lives? Tell me, though the answer should destroy me at the instant!" "He lives, signora; but you alone can restore him to perfect happiness."